by J L Forrest
“This evening we’ve other business.”
“What business?”
“A dinner party.” Yw Sabi scowled. “The chieftain of Cohltos has pressed me for an audience.”
“Yea, Kepler said as much.”
The Atreiani drew a tense breath and nodded. “If we don’t placate him, we may lose our welcome before we’re ready.”
“A waste of time.”
“I fear not. We can’t yet afford to turn the Oudwn Council against us, so we’re going to the chieftain’s house. Try to keep things peaceable awhile longer.”
“What I wish,” Nyahri said, “is to be quick about our task, not to piss away the hours at Oudwn dining tables. You can leave me here to find the Citadel’s center, go to the dinner without me.”
“You’re coming.”
“But—”
“You’re not an errand girl—you’re my companion.” Yw Sabi winked. “You’re coming.”
Nyahri smiled at the word companion. “But I mean what I say—I can find Swyn Templr’s door. Their labyrinth is not so clever, but I will need a better lamp.”
“Lamp, hmm?” Yw Sabi stood and walked to the corner of the bedchamber. From her effects, she chose a small black bag. She withdrew from it a white orb, no wider in diameter than a walnut. “It’s time you use some of the ‘magic’ you E’cwnii seem so uncertain about.”
Nyahri sneered at it.
“Hold your palm up.”
The E’cwni did as instructed. Yw Sabi set the artifact in her hand.
“Now,” yw Sabi said, “say the Englisce for light.”
Nyahri did, and the orb flashed a scattering of pinkish rays. A few flickered across her irises, centering there for a moment, and the crystalline orb glowed.
Yw Sabi continued, “If you look straight at it, it’ll dim, lighting only itself. Look across the room.”
She did, and the orb threw a broad white ray against the far wall, illuminating a cabinet, a small desk, a basket piled with blankets.
“Focus on the cabinet,” yw Sabi said, “on one drawer.”
The orb’s beam contracted, brightening on that rectangle of wood.
“It tracks your focal depth, tuning to you as long as it’s within a few meters.”
Despite herself, Nyahri liked the rush of magic.
“It understands Englisce,” yw Sabi said. “Light to turn it on, light off to turn it off, light brighter to make it brighter, light softer to make it softer, a few other natural-language commands. Understand?”
“Yea, yw Sabi! Wondrous!”
“It’s a nice toy,” she said, “more useful than an oil lamp.”
A knock sounded at the lower door, at the bottom of the stairs beneath their bedchamber. Nyahri clasped her hand over the witch-light, whispering it off. She pulled the sheets around her, then recovered her longknife from beside the bed.
Yw Sabi shook her head at Nyahri, then called down the staircase. “Speak!”
“Excuse the interruption,” a Templarin woman said, “but Dhaos Shwn Oudwn has arrived to escort you to dinner.”
“Tell the Oudwni,” the Atreiani replied, “he can wait outside.”
The Templari shuffled away. Nyahri sighed, setting down her blade.
“You’re jumpy,” yw Sabi teased her with a wink. “Let’s go to this chieftain’s dinner. We can tend other details later.”
“Yea, yw Sabi.” Nyahri groaned, but acceded.
They dressed, and Nyahri washed her face in a basin. As they descended the stairs, she allowed herself a smile, and with that they departed the library.
◆◆◆
The rising moons greeted them as they left S’Eret, Lwn and Stashwn a sliver shy of full, while Trwl chased farther from her sisters by the night. The horses stretched their legs, nearly prancing, flicking their fetlocks over the earth. Lit by pitch-burning sconces, Dhaos paced before the gates, holding his hands behind his back, as if on a pleasant stroll.
He looked up at them, flashing his boyish grin. “Good evening.” The air misted his breath.
The mongrel crowd had grown. Many hundreds gathered only a stone’s throw from the gates, held back by nothing but timber fences. Dhaos’s archers kept the peace, their number bolstered by armored men who owed their allegiance to the chieftain of Cohltos. Bands of farmers, wild men, callow children, hollow-eyed women, and gray-headed men raised their heads or stood on tiptoe to glimpse the Atreiani.
Yw Sabi tightened her hood and cloak around her.
A woman exclaimed from the masses, “Atreiani!” Others followed, “Heal us! Save us! Thank the gods!”
“Not all these people are from Cohltos,” yw Sabi said, noting their clothing.
“Nay,” Dhaos said, “some are not even Oudwnii. They come from the far end of the western valley, a few days’ ride, or from even farther. All to see you!”
Her gaze icy, she asked, “How did news spread so quickly?”
“Atreiani, you have been here some time now.” Dhaos blinked. “Word has gone in every direction as fast as men’s legs would take it.”
“My son!” a man yelled. “Cure my son!”
“I’ve little patience with this riffraff, Dhaos.” Yw Sabi frowned. “Get us where we need to go.”
“Follow me,” he said.
Guardsmen and archers cleared the way, raising torches to light the road. Dhaos walked beside Nyahri’s horse.
“What did you think,” he said, “when you visited our streets today?”
“It was good to see what you love here,” she replied.
“What I love?”
“Your people.”
“Ah, well, I do.” He smiled up to her. “I love them dearly. You should have asked me to accompany you.”
“It was good to be alone.” Nyahri looked ahead as she rode, avoiding his eye. “I saw the entire valley from the south, the whole city.”
“A marvel, is it not?”
Yw Sabi interrupted, “There were once cities of millions.” She glanced over her shoulder at him. “Tens of thousands is not so many. You sound like your father, boy, prideful over irrelevancies.”
Dhaos scowled. “Must I always expect to take such insults from you, Atreiani?”
“Yes.”
His scowl deepened, then he burst into laughter. “It must be an unhappy place, Atreiani, to live inside your head.” To Nyahri he said, “If it pleases you to explore further, to ride out of the city tomorrow, I know some beautiful places where you can really enjoy the countryside, the farms, and appreciate what Cohltos has become. There are views much clearer than from the south. Would you like to see them?”
“You can see the city streets from above?” yw Sabi asked.
“I am not talking to you, Atreiani.” Then he thought better and said, “Yea, a magnificent view. Why do you ask?”
“Only curious.” Yw Sabi nodded to Nyahri.
“We can go,” Nyahri said to Dhaos.
“Excellent.” His grin brightened.
“Perhaps tomorrow or the next day?”
“For you, whenever you command it.”
Nyahri gave him a quick simper, then drove Kwlko faster, leaving Dhaos on foot beside yw Sabi. Crowds met them along every street, at every corner.
So many people! Nyahri sighed, shaking her head. Thousands more since we first arrived. The enormity of their problem frightened her. However are they to escape us?
{24}
The Chieftain of Cohltos lived in a timber-framed hall, newer than S’Eret Fortress or the ancient Orÿs Lodge. The colossal structure stood under a single gabled roof, the main doors at one end and private rooms at the other. A patchwork of irregular courtyards and gardens surrounded it. Beyond the courtyard walls dwelt a legion of peasants, living on land the chieftain’s family had claimed generations ago.
At yw Sabi’s arrival, the household’s eldest wife sighed in relief. She hurried to the kitchen to tell the staff that, at last, they could serve the food. In the forecourt a few dozen guests
had already quaffed enough strong liquor to bring them halfway to drunk. Both the drunks and the sober stood dumbstruck at what they witnessed:
The Atreiani, her hood down and her hair loose to her waist, entered through the gates on horseback with all the bearing of a queen. A chieftain’s son walked on her left, and on her right an E’cwn witch rode a red stallion. Night-falcon plumage fluttered around her crown, making her a complement for her mistress.
Younger than Nyahri expected, no more than forty, the chieftain of Cohltos gave a perfunctory bow. His beard well trimmed, his features angled and sharp, he wore tailored clothes to match, both restrained and splendidly appointed.
“Welcome to my home,” he said, “you are happily received.”
Yw Sabi nodded back. “Thank you, chieftain. I regret we didn’t pay our respects earlier.”
“Think nothing of it, goddess. My understanding is that you had pressing business in the Fortress. You are here now, and that is all that matters.”
Once more, she nodded.
“I am Shwn Pawl Oudwn of the House Cohlton.”
“I am Sultah yw Sabi.”
“Your companion, I understand, is Nyahri E’cwn.” He shifted his bow to her.
Nyahri also inclined her head. “Shwn Pawl.”
“Far too long since there has been a chance for real peace between Oudwnii and E’cwnii, and here we have a representative from the most venerated of tribes. Welcome to you both.” He turned to Dhaos and said, “Of course it is good to host you too, cousin. We are always glad for the company of the House Auken. The tables are set. We expected you somewhat sooner, I apologize, but let us eat before the guests die from starvation.”
He waved for them to follow, entering his house through the main hall doors, broad sliding structures which stood open, inviting both the guests and the night into the interior. Nyahri dismounted, and a stable boy rushed to take the horses’ leads.
“I will take them myself,” she said to him, “but you show me the way.”
He did, and she led the horses and stabled them. Afterward, as she crossed the forecourt to the chieftain’s hall, many eyes followed her. The dinner guests, all from the valley’s most powerful Oudwn families, gave her sidelong glances or sneered at her.
A barbarian, their eyes said, an animal of the plains.
Nyahri scoffed. Let us eat before the guests die from starvation?
Since coming to the mountains, Nyahri had seen no one less likely to starve than the chieftain’s party guests.
◆◆◆
The guests sat at square tables, each a few paces wide. At the center table, Nyahri, yw Sabi, and Dhaos joined the chieftain, his wives, and other honored invitees. Nyahri tried her best to use the utensils, but every few bites she fumbled them.
A dozen other tables accommodated the families of more than thirty petty nobles, warriors, and landowners. Young children occupied smaller tables nearer the kitchen, though they had finished their meals and, for the most part, sat now on the floor with colorful wooden toys, playing under the supervision of nannies and other household servants. As among the E’cwnii, the children seemed least affected by the Atreiani, taking her strangeness more as a curious oddity, rather than a threat or a divine manifestation.
One guest at the honors table ate no food at all: Kepler. Though attendants set a plate for him, he touched none of it. He drank only water, exchanging small talk with the high nobles to either side of him.
The wound which Nyahri had given him still marked his cheek, neither scabbed over nor bleeding. He looked back at her. Locking eyes, he raised his water glass, drank, and offered her a heartless smile.
The chieftain lifted his wine glass and said, “A toast to the esteemed Atreiani, we welcome you to Cohltos.”
The assembly raised their glasses too.
“Thank you,” yw Sabi said, returning the toast. She quaffed her entire cup, and forked a morsel of steak from her plate to her mouth.
An attentive servant refilled her drink.
“These are exciting times,” Shwn Pawl said. “Our friend Kepler tells us we should expect a waking of the Atreianii, that you will bring them from their long sleep and return your kin to the world.”
“I will of course descend,” she replied. “As I told Kepler, I simply needed time to research, gather my thoughts before I do so.”
Kepler cleared his throat. “I’d simply been telling him, Magistress yw Sabi, I found it odd you did not descend immediately, when you first arrived in this fair city. Wouldn’t your sisters or brothers have done so in your stead?”
She nodded politely to him, then to the chieftain. “Shwn Pawl, as you no doubt heard from the Templarin histories, I was once out of favor with many of my brothers and sisters. I’ve perhaps some reason for pause but, as Kepler says, awakening the Citadel is the right thing to do, and I will do so soon enough.”
“Of course, yw Sabi,” said Kepler, “we all wait upon your will. It must be so difficult for you, Magistress, to have spent the last nine days reading our dry, dusty, dull books.”
“Five thousand years’ worth,” she said, “is a lot of catching up to do.”
“We Oudwnii, on the other hand, know too much from legends here,” Shwn Pawl said, “and too little from history, as the Templarii are not prone to tell us every secret of the ancient days.” The chieftain laughed. “I doubt I have read more than a dozen books in my entire life, save our ledgers.”
“We’re not teachers,” Kepler said to him, “inasmuch as we take it upon ourselves to tutor your noble sons and daughters. Who, I might add, are not always the best students.” He glanced at Dhaos. “We’re record keepers, and we serve the Atreianii before all others.”
“Yeh Mowan designed you to do more than keep the records,” yw Sabi said, “didn’t he?”
“Where’re the laboratories now, Atreiani?” Kepler asked. “We’ve only libraries these days, no computers left but our minds—” He tapped a finger against his own head. “—and nothing remaining to us but books to fill. We constructed a printing press some years ago but, in truth, there wasn’t much demand for it.”
Shwn Pawl lifted his hand, palm up, toward yw Sabi. “Thus my request—tell us of the old days, Atreiani. What contention tore such a chasm between you and yours? That is the question we most want answered.”
Yw Sabi looked from the chieftain to Kepler and back again. Her eyes narrowed, her smile calculated.
Nyahri understood at once: Kepler and the chieftain, they rehearsed this. What is their game?
“We Atreianii failed in our purpose,” yw Sabi said. The room fell silent, guests elbowing each other to be quiet, to listen. “We created ourselves to be better than men—to encompass the philosophies, to know the sciences, to be doctors of ethics, to embody reason and logic, to exemplify order and so to rise above petty political squabbling, power grabbing, resource mongering, profiteering, and other such nonsense. The call of our day was not sensible self-interest, but super-rational cooperation. Platonic philosopher kings or Kantian rational agents or Nietzschean companions given flesh and bone—all had their place.”
How many in this room, Nyahri wondered, understand a word she says?
“To shuffle off all the failings of men?” Shwn Pawl said. “Yet the Atreianii proved susceptible to imperfection? Is that not true?”
“Our experiment worked for centuries, longer than the Roman Republic or the American misadventure. Then a few Atreianii showed ample capacity for irresolvable disagreement. Pettiness followed on its heels, instability, and factions. It fell apart quickly.”
“So you were no different than men?”
“We were nothing like humankind,” she countered, “but we weren’t perfect.”
“What was the failing?”
Yw Sabi folded her napkin. “I’ve only theories.”
“I for one,” Kepler said, “would love to hear them.”
“I, too,” Shwn Pawl said.
In his corner, Dhaos listened inte
ntly.
“One is that we Magisters got it wrong from the start,” yw Sabi said. “We failed in the design of the system.”
“Is that not evident?” Kepler asked.
“A failure in the original design is not a logical necessity,” yw Sabi said. “Reality is not a controlled experiment, and confounding variables can arise after initial conditions are set.”
“What do you believe happened?” Shwn Pawl asked.
Yw Sabi shrugged. “The Magisters’ propositional logic was impeccable, but if we followed from an incorrect premise, something we misunderstood in the fundamental qualities of existence, it wouldn’t matter how carefully we planned. Our grand experiment would fail.”
The chieftain laughed. “I will pretend I understood that! You mean perhaps you performed everything right, but on the wrong problem?”
“No. I mean what I said. We saw the data but we misunderstood it. Or information carriage doesn’t work the way we thought it did. Or quantum effects had a larger impact at the macro. Or. Or. Or. We followed from an incorrect premise.”
Kepler leaned forward, giving her an ashen smile. “What explanation do you favor, Magistress?”
Her tightly pressed lips drew into a frown. “Something in the nature of subjective experience, something which prevents indefinite cooperation among distinct individuals.”
“Such as?”
Yw Sabi tapped her fingertips on the table, looking around the room. “Hypothesis—conflict is built into the structure of qualia, regardless of the substrate or pattern of the intelligence in question. Darwin himself first observed that cooperative species outperform species whose survival strategy depends upon individual fitness, but individual fitness still plays its part. Perhaps super-rationality between agents necessarily breaks down, given enough time, because they must operate from incomplete data, a deficient understanding of one another? Independently rational behavior, where conflict is not the goal, nevertheless leads to conflict.”
The chieftain humphed. “I do not believe I understood any of that either. Perhaps you might give us an example, Atreiani?”
Kepler waved his hand dismissively. “Philosophical gibberish.”
