by G. R. Lyons
“Interesting you should say that,” the damned woman said with a smirk, “considering all you officers are always claiming that everyone is equal.”
“We are equal,” Benash said out of habit, but something about the words didn't sound right.
“Equal, yet some are property of others. How exactly does that make us equal? Please, enlighten me.”
The prisoners muttered quietly, but looked to Benash, waiting for an answer.
Benash stared at the woman, feeling unsettled, and ground out, “Why don't you explain your meaning?”
Vorena smiled at him and turned to address the room at large.
“We have three possibilities,” she began, and ticked the items off on her fingers as she spoke: “Either each of us owns an equal share in every other person, which seems to be the idea that the Elders are always trying to sell—namely, that we all belong to each other—though, in practice, they don't fully enforce it. Of course, the obvious problem with this is that no one could do anything without the express permission of every other person on the Isle, which is, of course, impossible in practice. So, we can safely take that one off the list.
“Next, one group of people owns another group of people. Now, in practice, this is the way Tanas actually works, separating people into defined groups, and giving one group power over another, as we discussed the other day: men own their women, and the Elders own us all. Of course, if that's the case, then we are not really equal, as the Elders claim, since we're put apart. If one group owns another, then there is no equality.
“The third possibility,” she continued, “and the only logical, practicable one, is that each individual owns him- or herself. In such practice, each person is truly equal, because no person has control or ownership over another. Each person is free to do as he or she pleases, provided one does not violate the person or property of another.
“You say this is the land of the free, where everyone is equal, yet we are obviously neither free nor equal. So long as even one person claims the power to govern others—whether he be on a council of Elders, whether he be King or Emperor, or whether he be part of a democratic majority outvoting a minority—then the others cannot be said to be free or equal. This is why Agoran is the only free Isle in the world, because it is only there that no person claims ownership or control over another. They have no government; thus, they are truly free and equal. Unlike here, where a woman is less than human and mere property just because of the fact that she happened to be born female rather than male. Here, where a man is told where to work simply because the Elders have decreed it so. Here, where a woman can be arrested just for wearing the wrong clothes and being outdoors by herself.”
She looked pointedly at Benash, and he felt his heart racing with anger, confusion, and fear, though he strove with all his might to keep his emotions off his face.
“I was just doing my job,” he ground out.
“Oh, yes, your job, of course,” the woman teased. “Because that's certainly an acceptable excuse for violating the rights of another person.”
“What rights?” Benash asked, staring at her. “You have no rights other than what the law dictates. Our freedom comes from obedience to the law.”
“Oh, is that so?” Vorena scoffed. “Freedom comes in the form of chains? Interesting.”
“Woman, so help me–”
“The law is restrictive and arbitrary, as I've already stated.”
“The law,” Benash countered, and heaved a long-suffering sigh, “is for the good of everyone. It keeps people from becoming victims to one another, and keeps society running smoothly.”
“Hmmm, yes, well, I have a theory about that, if you wouldn't mind humoring me.”
“By all means,” Benash said, sweeping an arm out in a mock bow, ready to see the damned woman make a fool of herself.
Vorena shifted her stance and glanced around the cavern, then pointed at the first cell across the room. “You there. Why were you arrested?”
The man moved closer to his bars, as did several others who were looking on, and answered, “I refused to get married because I preferred solitude.”
Vorena pointed at the man in the next cell. “What about you?”
“I walked out on my job in the middle of the day because I hated the work.”
“And you?” Vorena asked, pointing to the next man.
“I was caught having intimate relations with another man.”
“You?” This, to the next.
“Same as him,” the man said, then added, “With him.”
Benash heard sniggering from several prisoners, but ignored it. Vorena continued with the next man. “You?”
The answers went on around the room:
“I refused to let an officer quarter in my apartment because I didn't want to give up my bed to a stranger.”
“I used an illegal drug because it helps me sleep.”
“I tried a different construction technique on an apartment complex that had to be rebuilt, trying to make it sturdier and safer, but because it didn't perfectly match the current building codes, they ordered me to tear it down and start over. I refused.”
“I tried to keep them from taking my only son from me when he came of age.”
“I refused to wear my uniform coat at work because it was too hot.”
“I tried to stay late at work so I could finish a job rather than leave it for the next day.”
On and on the answers went, and when each prisoner had spoken, Benash looked to Vorena with a raised eyebrow, wondering what point she could possibly be attempting to make.
“And I was caught,” she added to the list, “alone, unclaimed, wearing men's clothing, daring to speak directly to a man, and attempting to escape the Isle.” She looked up at Benash. “Did you catch what all our supposed 'crimes' have in common?”
Benash shrugged. “Simple. You all broke the law. The Elders have dictated marriages and work hours and drug use and whatnot, all for our own good. It is not for us to decide for ourselves.”
Vorena shook her head, a look of extreme patience on her face. “The thing we all have in common—and what separates those of us behind bars from those of you wearing shiny badges—is that not one of us made a victim of another person through our so-called illegal actions. No one suffered from any one of us breaking the law. And, indeed, some would have benefited.”
“What's your point?” Benash growled, his hands in fists at his sides.
“If the law is intended to prevent the creation of victims, and to punish those who do victimize others, then everyone down here is on the wrong side of these bars.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Hawks included.”
“That's ludicrous!” Benash yelled, though a part of him felt a twinge of guilt.
“No, she's right!” someone chimed in from across the cavern. “How can you have a crime without a victim?”
“Yeah!” shouted another. “No victim, no crime!”
“No victim, no crime!”
The chorus took up around the room, each and every man behind bars adding his voice into the mix until the cavern rang with it. Benash fumed, his fists at his sides, but he had everywhere and nowhere to direct his fury. He wanted to lash out at every prisoner at once, if such a thing were possible.
When he looked at Vorena, he found her radiant with a smug grin.
Chapter 25
VORENA GOT halfway through her morning exercise routine when her lungs gave out.
She slumped down onto her backside, gasping for air, but the coughs and the blood never came. Still, it was several minutes before she could breathe easily again, and when she could, her whole body continued to tremble with weakness.
Come on, Father, give me a break, would you? she thought with a sigh. Isn't it enough that I'm going to die down here?
With another sigh, she rested her arms across her knees and lowered her head, taking deep breaths while the shaking slowly subsided from her limbs.
Damn you, she inwardly
spat, redirecting her ire from Kalos to herself. Stop this nonsense right now. You're wasting your life if you just give in to despair.
Vorena filled her lungs with air, held it, and let it out slowly, feeling her entire body relax. She took a few moments to let her imagination run wild, picturing herself on the mountainside and going through the Gate to Agoran, trying to picture what that Isle would look like. The man with the book had given her a few glimpses, but they weren't even his own memories, so she didn't know how accurate they might be. She was sure her own guesses were far from the mark, but Agoran certainly had to be more beautiful and colorful than Tanas.
And there's always tomorrow, she reminded herself, determined to be positive. I may yet see Agoran, even if only for a moment before I die. That would be worth it.
When the Hawk arrived a few minutes later, irritation seeping through his mental defenses, she couldn't help but grin.
Ah, well, and in the meantime, there's always that, she thought, straightening up and turning to face the cavern.
“How about a story, lads?” she called, rousing the other prisoners' attention while the Hawk made his usual morning circuit of the room, frowning all the while and rubbing his temples.
The jailed men nodded eagerly and moved closer to the doors of their cells.
“Many years ago, not long after the Breaking of the World,” Vorena began, “there was a young man named Will who–”
A small explosion sounded, and sparks were visible for just a moment as all the lights went out.
“Gods damn it all,” she heard the Hawk mutter from the center of the cavern.
Vorena heard short, shuffling footsteps in the distance, as well as a few groans as bodies collided with obstacles in the pitch black underground space. It was several minutes before even a hint of light arrived in the form of torches carried by a few of the younger officers.
“About time,” Benash growled as he let the officers in to distribute torches around the cavern.
The flickering firelight wasn't nearly as bright as the overhead lamps, and even though it left the cavern looking slightly mysterious and sinister in the darker corners, overall it lent the room a relaxing and almost romantic atmosphere.
Perfect for the story she'd chosen.
She looked up at the Hawk and saw his shoulders droop while all the tension eased out of his face. He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, and Vorena could practically feel the headache fade from behind his eyes, his relief was that great.
Without prompting, Vorena started again.
“Many years ago, there lived a young man who loved nothing in life so much as his music–”
“What's music?” someone asked.
“Music is…” she began, then realized she didn't really have words to explain it, since music had been forbidden on Tanas for so long that most people didn't know the meaning of rhythm and tune, let alone what a musical instrument looked like.
Instead of trying to describe it, she projected the memory of a sound that the man with the book had once shared with her. Somehow, he'd gotten to see someone's memories of Agoran—passed down over generations, Vorena guessed—including a street performance of a man who played something called a piano.
Vorena had never heard of a piano until the man with the book had told her of it, but the sounds in the man's memory were the most moving she'd ever heard in her life.
Deep underground, and surrounded by flickering torches, she shared the memory with a dozen filthy criminals, and saw their jaws drop in awe.
“What is it?”
“Did you hear that?”
“That's incredible!”
“Why don't we have anything like that here?”
Vorena smiled, watching them savor the projection as long as she continued sharing it. When she turned her eyes on the Hawk, he looked positively mesmerized, openly staring at her.
Go on, his gaze begged her as he slowly lowered himself to the ground and leaned back against a pillar. Go on.
“The young man lived for his music,” she continued, letting the projected sound continue to run through the men's minds while she told the story, easily able to speak and project at once. “His fingers and the instrument were as lovers—entwined and inseparable. He could play for hours and forget the world, letting music fill and nourish him like nothing else could.”
She paused for a moment to enjoy the last of the music, wishing the memory could have been longer—and wishing even more fervently that she could have seen the performance with her own eyes, heard it with her own ears. Shaking aside melancholy, she put on a smile and let herself get lost in the character.
“More than anything else in the world, Will wanted just two things,” she continued, keeping her voice low to match the mood of the faded music and the flickering torches. “He wanted to spend his life making music, and he wanted to share his life with someone who could truly appreciate his music for what it was.
“Yet, everything was against him. At that time, before Agoran became the free land it now is, Will was so hemmed in by laws and social restrictions that his dreams seemed impossible.
“He took work in his father's company, and though it supported his needs, it did not bring him pleasure. He spent miserable hours, every day, performing tasks that he did not enjoy and that brought him no sense of accomplishment or fulfillment, and was only happy when he finally got to go home at the end of the day and lose himself in his music.”
Vorena looked up at the Hawk and saw him frowning down at his hands. She smiled and looked away, knowing she'd hit a nerve.
“But even his music wasn't quite right,” she went on. “Try as he might, no matter how much he played and practiced and wrote, Will could never seem to find the right combination of sounds to truly move him. He wanted to craft a musical masterpiece that would make his heart race, bring tears to his eyes, or make him laugh with unfettered joy, but though he often got close, he could never seem to quite grasp that certain something he needed in order to achieve what felt just right.
“Something was missing, and he couldn't quite figure out what it was.
“It didn't help matters at all that the woman in his life had no love of his music whatsoever. Though Will thought himself in love with her, and though she fawned over his performances, she had no true passion for his passion, no true love and appreciation for what mattered most in the world to him.”
“What is love?” someone asked.
Heads turned to look at the prisoner who had asked the question, then all looked back at Vorena, as though she would surely have an answer.
“Love…” she murmured, thinking. “Love is…”
She thought of Jevon and Athisa, and the few other couples in the rebel camp, remembering how they looked at one another, spoke to one another, treated one another. The memories brought a bittersweet smile to her face.
“Love is a deep emotional reaction to finding a person who embodies the values you cherish,” she answered. “It is the feeling one gets when seeing in another person's eyes one's own passions. It is a recognition between two people that each person values him- or herself, and respects that value in one another. For only a man who values himself first is capable of truly valuing another.” Vorena paused, shaking her head. “It's bad enough the Elders tell us it's unnatural to have feelings for others, but they've also taught us that we cannot value ourselves as individuals. We're supposed to be valueless, nothing special. We're supposed to always work for the good of all and never for ourselves and our own needs, thus eradicating our own self-worth as individual human beings. They've succeeded in eliminating or at least burying love, since they've convinced the masses that people ought to have no values or preferences of any kind, even though we actually do in reality.”
“We're not supposed to have preferences, though,” one prisoner countered, though he sounded doubtful. He looked around the room, his expression begging for confirmation, though Vorena noticed his eyes rapidly skip over the ne
ighboring cells that held the separated lovers. “Right? I mean, the Elders have always said so.”
Vorena let her glance pass over the Hawk, who looked deeply troubled, before turning to answer the speaker. “You'd certainly rather be outside than down here, wouldn't you?”
A few dry chuckles sounded in the room, and Vorena continued, “For any of you who had more than one wife, did you not in at least some small way prefer one over the other?”
She looked around, and saw several heads nod.
“One of mine was much more beautiful than the other,” one man offered. “Made the bedding that much more enjoyable.”
A few men sniggered at the comment, and then another offered, “One of my wives was angry all the time and couldn't move quietly to save her life, but the other was always so quiet and sweet, and even seemed happy to please me. I much preferred her company. Even shared a meal with her occasionally, though I know that's not really the thing to do. I found her very calming.”
“And food?” Vorena asked, looking around the room. “You can't tell me that every man in here would gladly eat corn every meal of the day.”
Several men groaned, and some even looked disgusted, shaking their heads.
“I much preferred eggs, when we could get them,” one man said.
“One time,” another offered, “we actually had both ham and chicken available at the same time, and I found I preferred the chicken.”
“And your clothes?” Vorena asked. “Would you not choose different colors or cuts of clothing, if you could?”
“Absolutely,” one man answered, and several nodded their heads.
“You see?” She looked around the room, pointedly stopping her gaze at the Hawk, though he was studiously avoiding her eyes. “Preference is natural. We're not all supposed to be the same. We all have different wants and needs, different thoughts, different preferences. The Elders claim we're all replaceable, interchangeable, but how can that be so if each man is different and unique?”
