The Broken Man

by Brandon Jones

  To Berden’s right sat the Arch Reverate Carter, Reverate Ramisille Hague. The Carters were in charge of transporting the raw ceral grain once it was harvested—a long, arduous journey they considered a holy pilgrimage, and undertook each year without the aid of the passes—and had a vested interest in the goings on in the Ceral Basin. The current Arch Reverate Carter always held a voting seat in the Steward council.

  On Reverate Hague’s right was an empty seat reserved for Josen, then a woman with her back to Josen who had not turned at Josen’s interruption. Even without seeing her face, Josen knew the thinning white hair belonged to Reverate Shanwick, the Arch Reverate Solon and—in theory at least—the preeminent leader of the Church. Josen had never met the old woman but by all accounts she was genuinely kind, not a trace of guile in her. Josen didn’t know what to think of that.

  Though she didn’t technically have a vote on this council except in the case of a tie, she did have a voice. As the head of the Church, Reverate Shanwick held the power of excommunication. It was a power rarely exercised by any Arch Reverate Solon—Josen only remembered it happening twice, and never to a Reverate—but it always hung there, effective by the sheer weight of its irrevocability. The tiny piece of Josen that was less cynical felt the need to point out that, as the Faceless God’s definitive mortal representative, Reverate Shanwick’s advice should carry weight for less mundane reasons than looming threats. Maybe for some people. Regardless, the Arch Reverate Solon’s advice was not to be ignored.

  Josen looked around the edges of the room as he took his seat, noting the men standing there—one for each of the men seated at the table except for himself. The five men stood attentive and heavily armed. That was… unexpected. Armed guards weren’t a total oddity in the Ceral Basin—enough money flowed through the Basin to make them a necessity at times—but they weren’t common either. Moreover, these men weren’t guarding goods or coin. They were personal guards. The people seated at the table felt unsafe, and that spoke volumes.

  “Josen,” Reverate Shanwick said, leaning over to grasp Josen’s hand—Josen offered her his left. “I’m glad you made it to join us. I hope you weren’t hurt badly?” she asked, glancing at the bandage.

  “No,” Josen said. “I’m fine. A minor accident.”

  “That’s good to hear.” Shanwick’s gaze was intense, and Josen averted his eyes. Shanwick seemed content to let the silence hang, her face awash in a knowing almost-smile. After a long, uncomfortable moment, Josen returned the old woman’s gaze, and her smile widened. “Very good indeed. Han, I believe you were about to bring your first item of business?” she asked, turning those sparkling blue eyes on Berden.

  Han? Josen had never even considered the man’s first name. Han Berden. It felt odd, even just rolling the name around his mind—like calling his mother by her given name.

  Berden—Han—cleared his throat and nodded. “Indeed. We’ll begin with reports on the preliminary planting, and—”

  “Bleeding hands, Berden,” Reverate Shepherd broke in, voice already tired. “How about we cut through this cart of manure and get to the real business? I swear, if I have to sit in this stuffy room one second longer than I have to…” Shepherd said, turning to Reverate Vasture for the last bit.

  “I…” Berden took a great breath, eyes bulging. “I am trying—”

  “Oh, come now, Berden,” Vasture said. “The windbag is right, much as I’m loathe to admit it. Prelim went well for us all, as you well know. And we all know our allotment, so we can skip that part as well. Yes, I’m still planning to host the Planting Gala in…” he consulted a sheet in front him, “two weeks and three days. No, I won’t tell any of you what I’m doing for it. No, not even you, Shepherd, you ornery old cow fart. You can be surprised like everyone else. Did I miss anything else that doesn’t actually need to be discussed?”

  Berden looked like he had been force-fed half a dozen lemons. Next to him, Reverate Hague laughed but didn’t say anything, content to simply sit back and watch.

  “Fine. Is everyone in favor of skipping the skipping preliminary reports and full allotment approval?” Berden asked, looking around the table. His gaze met nods and grunts of assent. “Fine then. On to—”

  “Don’t forget the perennial request from our friends at the Archon,” Shepherd said. “I assume Lady Rocks-in-her-pants put in yet another request begging us to open our Basin to her crazy horde?”

  “Lady Stonelowe,” Berden said, voice tight, “the High Lady of the Archon has indeed petitioned this year to be allowed jurisdiction to police the Ceral Basin. And I think—”

  “I think we might as well tack that on to the list of things that don’t warrant discussion,” said Vasture. “We have a long enough list of things that actually deserve our attention.”

  “Now hold on,” Berden said, desperately trying to regain control of the meeting he was supposed to be leading. “It behooves us to at least consider the merits of the High Lady’s proposition. The Basin is massive. The Protectors simply cannot police all of it on their own.”

  “Be reasonable, Berden. We already know exactly how that discussion goes,” Shepherd said. “And more importantly, how the ensuing vote will go. God’s tears, we granted them extradition privileges what, three years ago now, hoping it would satiate them? Next Lady Stonelowe will want a seat on this council. As you say, any expansion in the Ladies’ jurisdiction into the Basin would involve altering the Protectors’ duties. And since the Arch Reverate Protector Niram doesn’t hold either a seat or voice on this council, you would need a two-thirds majority vote to make any such changes. Let’s be honest, Berden—that isn’t going to happen.”

  “We have two new members on this council,” Berden said, looking at Josen and Hague. “Neither of them has yet to voice their opinion on the issue. I say it bears discussing.”

  Reverate Shepherd let out a disgusted huff as he leaned back in his chair, but Josen could see him doing the mental calculations. As the current Arch Steward, Berden’s vote counted for double on this council. Vasture and Shepherd would clearly both vote against the Ladies, but alone they couldn’t defeat it outright. If Berden could get both Hague and Josen to vote with him, his own double vote would be enough to push the initiative through.

  “I think it’s a good idea,” Reverate Hague said. Shepherd and Vasture both looked stunned. Shepherd’s mouth actually hung open, staring in utter disbelief at the Carter Arch Reverate.

  “I’m sorry,” asked Vasture, recovering more quickly than his friend. “But hasn’t it always been the policy of the Carters to oppose the expanding influence of the Archon? Or have I missed something significant in the last fifty years?”

  Josen was wondering the same thing. It was a stretch to say the Ladies got along with any of the Clergy particularly well, but the Carters’ control of the Passes rankled the Ladies for some reason. It was a constant source of conflict between the two groups. The Ladies claimed the Carters’ control over an indispensable resource was onerous and illegitimate. The Carters responded by charging the Ladies an extra “convenience” fee for Passage. The Ladies retaliated by over-policing the areas leading to the Passes, or not policing them at all. The Carters responded by rationing passage for Archonites. And on it went.

  Hague shrugged. “We’re frankly tired of the feud and feel this could be an appropriate olive branch to extend to the First Prefect and the Archon. I don’t think we need to agree to anything too extreme or long term—no pistol-bearing patrols, certainly—but we could agree to a season or two as trial run. See how it goes, at least. Especially considering recent events.” He glanced over his shoulder at the armed guards, shifting in his seat.

  And every eye in the room shifted to Josen, locked onto him. Josen resisted the urge to shift himself. Any movement under the considerable gaze of these five men could quickly turn into squirming, as Reverate Hague just proved.

  “It sounds to me,” Josen said, choosing his words carefully. Josen was good with people
, but he realized he was woefully underprepared for the political maneuverings he was swimming in. Up to this point, Josen had mostly relied on a mix of personal charisma, good advice from Vale and Montiel, and the sheer force of his power—none of which were helpful right now.

  “It seems,” he said, starting over, “that we’re asking the wrong question. Or at least in the wrong order.” Josen had no love for the Ladies, either as a thief or a Reverate, but neither did he think dismissing a potentially valuable tool without consideration was wise. A tool’s usefulness was not dependent on the wielder’s fondness for it. “That is, I suppose, do we really feel as if the current situation is dire enough to merit bringing in outside help?”

  “Josen is right,” said the Arch Solon, her voice soft and weathered, but not weak. “We should consider the Ladies’ request as a potential solution to a larger problem.” Heads nodded slowly around the table, all except for Berden, who looked peeved. “Will you agree to table the issue for the moment, Han?”

  Berden scowled, clearly less than eager to relinquish momentum, but he nodded.

  “To the larger problem, then,” Berden said. “The recent attacks on each of our estates.”

  “Are we sure they are actually attacks?” Shepherd asked.

  “Don’t be a tit,” said Vasture. “Of course they’re attacks. What else do you call it when someone puts a torch to your barns?”

  “I mean, there have been more fires than normal, but no one has been caught in the act of actually causing anything as of yet.” Reverate Shepherd looked around the table, as if waiting for someone to contradict him. “Even if these are attacks—and I’m not saying they are—we don’t know who is attacking, or why. We don’t know anything, except that this is damned inconvenient.”

  “It’s more than inconvenient. This is potentially dangerous,” Hague said. “Last year’s drought put our ceral stores down to less than sixty percent capacity. We have enough distribution this year, but there’ll be rationing next year if this season’s crop doesn’t come in full. Rationing means riots.”

  “I don’t think there is any question of the culprit,” Berden said. “Feramos Taliv has already claimed responsibility for the attacks on behalf of the Chessian Revolutionary Army.”

  “Feramos is a desperate, powerless man, looking for any shred of credibility he can lay claim to,” Vasture said, waving a dismissive hand.

  “Feramos is a fanatic,” Berden said. “Don’t dismiss that lightly. He would burn Basin City to the ground if he had his way.”

  “Feramos has no power,” Shepherd said. “He farts and claims to control the wind. Starving Chessians are damn troublemakers, all of them, but I don’t see how the CRA could possibly be behind the attacks.”

  “Does it matter?” Josen asked.

  Reverate Vasture pursed his lips and gave him a patronizing look, but Josen pressed on.

  “It doesn’t matter who is behind it. Trying to disrupt access to ceral is the CRA’s only real tactic. These attacks are exactly the kind of thing Feramos would do if he could put someone in the right place to organize all of it, and everyone knows it. People will blame the CRA whether they’re behind it or not. Feramos is either getting better at getting what he wants, or he’s smart enough to take credit for what he would be blamed for anyway.”

  “Sure, but what does that tell us?” Shepherd asked. “Maybe it’s the CRA, maybe it’s not. Again, we’re back to deciding we don’t know anything.”

  “We’ve decided something is definitely happening,” said Hague. “I think Reverate Oak is right. It doesn’t matter who is behind the disturbances—attacks, whatever you want to call them. First priority is making sure your people feel safe so they can plant, cultivate, and harvest. As long as you can still make that happen, the rest of it is just an irritation. I say we bring in the Ladies so you all can focus on your jobs.”

  “Bringing in hundreds of hostile Archonites with a chip on their shoulders is hardly a good way to engender a sense of security in the workers,” Shepherd said.

  “Better than the chaos we have now,” said Berden. “We have to do something to show that we are in control of our own estates.”

  “Something, sure, but the Ladies?” Vasture asked.

  “Why not?” Berden looked around the table, defiant. “We need help. They can provide it.”

  “But at what cost?” Reverate Vasture asked.

  “I’m calling the vote,” Berden said, looking straight at Josen. “I think we all understand our options. Reverate Hague, regarding the provision allowing the Ladies of the Archon to negotiate a short-term contract regarding policing the Ceral Basin, how do you vote?”

  “Yes,” Hague answered. He was looking at Josen as well.

  “Noted. My own two votes are also recorded in the affirmative,” Berden said, making the notations. “Reverate Shepherd, how do you vote?”

  “No,” Shepherd said without hesitation.

  “Noted. Reverate Vasture?”

  Vasture paused, looked around the table, and then sighed. “No as well.”

  “Noted. Reverate Oak?”

  “I—”

  “The vote has been called, Reverate,” Berden said, cutting Josen off. “Yes or no.”

  “No.” A long silence punctuated the short word as Berden glared at Josen, chewing on some kind of a response he knew better than to voice. Josen stared back, watching the emotions on Berden’s face, and found surprise there. Berden had, for some reason, actually expected Josen to vote in favor of the proposal, and Josen had no idea why. He had missed something, but he didn’t even know where to begin looking. He needed to get better at this, and soon, or he was going to cause himself some real problems.

  “Noted.”

  The rest of the meeting passed without incident. Two other contracts received enough votes and were awarded; one to a Jurdish engineering guild for the highway maintenance during the next ceral season, the other a grant for a Kendanese company testing some new mechanical harvesting machine Josen didn’t even begin to understand. Several others failed. Josen did his best to pay attention and vote wisely, but he found himself mostly making it up as he went, hoping no one would notice. With each successive debate and vote the room grew warmer, the Reverates grew more irritable, and the Arch Solon’s initially subtle study of Josen became more and more blatant, making Josen more and more uncomfortable—to speak nothing of the pain in his almost certainly broken hand.

  “Well,” Berden said, shuffling through his notes, pausing to read in a few places. “I think that concludes the necessary business for the day.”

  “Thank the merciful Faceless,” Vasture groaned.

  “Oh, shut your whining moan-hole,” Shepherd said, noticeably less good natured than a few hours earlier. The two men gestured to their respective guards and made their way out the door together.

  “You have it backwards, my friend. The moaning is coming from my wine-hole.”

  “I’ll drink to that, though I I’m not sure wine is stiff enough for me right now. I have an unopened bottle of Gennio 57 at home, if you want to join me.”

  The men trailed out of the room and out of Josen’s hearing, but he had similar thoughts as he gathered up his notes—having sent for paper and pen when it became clear to him there would be no way for keep all the new information in his head. He was going to need something stiff with dinner in order to get through the night.

  God’s tears, dinner, Josen thought, both ravenously relieved at the thought of a good meal and dreading the inevitable need to play charming host for the duration. Josen moved to stand up but lost hold of his notes when he reflexively tried to switch them to his bandaged right hand. The papers scattered across his lap and onto the floor at his feet. Josen swore softly, eliciting a stern frown from Berden, who paused in conversation with Reverate Hague. Josen gathered the papers slowly and without comment, using only his left hand.

  “—playing host, I hear? A Deferate from Sefti?” Josen heard Hague say, only half
listening.

  “Yes. Yes, I am. Deferate Riveran is an old family friend. The parish Reverate in Sefti granted him a sabbatical away from his Revery, and he asked if he could spend the season as my guest.”

  “He’s coming to study, I assume? The Basin isn’t an ideal place for a meditative sabbatical—”

  Josen unbent, notes in hand, and left without saying goodbye. Josen couldn’t make himself care about whatever bit of gossip Hague was digging for. His mother would be waiting, along with whomever she had brought with her today.

  His head felt like it was filled with mush. He raised his right hand to rub his head but stopped in time, thankfully. It was feeling better than he expected—hopefully he hadn’t broken it after all—but it was still swollen and sore.

  “Josen, walk with me a moment?” Arch Solon Shanwick said from the doorway behind Josen.

  Josen stopped and turned back, waiting for the elderly woman being helped out of the meeting room by her guard. “Certainly,” he said, his desire to get quickly to dinner easily superseded by any request the Arch Solon made. The old Reverate’s frailty was an anomaly, and Josen had a hard time reconciling with the image in his mind of what a Reverate should look like. Protectors, Carters, and Stewards—all of whom Josen watched his father interact with on a regular basis—tended to be strong and active. The physical nature of their responsibilities demanded it. When a Reverate Protector, Carter, or Steward became physically incapable of fulfilling his or her responsibilities, they retired and held their titles honorarily. The same wasn’t true of Solons, who often spent their days in study and prayer. Arch Solon Shanwick couldn’t have spent a day riding the ceral fields, unloading a grain wagon, or patrolling anything larger than the meeting room they’d just left. But she didn’t need to.

  “What can I do for you, Arch Solon?” Josen asked as she and her guard fell into step beside Josen, walking gingerly down the wide stairs that led to the main floor of Berden’s Basin home.