Chapter 276 – Void

Mirian sat on the cliffside overlooking Arriroba. Nearby, Zayd was explaining his recent adventure to his friends. “… and then we went wooosh and we were so high up! And there was a two-headed vole-tur and it said scraaaw! and then we flew past a big magic color going bwooosh! and then we were here!”

“No way,” said one of the other children.

As if that was going to stop him. “And then…!”

Grandpa Irabi sat next to Mirian. Dhelia and Jeron were both having a stiff drink or five a ways off. Mirian had just finished going through her explanation to the village elder.

“Does he remember dying?” Irabi asked.

“Of course he does. Part of the reason I flew him here is so he’d have something exciting at the front of his mind, instead of the horror he witnessed.”

“That you made him witness,” Irabi said. On seeing her face twitch, he said, “If it sounds like I’m being harsh, I am. You must take responsibility for your actions, though I don’t know how you’ll do it. It’s certainly beyond me.”

Mirian looked to the horizon. It was late enough in the cycle now that she could see the occasional distant arcane eruption glittering. “I don’t know either. How much responsibility do I have to all these dead people? And they are all dead. Including you.”

Irabi, as usual, took his time responding. “I came to terms with my death a long time ago. Doesn’t bother me.” His eyes weren’t fixed on the horizon, but on Zayd and the other children, who were now chasing each other. “You’re dealing with a number of philosophical issues, then. How does one balance power with responsibility? What ethical violations are permissible given your circumstances? And… hmm. Something else I picked up on as you were talking. I don’t know how to put it into words.”

“I think, ‘How cold do I need to become to suffering to succeed’?”

“Hmm,” Irabi said, and went quiet for nearly an hour. In that time, Zayd and his friends grew tired of their games and collapsed on the grass, got bored and got up to play again, attempted to steal food before it was ready for the evening meal, got scolded, went off to pout, played another game, then collapsed back on the grass to rest again.

“We become what we practice,” Irabi said finally. “My grandfather was a soldier in the Unification Wars. He grew numb to protect himself from what he saw. When he came home, he never thawed. He’ll never be counted as a casualty of the war, but he was one too. I’ve wondered often if he could have survived the war any other way. Wondered if there was some way to turn him back into the man my grandmother says he was before he left. Or is it like pouring silt into a river, then trying to retrieve the pieces one by one?”

“There’s a spell for that,” Mirian said sardonically. Then, “But I see your point. I was kinder when this all started. I used to cry every time one of my friends died. But they’ve died… so many times.” Her voice was hollow as she said it.

“Power. How to deal with power?” Irabi tapped his finger on his knee, then proclaimed, “Did you know I’m the most powerful man in Arriroba?”

Mirian raised an eyebrow. “Not the head elder? Not the council? Not Degasiab who owns the mill and most of the farms around here?”

“The council may make the rules, and the head elder the judgments. Degasiab certainly may throw his weight around, sure. But if I started saying how displeased I was with the elders or Degasiab, why, I think the village would throw them out. The tax collector may have the backing of Parliament—though I suppose not any more after your stunt in Palendurio—but if I told people I think we pay too much, I think the tax man would walk away with less coin than their ledgers told them the village ought to pay. Not all power comes from laws or threats of force. The best power comes from respect. Trust. And love.”

Mirian felt a knot in her stomach twist.

“Zayd loves you. So do Dhelia and Jeron. You know that, of course, but I think you need to hear it. Remember that love doesn’t look like obedience.”

Mirian shook her head softly. “It’s not exactly a way to run an army, or a government. I need discipline. An architect can’t build a house if no one bothers to check their measurements or follow the plan.”

Irabi nodded. “Of course. I meant more that if you make people want to follow you, things may feel different. If an architect loves you, she’ll build you a house. But if a farmer loves you, he’ll grow you a field. Don’t try to get the farmer to draw the blueprints.”

“I see,” Mirian said. For a time, they sat there in silence again.

“I don’t suppose I’ve told you what I was like when I lived in Madinhar?”

“You haven’t.”

“I don’t much like talking about it. My grandfather was a violent man. My father learned well from him. I went to Madinhar to escape, but it didn’t take long before I didn’t have a coral beadcoin to my name. So I did what most desperate people turn to.”

Mirian looked at Irabi. “You were a criminal?”

“I was. And I hated myself a little more each time I robbed someone, or burgled a shop, but I couldn’t see any other way out. At least then I had a few beadcoins. Then one day, while I was sitting on the street, casing a shop across the way, a young man asked me if I needed help.

“I swore at him, ranted at him, told him he didn’t know a damn thing about me. So you know what he did? Asked me what my story was. Then, when I’d told him about my grandfather and father, he asked me the same question he’d been intending to all that time. He said, ‘May I buy you a dinner?’

“His kindness was as inevitable as the dawn. I don’t believe there’s a single thing I could have said to turn that man away. My stomach was grumbling, so I went. And as I ate, I looked him over. His clothes were tattered. His boots had holes in them. When he opened up his purse to pay, I saw that he was using his last coins for the meal. After that, I realized quite a bit.”

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“That, despite circumstances, you had a choice?”

“More than that. I realized how much like my father I’d become, and how I always had a justification for my cruelties, just like he did. The man who’d been kind—why, I think his father must have been a nice man. If Enteria had been full of people like him, there’d never be another war. So, I saw a notice that there were farmhands needed in Arriroba. Never had been there, but I traveled up with the next caravan. And I knew what kind of man I wanted to become, after that. Thought perhaps I could be the kind voice for those people who didn’t have one. Some days, when my hands were bleeding and every part of me ached and I still was poor, I wished I’d stayed in Madinhar and kept to thieving. The world doesn’t make it easy, sometimes. Anyways, you can guess the rest. It took a lot of effort to become the person I am today.”

Grandpa Irabi took a deep breath of air.

“Change the environment. Set the example for how people interact. Change the social dynamic. You sound like Zhuan, in some ways. Just, without the fancy vocabulary. But it’s not enough.”

“There’s a reason I stayed in Arriroba. Here, I could know everyone. Madinahr was too big for me.”