The Children of Jacob Part 1/10

This novel is available from google docs as a pdf.

A note about this book

A good book probably does not need a note to explain it – it should explain itself.  I am not sure whether this is a good book, so the note is here.  This novel is written as a series of short stories about a fictional world. Some make up longer storylines that resurface throughout the book.  Others are isolated tales meant to provide necessary historical details or flesh out the themes of the main plot.  Consequently, there are many characters who appear once and then never again.  To clear up any confusion as to which characters’ names are important to remember and which are not, I simply have not given names to those that are not worth remembering.  As far as the chronology of the short stories goes, they are not told strictly in order.  So early on I give a very broad-brush history of this world.  In each subsequent story, I try to make it clear when in this rough history it takes place.   With these notes in mind, I hope that my writing is clear enough for you to enjoy the following story.

Book I

            They had already dug deep, but the ground’s determination to hold on to what was hers did not waver.  Each new block of stone was relinquished only after the full payment of sweat and burning muscle had been made.  Over many decades the ground had been worn down hundreds of feet, but so too had hundreds of pick-axes been worn down to useless blocks of dulled metal attached to splintered shafts.

            Another blow, maybe two.  His shoulders were on fire and his hands raw.  He promised his body a few minutes rest if it would hold on long enough to finish this one.  Finally.  What happened to it now that it had been torn from the ground was not his concern.  Likewise, those who hefted it onto the cart did not care where it would be taken.  All they knew was that it must go up the ramp, just like all the massive rocks that had preceded it since the rising of the sun and all those that would follow until the stars could be seen overhead.  Their only opportunity to rest was as they walked back down to the quarry bottom to retrieve another load.

            A month’s worth of stone stood in a heap by the rim of the pit waiting for the horse-drawn carts to carry it away--a month’s worth of labor and potential waiting for some craftsman to bring its true value to realization.  This misshapen heap and the growing hole below it would be the only tangible results that the men who toiled there would ever see of their work.  Once the carts had come and carried the rocks away, the laborers would know nothing more than that another such pile would be required in four weeks.

#

            He did not mind the rain.  This was a spring rain, which had an altogether different character from the rains of any other season.  It came not to chill, but to cool.  It came not to depress, but to bring life to that which had long been dead.  As he walked along he thought back to the biting snow that had fallen just a few weeks earlier.  He wondered whether the rain was really as sweet as he thought it was, or only sweeter than that bitter cold.

            His eyes followed the path as it rose up the gentle slope to his destination at the top of the hill.  The sharp angles of the church stood out starkly against the hazy sky, but the matching grays of cloud and stone kept it from having any quality of gaudiness.  The stoutness of the structure, along with the labor and ingenuity that had shaped it, gave the building a strength that felt no need to draw attention to itself.

            He kept his gaze fixed on the top of the bell tower, inclining his head ever further as he drew nearer.  The solid weight of its presence continued to grow until he stood at the threshold, staring straight up, overwhelmed by its immensity.  For a moment he lingered, trying to comprehend the greatness pressing down on him until he was released from its hold by the jolt of some passerby brushing against him.  Remembering his purpose, he wiped his feet as best he could and entered the church.  He looked down in disappointment noticing that, despite his efforts, each step he took darkened the clean stone with the soft mud of the world outside.  Turning his gaze back upward he was again disappointed to see that he had not arrived early enough to obtain a seat, so he found a vacant patch amongst the other late comers leaning against the rear wall.

            The crowd had already become silent.  He strained to see the choir at the front of the church, vainly attempting to make out the individual faces of its members for several minutes before realizing that the silence had been broken.  It was so faint that he was uncertain of the exact moment when it had begun, but the vast space surrounding him had been filled with a single tenor voice--filled but not dominated.  The solitary voice carried with it a tone of such loneliness that the emptiness extending to the highly vaulted ceiling above did not lose its sense of being empty.  Rather, the depth of that emptiness had now been defined with a clarity that would not have been possible had no attempt been made to fill it.

            The lonely notes echoed helplessly until, as imperceptibly as they themselves had begun, they were joined by notes issuing forth from the rest of the choir.  Together they gained confidence, rising in volume and blending to produce a gorgeous progression of harmonies.  It was a song of intense sorrow, but also of such strength and beauty that it left one with a sense of optimism.  Although the words were in a dead language that few there understood, still they communicated the hope that even out of intense sorrow, something wonderful could be created. 

            The song continued to swell and fade, first demanding the audience’s attention and then withdrawing and forcing them to strain in order to follow the tones with which they had become enthralled.  Throughout, it carried a vitality that never lost its intensity.  For a moment it dropped to a level that was scarcely audible, and then gradually began building in volume until it filled the church so forcefully that even that great space seemed insufficient to contain it.  Then it stopped.

            After the last echoes had died away, the audience was left in silence.  For several minutes they sat contemplating the sensation with which they had been left, afraid to drive it away with some careless noise.  Then a man walked to the front of the room and stood behind the pulpit.  He began to speak, and the silence that had been left for him allowed his voice easy passage to even those standing against the farthest wall.  First he spoke of thanksgiving and prosperity.  For fifty years now, to the day, the land had been free from the violence of war.  Want had not been eliminated, but a spirit of kinship ruled, calling each person to work to supply where able and to humbly receive where it was not in his power to avoid need.

            Then he spoke of indebtedness.  Like several others of those present, the speaker had witnessed the horror that had preceded this time of peace.  Many had lost their lives during the awful and mysterious invasion from the south, and those now alive owed them much.  It was a debt that could only be repaid by accepting the gift that they had been given and never forgetting its value or price.

            When the service had been concluded, the man left his position against the back wall and walked out of the church.  The rain had ceased, but the fresh scent of cleansed air still lingered.  As he started back along the path, he thought of the ease with which he would be able to sow seed in the newly softened ground.  His mind proceeded to think of how the early rains were an indication of more rain to come, which meant there would be an abundant harvest that year.

#

“I’ve put together a board and a set of pieces.  Are you ready to learn how to play?”

            Jacob rolled out the stiff parchment onto a broad stone and began laying out the various trinkets he had collected to play the roles of the different pieces.  As he was doing this, Nobi seated himself in the grass across from him.

            “So what are the rules?”

            “Well, each of these pieces represents a different type of soldier.  These pebbles in the front row are the foot soldiers.  The buttons are the cavalry, and so on.”

            Nobi pointed at the two gold rings and asked, “Where’d you find those?”

            “Ah...those are borrowed, so be careful with them.  They represent the kings.  The one with the red stone is mine and the blue is yours.”

            “Very nice.  They must be very powerful warriors in the game.”

            “Actually, they’re the most fragile pieces.  They can’t move very far and if they get captured, you lose the game.”

            “What do you mean?  What about all the other pieces--can’t they keep on fighting?”

            “Nope.  Once one of the kings is lost, the game is over.”

            “Why are they so much more valuable than the others?”

            “Because they’re made of gold and the others are just random junk I collected.”  Jacob paused and then continued, “Those are just the rules.  You can’t really ask why.”

            “Well who came up with them?”

            “I have no idea.  Someone long ago who is no doubt dead by now, so there’s no point in complaining.”

#

            If anyone ever ventured to this northernmost shore to hear it, the continuous crashing of the waves would have been deafening.  Tall, sharp rocks kept the sea from spilling over onto the land, but they could not keep out the wind, which was bitterly cold regardless of the time of year.  The expansive plains to the south offered little resistance to any gale that made it past these sentinels, and once they had come that far, the invading winds could sweep southward unchecked until they reached the mountains.

            It was a geographic curiosity that the inhabited world was split almost exactly in half by the thin range of mountains running across the continent from east to west.  The peaks were high and forbidding, covered in snow year round.  Indeed, half of the world might never have known that the other half existed had it not been for an even more curious trick of geography--a narrow pass at almost the exact center of the range.

            To the earliest inhabitants of that land, the significance of the pass was never realized.  They were isolated tribes tied to well-confined parcels of territory.  The pass was the solution to a problem that was never considered by a person who would not journey more than ten miles from his birthplace during the course of his life.  It was only by chance that the house of Yedinay established itself there, seeing that piece of land as no different from any other.

            That arbitrary choice had determined the destiny of their family line.  Only with control of that gap could they have risen in power and united the continent into a single empire under their name.  Only by an uninformed decision by some long-forgotten patriarch was the house of Yedinay given an advantage that no amount of skill or wisdom could match--an advantage that allowed them to rule for four and a half centuries.

            Those who overthrew the Empire and established the Republic knew of this advantage, and that eliminated any discussion of relocating the capital.  They could only rebuild on what had been given them.  When the invasion came from the south a hundred years later, the leaders of the Republic did not understand the purpose of their enemy, but they knew what needed to be protected.  It was to that gap that they had sent their soldiers, neglecting an entire continent, and it was to that gap that the invaders had been drawn.

            Over the gently rolling hills to the south they had come.  If one traced the path of their invasion in reverse, they would find the heights of the hills diminishing and the intensity of the sun increasing as they went.  By the time they reached the worn remains of the wall, they would be in a land that never saw winter.  Here was where any civilized person would have ended his travels.  Beyond the wall began the jungle.  What lay beyond that was unknown, except perhaps to the savages who had poured forth out of its darkness.

#

            As he took a break from his plowing he peered into the jungle.  The vegetation was so dense that his gaze did not penetrate far, but he could imagine the delicious fruits of all manner of shapes, colors, and tastes that must be growing there.  There was no physical barrier preventing him from entering that darkness and scavenging for that food that was just waiting to be eaten, but still he gave up this dreaming and returned once again to pulling his plow.

            The ground there was fertile, which was why his tribe had remained in the shadow of the jungle for as long as their history remembered.  The shadow was dark, but it had not scared them away.  Why risk leaving when the raids occurred so infrequently and they were unlikely to find such remarkable land elsewhere?  His parents had lived their entire lives without ever experiencing an attack, and he had yet to witness one himself.  He wondered whether the stories his grandmother had told him as a child where not just fables meant to scare those who were too young or too naive to know better.

            He dared not disobey the wisdom that had been passed down through their village, though.  It was all that he had, for the nascent Empire had yet to reach that land, and the Republic that would encourage minds to challenge tradition was still several centuries away.  He had never met anyone from another village, nor would he have even known in what direction to travel had he wished to visit one.  There was no one with whom he could discuss what had been taught him who had not been taught the exact same things.  The only validation these lessons had was that his people had survived to pass them on.

            By the time he had finished his plowing the sun was within a half hour of setting, so he decided to return to his house rather than take up another task.  When his children saw him approaching, they immediately ended their play and ran into the house to tell their mother to bring out dinner.  The table had already been set by the time he entered and his children began eating enthusiastically as soon as he had sat down.  They finished their meals quickly despite their frequent breaks to explain to their father their imagined adventures of the day.  He smiled at how their abundant energy seemed to vanish at almost the exact same time that their food did.  Soon they were laid in their bed and he was left alone with his wife.

            “It should be nice and cool outside by now,” he said to her.

            Silently she took his hand and they walked through the doorway.  They remained silent as they looked up into sky.  There were no clouds, which along with the new moon, allowed the stars to shine forth with their full brilliance.

            “What more could we ever want from life than nights like these?”

            “Nothing that I know of,” he answered.

            Neither one of them was sure how long they stood there, enjoying the warmth of each other’s presence, the coolness of the evening breeze, and the splendor of the night sky.  The questions from earlier in the day were gone, leaving his mind at peace.  Here the practices of generations could remain unchallenged because there was no need to change anything--only to hold on to what they already had.

            Their only warning was a faint rustling before the darkness exploded from the jungle.  More than a dozen dark shapes plunged into the village, each toward a different house.  He spun quickly back through the door as he heard one of them breaking through the side wall.  In the corner of the single room he saw a human shape that had already grabbed two of his children.  The third had also been awoken, and although it was too dark to make out any of their faces, their cries left no doubt as to their utter terror.

            Without considering the size of the man in front of him, or the strength he must have possessed to have torn straight through the wall, he lunged toward him.  The shape darted out the way it had come in, taking the two children with it.  He followed after it, but by the time he was through the hole he could see nothing but the silhouettes of the village and the immovable darkness of the jungle.  The stillness that struck his eyes was eerily incongruous with the onslaught of despairing screams.

            He wanted to gather the other men of the village and charge into the jungle to reclaim their loved ones, but he knew it would be a vain effort.  They were creatures of darkness who knew the jungle well.  Surely they could avoid being caught if they so desired, and if that was not their desire, it would mean death for those foolish enough to pursue them.  As sick as it made him feel, he knew there was no choice but to follow the advice of his grandparents:  to embrace what had been left to him and pray that they would not return in his lifetime.

#

            He disliked abandoning his cattle to the bandits, but he needed to warn the rest of the town of their approach.  There was something else as well.  He had a vague premonition that the men he had seen were not actually bandits.  Although he had not waited for them to draw close enough to be seen clearly, there were definitely too many of them--perhaps as many as a hundred, which was larger than any band he had ever seen.

He urged his horse to a faster gallop as he looked over his shoulder.  Fortunately they were on foot, so there was no fear of being overtaken.  But who had ever seen bandits that did not have horses?  This region was too sparsely populated to make thieving by foot at all practical.  The Republic had recently increased the number of patrols in its southern states, which might explain why they had begun traveling in larger numbers, but not why they had abandoned their steeds.

            He rode straight to the bell tower that stood in the center of the town and began pulling the rope to send out the alarm.  Soon the seventy or so inhabitants of the town were gathered in front of him, listening expectantly.

            “I just saw some bandits, and they look like they’re headed here.”

            “How many?” asked a voice.

            “More than we can scare off with our rifles.  There’s not time to evacuate either.  I think our only option is to lock ourselves in our homes and hope that they’re content with taking whatever’s left outside to take.”

            An incoherent cloud of voices rose from the crowd as each person began discussing this plan with his immediate neighbors.  They independently and unanimously came to the conclusion that there was no alternative and began scurrying about to collect family members.  Within the span of a few minutes they had disappeared into their homes.

            He had no family of his own to protect and, consequently, felt no need to follow his own advice.  If he wanted to accept the risk involved with having a better look at the invaders, it was no one’s decision but his own.  But from where could he watch and still afford himself some protection?  He let his eyes wander over the town for a few seconds, and then an answer came to him.  As swiftly as he could, he tied up his horse in the stable connected to his house and then proceeded to climb the wall up to the roof.  The stones from which his house was built were large and roughly cut, providing easy hand and foot holds.  When he had reached the thatched roof, he positioned himself on the northern face so that he could peer southward over the roof’s peak while keeping his body hidden from their direction of approach.

            They were already much closer than what he had expected.  If he had been but a few seconds slower, they might have seen him scrambling into his hiding place.  Cautiously he watched as they reached the outermost houses.  It was like a sea of black tar oozing between stone islands.  They moved swiftly, but steadily, not disturbing anything as they passed.

            A simple cloth around the waste was the extent of their clothing.  The rest of their bodies were covered with intricate patterns of black paint, so tightly interwoven that from a distance they appeared to be a solid, uniform covering.  Rough wooden staves, which were all they carried with them, added to his impression that they were from an unrefined and primitive society.  This caused him some surprise as they drew close enough for him to notice that they each wore a skillfully crafted necklace or bracelet of silver.

            Although he had never seen anyone like this before, he knew there was only one place on the continent that was still untamed enough to produce such people.  If they had stopped only to sleep and had made no detours, it would have taken them four or five days to travel here from the jungle.  What could have drawn them out on such a journey?  He was reminded of something from his childhood, something from such early years that it was more of an impression than a memory--rumors or myths of a darkness from the south.

            With an ease so graceful that he scarcely registered it happening, two of the strange men climbed onto the roof of one of the houses.  The silence of their invasion was broken as they tore into the dwelling and disappeared down into it.  A single explosion from a rifle being fired could be heard, but not a second.  He was terrified as he looked around to see the same process being repeated on the roofs of several other houses.  Selected in a pattern he could not discern, roughly one out of every four of them was being broken into.  There were always two of them entering through the roof, inevitably followed by frantic screams and sometimes by a gun shot.

            He imagined the unseen events being repeated in the doomed houses, and the resulting image gave his sense of self preservation the strength to overpower his curiosity.  Pulling his head down, he lay with his back flat against the sloping northern face of the roof.  There was nothing left but to hope that his house would not be selected.  It was out of his hands now, he told himself as he tried not to notice that the horrific sounds around him were growing increasingly louder.

            A thunderous crash sent a spasm through his body.  That was much closer than the others.  Were they on his roof?  With three panicked snaps of his head he checked to his right, straight ahead, and to the left.  There.  They were on his neighbor’s house.  He only saw them for an instant before they slipped into the building, but he kept his gaze fixed on the torn roof, fearful that any movement might draw their attention.  Had they seen him?  Would they come back for him?  No, if he had been seen and they had wanted to kill him, they would not have delayed and given him a chance to escape.

            Slowly he turned his head toward his feet to look at the houses to the north.  A seed of hope began feebly taking root as he saw that the black tide had already swept by him.  Perhaps he would be left alone.  Strengthened by this faint possibility of escape, he was now able to watch them with a more objective eye and began marveling at their efficiency.  They ran at an unwavering pace, none moving slower or faster than any other, navigating their way around houses, abandoned wagons, and other obstacles without losing speed.  They gave no indication that their purpose was anything other than to run through the village disturbing as little as possible until, without any warning, two of them would suddenly pounce upon one of the houses.  Moments later they would exit through the door, carrying nothing but the staves they had brought in with them, and rejoin the ranks of their comrades without the slightest disturbance.

            Once they had cleared the town he found the courage to sit up.  He did not dare any further movement until he judged they were at least a half mile away.  Then he stood and surveyed the world below him.  None of the strange invaders were left, and neither had any of his fellow townsmen ventured forth into the streets.  Convinced of his safety he climbed down to the ground, not sure what he would do once he got there.  Then he saw his stable and it was decided.  He ran to fetch his horse and was soon headed north at the fastest gallop he could manage.  He had to warn whoever was in their path.

#

“Mamma, how much longer?”

“Not for a few more hours.  Everyone’s still out working in the fields.”

“Can I go and help?”

“No, you’ll get your dress all dirty.  Why don’t you stay here and help me?”

Kathryn folded her arms and frowned, forgetting that her mother had warned her to wait before putting on her new dress for this very reason.  For the last month she had watched eagerly as her mother had sown it, and once the day of the harvest festival had finally arrived, she was so excited that she had insisted on putting it on first thing out of bed.

“Come on, there are a lot of potatoes here and it would be a big help if you could peel some for me.”

“OK,” answered Kathryn in a tone that made it clear that her approval was in word only.

Her mother handed Kathryn a small knife and watched as she began peeling.  Satisfied that her daughter remembered how to proceed without cutting herself, she went about preparing the rest of the feast for that evening.  The familiar work distracted Kathryn from her discontentedness for a while, but as soon as her mother left the room to fetch something from the cellar, she saw her chance to go outside and seized it.

Not until she had traveled some distance from the house did she cease walking carefully on the tips of her toes and break out into a run.  The sun shone brightly in the cloudless sky, but the air was cool, making it a pleasant day for running.  A few weeks ago she would have amused herself by running through tall stalks of wheat, repeatedly losing and finding herself again.  Now most of the fields had been harvested and she was amazed at how far she could see.  The gentle hills seemed to roll on endlessly, interrupted only infrequently by black specks that she realized must be farm houses like her own.  At last she found the unharvested fields where her brothers and father were working.

“Papa, papa!” she called out, “I’ve come here to help you.”

Setting down his scythe and turning around, he looked suspiciously at his daughter and asked, “Does your mother know you’ve come out here in your new dress?”

“Of course.  She told me to help you.”

Her father forced his mouth into a frown but could not suppress the smile in his eyes.  “Now Kathryn, you wouldn’t lie to me would you?  You know lying isn’t nice.”

“I’m sorry papa,” she said hanging her head.  “I just wanted to come out here and help you.”

“Well now that you’re here, you might as well help collect the wheat that’s been cut.”

“Thank you papa!”

She turned and began gathering up the stalks that lay in a long row behind where her father had been working.  After piling as many into her arms as she could manage, she carried them off to a cart that was already half filled with grain.  Stretching up onto the tips of her toes, she let her load fall and then ran back to gather the next armful.  So she continued until all had been cut and collected.

“Come on, let’s go,” said her father, taking her hand and leading her to the cart.  As he picked her up to set her on the seat, he took a good look at her and shaking his head said, “Mamma’s not going to be too pleased when she sees your dress.”

She tried in vain to brush off the dirt and sweat as her father climbed up next to her and snapped the reigns.  As they rode homeward she gazed intently at the hills rolling by, too absorbed in their beauty to notice her father’s frequent glances toward her.  He was worried by how thin she had grown over the past year.  A late cold snap had killed off much of the previous year’s crops, and although he had cut back on his own consumption as much as possible, he knew there were still many nights when she had gone to bed hungry.  They had survived that year, though, and the coming one promised to be much better.

“Run off quickly and change into your old dress,” Kathryn’s father said as they reached the farmhouse.

“But I want to wear this one!”

“We’ll both be in trouble if you don’t change.  Run along now!”

“OK,” she answered as she jumped down from the cart.

“Hurry now, it won’t be long until everyone arrives!”

Kathryn ran around to the back door so as to avoid being seen by her mother.  Carefully she sneaked over to the bedroom she shared with her brothers and found the chest where all her possessions were kept.  Pushing aside her handmade doll, she found her dress from the previous year and pulled it out.  Such was her haste in putting it on that she did not realize how short it had become on her.  Tossing her new, soiled dress onto the ground she ran out to find her mother to help with the final preparations.

“Why aren’t you wearing your new dress?”

“I like this one better.”

“You didn’t go out into the fields and get it dirty, did you?”

“No mamma.”

“Now Kathryn...”

“I just wanted to help papa.  He said it was OK.”

“Come on, there’s no time to deal with this now.  Help me hang these lanterns.”

Kathryn’s mother handed her one of the lanterns and then lifted her up so she could hang it on the hook that had been set into the outside of the barn wall.  As she was hanging the second one, Kathryn marveled at the fresh, new candle in it.  Every year she promised herself that she would not go to sleep until they had burned down completely.  She did not want to miss out on any of the excitement of the greatest night of the year, but every year she failed to stay awake for any more than an hour after dinner.  This year she vowed not to fade so early.

While Kathryn and her mother hung the lanterns, the men carried out several long boards and placed them across stacked bales of hay to serve as tables.  They had just started setting out the food when the first of the visitors arrived.  Of most interest to Kathryn were the three younger children:  a boy two years older than her, a girl a year younger than her, and another girl three years younger.  Kathryn’s own brothers were all too old and too busy with farm work to be of much use as playmates.  This was the one time of year when she had willing companions that were not made of cloth and stuffed with straw, so she lost no time in leading them out into the fields where they would be unhindered by the adults.

For hours they chased each other around--Kathryn the captain of the Imperial army defending the farms from the three evil bandits.  Gradually the forces on both sides were fleshed out as more families arrived until there were seven soldiers to eight bandits.  The thieves had just complained that they were tired of being the bad ones and all had agreed to swap sides when they heard a voice calling them in for dinner.  Famished from their exercise, they all quickly forgot their game and scurried back to the farm house.

The first stars were already beginning to appear as they sat down to eat.  Kathryn and her friends were at a smaller table apart from the two larger ones where the adults were seated.  They paused for a second to gaze in awe at the piles of roasted pork, boiled potatoes, grilled corn, and fresh baked bread before eagerly shoving handfuls of food onto their plates.  The children, not losing any time to useless conversations as their older counterparts did, quickly finished the main course and were ready for dessert.  Unfortunately, they would have to wait for their elders to finish as well before the sweet cakes would be brought out.

The wait did not diminish the gaiety of the children as they soon returned to their play and forgot about the impending treats.  In fact their game was even more thrilling than before, for now they had forks and knives to fill in for the pole-axes of the Imperial soldiers and swords of the bandits.  Willfully forgetting her earlier promise to be one of the thieves, Kathryn insisted on being captain of the elite unit.  There had been many nights when she had fallen asleep listening to her dad tell her of the scarcely believable exploits of these heroes of the Empire.  They were feared by all, and entire legions had been known to surrender to a single member of their ranks just by the power of their reputation.  She still possessed the naivety of youth that would not think to question these fantastic tales; yet, even had she been old and cynical enough to pose such questions, she would have discovered that the truth had needed little embellishment.

            Such was the atmosphere of festivity that the children were not reprimanded for misbehaving at the table.  Indeed, their play was only interrupted when the time at last arrived for the cakes to be brought out.  These were quickly devoured by both young and old alike, making way for the music and dancing to begin.  By this point physical exhaustion was beginning to overpower Kathryn’s mental exhilaration and she was having difficulty staying awake.  While dancing with her father, her tired feet kept stumbling until he was finally forced to pick her up in his arms.  A couple minutes later, he was carrying his sleeping daughter to her bed.  Before rejoining the party, he took a long satisfied look at her lying there contently with both heart and stomach full.

#

            They had been on patrol for two weeks and this was the first thing of any interest that they had seen.  It was still a long ways off, but it appeared to be a solitary man on horseback galloping toward them.  If this was the best the bandits had to offer then there was little hope of finding excitement during this sojourn through the south.  Reu felt that perhaps the Republic had been so peaceful for so long that the council was overreacting to the rumors of unrest amongst the people.  Having never had to deal with any problems that required military force to resolve, they were now paranoid of allowing any to develop.

            “Well sir,” Reu’s second in command said as he rode up alongside him, “What do you want to do?”

            “This little expedition of ours has left me far too bored to wait around any longer than I have to.  Let’s ride out and meet him.”

            “Yes sir!”  Then calling out to the rest of the patrol he cried, “Come on boys, let’s move out!”

            The twenty soldiers rode out behind Reu, and within a few minutes the two parties had reached each other--the proud patrol of the Republic’s finest facing a haggard man mounted upon a horse that had clearly been ridden harder and farther than ever it had been meant to be.  Despite his obvious fatigue, the rider fidgeted with an anxious energy that betrayed a longing to share some great news that had been festering too long within him.

            “You have to stop them!” he managed to get out as he gasped for breath.

            “Calm down,” Reu answered, trying to keep his voice level, “You’re safe now.  Who is it that needs to be stopped?”

            “They came from the jungle--the strangest men I’ve ever seen.  Primitive savages.  Must have been a hundred of them at least.  Ran right into our town and started attacking us.”

            “Wait a second.  Now where is your town?  Do they need medical help?”

            “I don’t know.  I was so panicked that I didn’t stay around long enough to see what they’d done.  Probably killed them.  Some people they didn’t touch at all.  They’re all right.  The others, I don’t know--probably beyond our help.  I didn’t stay.  I wanted to warn them as quickly as I could.”

            “Warn who?”

            “They’re coming this way.  I’ve got to warn any other towns along this path to evacuate before they get here.”

            “Where are they now?”

            “Behind me.  I’ve been riding solid for nearly a day, so maybe half a day behind.  They’re on foot, but they’re moving fast and I doubt they’ve stopped to rest.  There’s something unnatural about them.”

            “Here,” said Reu handing him his flask, “You need something to drink, and it looks like your horse needs to rest.  I’ll have a couple of my men escort you to the nearest fort.  The rest of us will go take a look at the savages for ourselves and see what we can do.”

            “Thanks,” he said after emptying the flask, “but I can’t stop.  You go ahead and find the savages.  Just head due south and you’ll see them.  I’ve got to keep riding to the next town.  Oh, and be careful.  Like I said, there’s something that just isn’t natural about them.”

            He tossed the flask back to Reu and gave his horse a sharp kick, causing it to shoot off at a full gallop.

            Reu turned to his second in command and said, “Ride after him and make sure he’s OK.  That horse is going to throw him and leave him to die if he keeps pushing it like that.  The rest of us will go and take a look at these visitors that have gotten him so excited.”

            “Do you think there’s actually anyone out there?  I’d wager that one’s just had too much to drink, or maybe had some sharp blow to the head.”

            “I don’t know, but whatever it is, it certainly can’t be any less interesting than what we’ve seen so far.”

#

            Kathryn awoke and looked down at the too-small dress she was wearing, struggling for a moment to recall what had happened the previous night.  Then she remembered the other children, the food, the games, and the dancing and was filled once more with the excitement she had felt then.  Without bothering to change her clothes, she ran outside to find the rest of her family.  She was sure that a day such as this could bring nothing but magic.

            The sun shone as brightly as it had the day before, and the air was even warmer, making it feel more like spring than autumn.  Since the last harvest she had been aware of a certain, ever-present sadness about her parents, even when they were smiling.  Prior to that year she had always trusted that they would be able to take care of any problem, and the idea of worrying about the future had never occurred to her; but during those past months her faith in their omnipotence had begun to waiver.  Last night, however, there was no trace of that darkness.  They were genuinely happy again and Kathryn knew that whatever had been troubling them was gone for good.

            She ran toward the barn as she remembered that the day after the party was always spent there taking inventory of the harvest.  The warm air flowed easily through her lungs, fueling her with an inexhaustible well of energy.  Her legs continued pumping ever faster as if her body had no weight to offer any resistance.  The speed and ease with which her motion was achieved exhilarated her, driving her on to run even faster still.

            Too soon she reached the barn.  There she found her father and brothers packing away the products of the previous year’s labor and recording how much of each of the various crops had been gathered.  Kathryn was glad to see in them as they went about their work the same giddy excitement that she felt.  It was not just her.  This day really was full of magic.

            “Papa!”

            “Hey there!  Come here to help us out again?”

            “Yes papa.”  She looked around the barn and then added, “There’s a lot more than last year, isn’t there?”

            “Yes Kathryn.  This year we’ll be able to eat as much as we want and never be hungry.  Now come on, I need you to help me carry some things.”

            He watched with pride and amusement as his daughter carried small loads back and forth with as much excitement as if she were playing with the other children again.  Even his sons, who were now young men always eager to prove their maturity, were infected with a joy that made it seem as if they were playing a game rather than working.  Their labor was effortless, and despite the much larger harvest than in past years, they were well over half way done when it came time to break for lunch.

            As they left the barn, they saw a convoy of horse-drawn wagons coming toward them.  It was led by four men on horseback wearing cloaks of deep green.  The earlier promises of wonder and excitement that this day had made to Kathryn had now been fulfilled.  These were Imperial soldiers.

            “Papa look!” she said pointing toward the convoy and starting to run in their direction.

            Her father reached down and gently held her back by her shoulder.  “Yes, I see them.  They’re here to collect some of our extra food so that they can share it with people who weren’t as fortunate as us.  Come on, let’s go greet them.”

            He took Kathryn’s hand and, with his sons following behind, went out to meet the soldiers.  Kathryn kept her wide eyes fixed on those marvelous men as they walked toward them.  Everything about them indicated that they belonged to a different world than hers--one of a regal elegance that knew only joy.  Their horses were not unkempt beasts meant for menial labor, but proud, powerful creatures with sleek coats and neatly trimmed manes.  Their cloaks were not rags that had been pieced together and mended repeatedly to extend their lives, but garments of such rich color that they appeared to have been freshly woven that very morning.  Their bearing was not that of people hoping merely to survive whatever challenges life might bring them and live another day, but of people who would grab life with both hands and mold it to conform to their will.  As she was taking this all in, one of them happened to turn so that she was able to catch a glimpse of the pole-axe strapped to his back, almost causing her to squeal out loud in her ecstasy.  A staff nearly as tall as a man with a long curved blade at one end, the pole-axe was the preferred weapon of the Imperial army.

            “Welcome,” said Kathryn’s father, “what can I do for you?”

            “Greetings.  We’ve come to collect for the Empire.”

            Kathryn turned her head toward the soldier who had spoken and her eyes stuck on the wondrous man, unable to turn away.  She had never seen anyone with red hair before, and his was so bright that it seemed almost to shine of its own power.

            “Of course,” answered Kathryn’s father.  “Let me show you to our barns.”

            At first Kathryn was too much in awe to feel any sorrow as she watched the soldiers undoing her family’s work of that morning.  The great efficiency with which they loaded their wagons with the recently harvested crops amazed and fascinated her.  It was not until they started filling the second wagon that any apprehension began to creep in.

            Her father seemed to share her unease, and as the red-headed soldier walked by he noted in a tone that gave only the slightest betrayal of his misgivings, “You seem to be taking a lot more than last year.”

            “Yes, well unfortunately many parts of the Empire have suffered from a severe shortage of rain.  That’s forcing us to take a much larger percentage from those farmers like you who were fortunate enough to miss the drought,” replied the soldier, turning sharply back to his work as he finished speaking.

            “Papa,” whispered Kathryn as she stepped closer to him, “are they going to take everything?”

            “No Kathryn.  They’ll leave plenty for all of us to eat.  They just need to make sure that other families have enough food to survive.”

            “How do you know?”

            “It’s the Empire’s job to make sure everyone has enough to eat.  The people who are in charge of it are very wise and have been doing their jobs for a long time.  We just have to trust them.”

#

            Long before Abar unified the continent under his Empire, there was a sword smith named Haftus who perfected her craft to a level far beyond that of any of her predecessors.  Her blades were the lightest, sturdiest, and most well-balanced ever to be drawn from a forge.  This, however, was not where her true greatness lay.  She was not the only one who knew the secret techniques for decreasing the weight of a sword without sacrificing its strength, even if she did employ them with an unequaled mastery.  Such swords had the ability to greatly improve the abilities of a poor swordsman, but for a true master they added little to his skills.  The dream of Haftus was to make weapons that were worthy of the greatest warriors.

            For ten years she worked, developing entirely new methods of smithing.  The result was the seven most powerful swords ever made.  She had not merely made tools that were easier to manipulate as she and many others had done before, but weapons with a living strength, almost as if they had wills of their own.  They possessed a power beyond even that for which Haftus had hoped.  Upon wielding her creations her concern was no longer whether these blades were worthy of the greatest swordsmen, but whether any swordsman alive was worthy of her blades.  Such was the strength they contained, that they threatened to consume anyone who tried to use them without possessing the absolute mastery necessary for their control.

            To confine this awful power, she made seven sheaths capable of turning the wills of the swords dormant whenever they encased them.  As a further safeguard she imbued the swords with an ever-present longing to return to their sheaths.  Thus, without sufficient skill it would be impossible even to draw the blades.

            For many years the swords lay unused because none were found who could unsheathe them.  Haftus took pride in the fact that she had created instruments of greater power than any that had been wrought before, and yet she longed to see someone extract the full potential from her creations.  One day a terrible evil came to the continent and brought great devastation amongst the people.  Many men tried to face this foe, and all of them failed until seven warriors unmatched by any others arose.  To them the seven swords of Haftus were given.

#

            He had been so shocked by the loss of his father that he had not noticed the light leaving the forest.  Now that night had fully set in, he understood the desperate nature of his situation--he was a boy of eight in a forest where it was too dark for him to see, and who would have had no idea of how to find his way home even if he could.

            He and his father had set out from home that morning to hunt deer.  Although he was not permitted to handle a bow himself and they had still not seen any deer by mid-afternoon, he had been enjoying himself as he always did on these expeditions.  They had been preparing to turn back when he saw a large shape moving through the brush and pointed it out to his father.  Quietly they crept to where it had disappeared and there they spied a deer drinking from a river no more than thirty yards away.  It was a buck of such size that neither would have imagined such a creature could exist outside the forests of ancient legends.

            Cautiously, his father extended an open hand to him.  Recognizing this silent signal, he drew an arrow from the quiver he was holding and placed it in the outstretched palm.  His father notched the arrow, pulled back the string, and took aim, all as smoothly as possible so as not to startle the deer.  As the arrow was released, they both watched first with expectancy and then disappointment as it lodged itself in the buck’s haunches.  The great beast snapped its head around so that it was staring directly at them, somehow knowing that they had been responsible for its pain.  For a timeless span they stared back, held by that intense gaze.  Not until the first hint of a charge was the spell broken, allowing them to run off in different directions.  They could not match the speed of the mighty buck, and the boy spun around just in time to see it knock his father to the ground and savagely trample him before bolting off into the woods.  He ran over to him, but he was already gone.  The rest of his daylight hours had been spent wandering in aimless grief.

            Now his sorrow was turning into panic as he began to think less about the loss of his father’s life and more about the possible loss of his own.  Faster he ran through the unseen mess of roots, shrubs, and fallen branches that grabbed at his feet, desperate to catch a glimpse of something familiar.  First in one direction and then in another, each starting out with such promise but each only leading to greater despair.  So he continued darting randomly to and fro until his legs collapsed beneath him.  Sitting with his knees pulled tightly into his chest, he now noticed that his pant legs had become torn and his arms and legs covered with freshly bleeding scrapes from his rampage through the dense growth of the forest.  He did not know where he was.  He began to cry.

            For over an hour he sat there sobbing, oblivious to all but the hopelessness of his situation.  It was not until he was too tired even to cry that he heard the rustling of branches and began to look around.  The sight of three pairs of shining eyes peering unwaveringly at him caused him to freeze.  This paralysis was only fleeting, though, as a fresh surge of energy soon propelled him away from the ominous onlookers.  As he sprinted blindly ahead he did not dare look back, but even so he could tell by the noises growing ever louder behind him that not only had they taken up the pursuit, but that they were gaining as well.

            The sudden burst of brightness as he entered the clearing startled him, the full moon shining all the more brilliantly when compared to the depth of the darkness he had left behind.  The light gave him both the courage to turn his head and the ability at last to identify what was chasing him.  What he saw were three wolves emerging from the trees at a full sprint.  Turning back to resume his flight, he ran into the legs of a man who had suddenly appeared in front of him.  The stranger did not stagger in the least, but simply looked down at him calmly and with a trace of a smile.  His posture was completely relaxed, as if he had been watching four children playing tag rather than a young child frantically fleeing from ravenous predators.  The boy wasted only an instant looking up at him before remembering his pursuers and turning to see the nearest of the wolves lunging at him.

            In one fluid motion the man drew his sword, made three swift strokes, and sheathed it again.  Suddenly the boy found himself standing there with the three wolves lying slain before him and the man smiling down at him as if what he had just done had required so little effort that it was already forgotten.

            “Hello,” said the man, “my name’s Asahel.  It looks like you could use some help.”

            “I...I’m lost.”

            “Well, where are you from?  Maybe I can help you find your way home.”

            “Eras.”

            “Ah yes, I’ve heard of that city and it’s not far away.  But its gate must be shut for the night.  Why don’t you sleep at my place tonight and I’ll take you there in the morning?”

            The boy nodded his consent, hesitantly because he felt that he was forgetting something in the extraordinariness of the situation.  Then it came to him and he burst out, “But you must be careful walking around at night.  There might be soldiers from Orim out here!”

            “And what does a little boy like you know about soldiers?” asked Asahel with a short laugh.

            “I know that soldiers from Orim are very mean and very dangerous.  They want to destroy our city, but they can’t because our wall is too strong for them, so they wander through the countryside attacking anyone they find from Eras.”

            “Then what were you doing out here all by yourself?”

            “I wasn’t by myself.  I was hunting with my dad.  He’s strong.  He can protect us from anyone.  But he had...he had an accident...”

            Seeing the painful memories about to choke out the young boy’s words, Asahel cut him off, saying, “I’m sure your dad was a mighty warrior.  But don’t you think that I can protect you too?”

            The boy looked at the sword at his side and remembered.  “Yes,” he answered.

Asahel held out his hand for him to take hold of and began leading him back through the forest.  The darkness had somehow changed its character, now making the woods seem peaceful and restful.  The sounds of the occasional bird or animal moving through the trees no longer brought any terror, but a reassurance that they were not alone.  His father would not come back, but with Asahel holding his hand, he knew that somehow everything would be all right.

            As they at last reached the edge of the forest, Asahel pointed to a city that was not far off and asked, “Do you know what city that is?”

            The boy looked and saw that it had a sturdy wall just like his home, but he recognized that it was not Eras, so he shook his head and whispered, “No.”

            “That’s my city.  Come on.”

            Even in the darkness the two guards stationed on the wall above the gate must have been able to recognize Asahel, for the heavy wooden doors had already been opened by the time they reached them.  Upon entering, Asahel led him to a large house that stood in the center of the city.

            “Is this yours?” the boy asked, impressed that the house of his host was the largest one in sight.

            “Yes.  Do you like it?”

            “It’s just as big as the house where our chief lives.”

            “Well, it is a bit much for just me, but we chiefs often have important guests, so it’s essential to have a house large enough and fancy enough to give them a fitting place to stay.  You must be very tired.  Let’s go in.”

            Asahel took him to a room that was nearly as big as his entire house back in Eras.

            “This is where you’ll sleep,” he said as he picked him up and placed him in the large bed standing in the center of the room.

            The boy lay there and watched as Asahel walked out.  As soon as he was alone he fell asleep.  It was not until noon of the next day that he awoke again.  Asahel brought him a large breakfast, which he devoured quickly, and afterwards they set out toward Eras.

            “Do you have any family left to return to?” asked Asahel after they had been walking for some time.

            “Yes.  I have my mother, two sisters and a brother.”

            “And how old are your sisters and brother?”

            “My brother is just a baby, and my sisters are two and five.”

            Asahel thought for a moment and said, “Without your father, your mother will need help finding food for your family.  Since you’re the oldest, that’ll be your job.”

            “But I can’t.  I’m too young to hunt or work.”

            “Whenever you feel like you need help, just return to this hill.  I’ll take care of everything for you.”

            “But how will I find my way back here.”

            “Look just over there.”

            The boy had not been paying attention to what was around them as they had been walking, and was surprised to see his home city standing there not more than a hundred yards away.

            “Now run along and return to your family.  And remember that whenever you need help, you can find me here.”

            “Thank you,” he answered.  “But can’t you come with me.  You should meet my mom.”

            “No, it would be better if I didn’t.  But you go--they must be very worried about you.  You’ll see me again soon.”

            The boy did as he was told and took off toward the city’s gate.  The familiar scene that greeted him as he passed through it caused the tragedy of his loss to suddenly strike him with a force that he had not felt until that moment.  Everything had been so surreal--the unseen terrors of the forest, the mythic hero who had rescued him, the opulent chambers where he had spent the night--that it had been almost unbelievable.  Now that he was back in the streets along which he had walked so many times with his father, the thought that he would never see him there again finally became concrete.  His despair, which had been all but forgotten while he had been with Asahel, welled up with a reinvigorated strength, and so it was that he was sobbing violently when at last he reached his house and was reunited with his family.

            Although it was quite clear that some tragedy had befallen him, it took some time before his mother was able to coax out the details in any coherent form.  She tried to retain her composure for the sake of her children, but the twin griefs of having lost both the love of her life and the provider for her family were too much.  Feeling as helpless as the children for whom she was now the sole caretaker, she began to cry, and the family mourned together until well after the sun had set.  It was all they had the power to do.  Then, after they had exhausted themselves and sat staring silently at one another, the boy remembered the promise that had been made to him.

            “Don’t worry mother,” he whispered, “I’ll take care of us all.”

            The next morning he left his house as soon as it was light enough to see and the city gates were opened.  He ran to the hill where he and Asahel had parted and was surprised to see the man already standing there waiting for him.

            “You came!” exclaimed the boy.

            “I figured you’d probably come here this morning.  Here, maybe this will help.”

            He took a small pouch from his belt and handed it to the boy, who opened it to find two gold coins.  Dumping them into his hand, he looked them over in wonder.  These would be enough to feed his family for at least a week.

            It took him a few moments to recover from his surprise and remember his manners enough to say, “Thank you!”

            “You’re welcome.  And remember, whenever you need anything, don’t hesitate to meet me here.  You’ll soon be a man strong enough to take care of your family yourself, but until then, I’ll always be here for you.”

            So for the next two months they continued in that way--about once a week the boy would return to the hill and find Asahel waiting for him with two gold coins.  He would take the money back to his mother who was then able to buy food for them to live off of.  When she asked him from where the money came, he simply told her that it had been given to him by a friend and that he would take care of them as long as they needed it.  She did not press any further for fear that this miraculous gift might vanish if questioned too closely.

            One day as the boy came to Asahel, the man asked him, “Would you be willing to do a favor for me?”

            “Of course.  I’ll do anything you want.”

            Asahel removed his sheath from his belt and then drew the sword from it.  He handed the sheath to the boy and said, “Tonight, when it is dark and everyone has gone to sleep, lay this on the ground directly behind the gate of your city with the opening facing the doors.  Do you think you can do that?”

            “Yes...but why?”

            “That’s a secret, so I can’t tell you.  And you mustn’t tell anyone else about this either.  You’ll just have to believe me when I tell you that it’s very important.  Do you trust me?”

            “Of course,” replied the boy, “You can count on me.”

            All the way home the boy tried to guess at the purpose of his task.  He could come up with no believable theories, but that only heightened his anticipation over what fantastic spectacle awaited.  How could anything but the truly wondrous come from a man like Asahel?  When he returned to his house, he hid the sheath inside an empty barrel around the back and then went about the rest of his day as normal until his mother called him in for bed.  There he lay with his eyes closed, but was careful not to actually fall asleep.  After his mother had also gone to bed he silently crept out of the house and retrieved the sheath.  Making his way to the gate unseen was easy since there was never anyone out at that hour.  The only other people awake in the town were the two watchmen posted above the gate, but their attention was focused intently outward.  After he had completed his mission, the boy returned home and sneaked back into his bed, congratulating himself on having carried it out without being detected.

            Outside the city at the edge of the woods, Asahel sat clutching the hilt of his sword with both hands.  The physical strain he was under was evident to all those who were waiting with him amongst the trees.  They knew that he needed to focus all his attention on this single task and waited patiently without disturbing him.

            At last his eyes flashed open and he said quietly, “It’s time.”

            He released the sword and fell backward, at last relieved of his burden.  The blade flew toward the gate, anxious to return to its home as quickly as it could.  For hours it had fought against its master’s will in a vain attempt to find its sheath.  With each passing minute it had increased its effort so that when it was at last released, it would not let anything stop it from finding its destination--not even a sturdy wooden gate.

            Within seconds of the gate shattering, the army of Orim poured through the gap.  By the time the weary Asahel had entered and collected his sword, now sitting contently in its sheath, flames were already leaping vigorously from the houses.  In the span of the next quarter hour, the war between Orim and Eras was ended.

#

            It was the first time in her life that Kathryn had not believed her father.  He had said that they needed to trust the soldiers.  He had said that they needed to consider the best interests of everyone.  He had said that somehow they would survive, even if the soldiers’ pillaging had been more detrimental to this year’s harvest than the weather had been to the last.  Despite his words, Kathryn could see the pain in his face as he had spoken to her.  If he would not do anything about it, then she would.

            As the soldiers had been loading the second wagon, Kathryn had sneaked onto the first and hidden herself beneath the canvas that had been stretched over the goods to protect them from the elements.  She was determined to stay with the crops until she had seen for herself where they were going.  For several hours already they had been riding, and Kathryn had no idea where they were, but thus far she had yet to consider the problem of finding her way home.  When they finally stopped, the soldiers dismounted and she could hear them approaching her wagon.  Her entire body tensed up in anticipation of needing to act quickly.

            “I’m hungry.  Let’s stop and eat something before we pillage the next one.”

            “Did we get anything good at that last place?”

            “It was mostly wheat, but there was some corn and other vegetables we could roast up.  Start a fire.”

            Kathryn prepared to run as soon as they lifted the canvas off her cart, but they never did.  Looking at the bales of wheat surrounding her, the words that she had been too scared to really listen to finally made sense--they must have gone to the other cart.  Her anxiety melted away further at the sound of retreating footsteps followed by the crackling of a fire.

            “Here you go.  Throw those on there.”

            “So how much do you suppose we’ll be able to take from these folks?”

            “Don’t know.  It looks like it’s been a good year all around, so there’s no reason we shouldn’t be able to get at least as much from these as from the last.”

            “And look at how low these quotas are from the Empire.  We’ll be able to keep almost half of this for ourselves.”

            “Well it’s a year of plenty my friends.  Someone has to reap the surplus.”

            They stopped speaking and began to eat.  Kathryn’s fear had been drowned out by a growing rage that she was now struggling to keep from erupting and giving away her position.  She had always dreamed of visiting the capital, but the only glimpse she had ever gotten was of the soldiers who came from there each year after the harvest.  From their appearance she had imagined the capital must be a truly magical city of unblemished beauty and goodness.  That they should trust the edicts coming from such a place seemed only natural.  Now she saw that she and the rest of her family had been deceived.  Their fancy clothing and well-groomed horses were only a means of covering up the corruption that marked their true nature.

            It was only a brief respite, and the cart was soon moving again, but this time it was a much shorter journey before it again came to rest.  They must have arrived at their next victims.  Kathryn debated within herself what she should do, but as soon as she heard the lies of the soldiers being spoken once more, her desire for justice took over.

            “Don’t listen to them!” she shouted as she scrambled out of the cart.  “They’re stealing extra food and keeping it for themselves!”

            She saw the four soldiers along with three farmers staring back at her speechless.  The red-headed one was the first to recover.

            “What are you doing here?” he started in a friendly tone without a trace of malice.  “Were you trying to sneak off with us to see the capital?  Don’t you know that your parents will be worried about you?”

            “But I heard you.  You’re taking more than you’re supposed to.  You already robbed our farm.  Now give it back!”

            “Now where did you hear such things?  Maybe you happened to overhear someone saying that we’re taking more than we’d like to, but I can assure you that we wouldn’t do it if it weren’t absolutely necessary.  You see there have been bad droughts in many places and the people living in those regions need you to share some of your food with them.  You want to help other people, don’t you?”

            “That’s not what you said before...”  Kathryn started again before being interrupted by one of the farmers reaching down and grabbing her shoulder.

            The farmer, whom she recognized from the previous night’s celebration, spoke to her gently, saying, “Come on Kathryn, you need to calm down.  These men are just doing their job.  You must have misheard them.  Go on inside and we’ll find someone to take you home.”  He then turned toward the soldiers, “Sorry about that.  Go ahead and take whatever you need.”

#

            Kathryn’s first year of study at the Imperial capital had been far more difficult than she had anticipated, and not for the reasons she would have expected.  The course work was challenging, but she could tell that she was having an easier time with it than most of her classmates.  It was the loneliness that gave her the most trouble.  When dealing with her peers, she always felt that they were too unsure of their own abilities, and consequently they had become obsessed with trying to prove themselves to everyone around them.  This in itself was not a bad thing, but they seemed to find it easier to bring others down to their level rather than trying to lift themselves up.  As one of the brighter students at the school, Kathryn had become a favorite target, with her accent often being the only thing they could find to criticize.

            Fortunately the school was not the only place in the capital to find people her own age.  The older students at the military academy were also in their late teens, and she had met two young men with whom she very much enjoyed spending time.  Despite their vastly different personalities, Jorim and Jacob had been close friends with each other for years before Kathryn had met them.  She was waiting for them now in one of the Imperial city’s many gardens where they always met her after they were done with their day’s training.

            “Hey there, Kathryn,” called Jorim as he and Jacob approached.

            “Hey,” replied Kathryn smiling.  “How was your day?”

            “Rough.  I’m gonna be sore tomorrow,” answered Jorim.

            Jacob laughed and added, “Maybe the sparring wouldn’t be so bad if you tried using your staff to block every once in a while instead of your body.”

            “Fair enough, but that’s easier said than done for most of us.  We’re not all super-humans like you.”

            “What about you, Kathryn?  Another glorious day learning the accumulated wisdom of the ages?”

            “In a sense,” she said with a note of frustration creeping into her voice.  “It’s all just rote memorization.  There’s no discussion, no debate, no attempt to really understand what they’re teaching us.”

            “Well,” replied Jorim, “you have to start with something.  No use trying to understand the facts before you’ve learned them.”

            “I’ve learned plenty of facts.  Name any date in the history of the Empire and I can tell you what happened on it.  What we don’t get to do is discuss any opinions about them.  We’ll learn every minute detail about every event in Imperial history, but we never get to talk about what they mean, whether they were right or wrong.  The schools are supposed to prepare people to serve on the council, but all they teach is how to regurgitate whatever information they decide to feed us.”

            “But haven’t those issues already been debated?” asked Jacob.  “Scholars have been studying the history of the Empire for years.  Why question their wisdom?”

            “How are councilors supposed to lead if all they know how to do is repeat what they’ve been told?”

            Jacob continued as Jorim stood by and listened, “Well, whether or not you think they can, they have managed to lead, and quite effectively too.  The Empire’s been around over four hundred years, as you must have learned at some point during your thorough study of history.  What makes you think they should change how they’re running it?”

            “Because maybe they’re wrong.  We’ve always been told to respect our elders and to obey without questioning, but how will we ever know if there’s a better way of doing things if we never explore the options?  Or worse, maybe they know there’s a better way and are intentionally holding us back to maintain the status quo.”

            “Why would they do that?”

            “Power, maybe.  They’re training us to accept whatever they tell us as truth and not to think things through for ourselves.  If you think about it, they could be doing whatever they wanted and no one would ever stop to question them.”

            Sensing an escalation in emotion, Jorim finally interrupted his two friends, “I agree that the government doesn’t openly encourage people to question their decisions--and maybe they should--but it’s difficult to rule when you’re asking people to try to find fault with you.  It’s only fair that we show some trust in them.  Besides, if you take the time to think through their policies, I’m sure you’ll find that they do have good reasons for them, even if they don’t always publicize them.”

            “But they should actively encourage us to question them,” answered Kathryn.  “The government should hold itself to a higher standard than individuals, and they shouldn’t be afraid to have us scrutinize them.  They should want to build up their citizens by allowing them to think--not strive to turn them into mindless slaves.”

            “I think that’s overstating things a bit,” replied Jorim.  “Maybe some of the policies of the Empire can be a bit conservative at times, but I don’t think there’s anything malicious about them.  If people want to question their actions, there are proper ways to do it.  You’re here, right?  You’re going to be a councilor who’s not afraid to question everything, aren’t you?  So they can’t be completely suppressing free thought.”

            “I suppose...”

            Jacob chuckled and added, “Just don’t get too carried away with the reforms, OK?  Otherwise we might have to lead a military coup and set up a nice little reactionary regime.”

            Kathryn laughed.  Despite the strength of conviction on both sides, these debates never became too combative.  Jorim tried hard to see both sides of every issue and really think through his beliefs, which she respected.  Jacob, on the other hand, was stubborn through and through, but was simply too good natured to ever be angry with.

“Don’t worry,” she said.  “I’ll do my best not to upset your precious Empire too much.”

#