The Children of Jacob Part 6/10

            “So what’d you think of that class?”

            “I liked it.  I think it’s amazing what you can derive starting from such a simple set of assumptions.”

            “Yeah, definitely.  But I didn’t quite understand why the disorder of any system should have to increase.  I mean, it makes sense intuitively that if you put a drop of dye in water that it’ll spread out over time, but I didn’t quite get why.”

            Although he always enjoyed his science classes, he was also bothered by the fact that he had to take so many of the results on faith because he simply could not follow his instructors’ explanations.  Perhaps that was why he liked talking with his friend so much.  She seemed to understand everything, and it was reassuring to know someone other than the teacher who comprehended the logic that was beyond his grasp.  The confirmation of a trusted and unbiased witness made everything more believable, even if he was seldom able to reason it out for himself after her explanations.

            “The disordered states are more probable,” his friend began, “so really the law just boils down to, ‘Given enough time, the most probable outcome is the one with the highest probability.’  It’s pretty much a tautology.”

            “But didn’t the teacher say that his results were based on the assumption that all states were equally probable?”

            “OK, that’s true, but I guess what I meant was there are more states that can be labeled as disordered than as ordered.  There are lots of different ways you can mix the particles of water and dye so that it’ll look like a homogeneous solution, but there are far fewer ways that you can arrange the particles and have a well defined drop of dye surrounded by water.”

            “Ah, I see.”  Tired of thinking about the subject he walked along in silence until he thought of another.  “You know, sometimes I wonder what they were thinking making this school.  I mean, it’s a good idea in principle, but some parts of the Empire just aren’t as sophisticated as others.  What’s some kid who’s been raised on a farm in the middle of nowhere going to do here?”

            “But isn’t that the point--to provide an education to people who might not get one otherwise.”

            “Sure, that’s the point, but can it work?  Can someone who’s been raised by a family that doesn’t know anything but manual labor be remolded into a thinker.”

            “Have you ever worked on a farm?”

            “No, never even seen one.”

            “Well it requires a lot more thinking than you might expect:  judging soils, planning irrigation channels, knowing which crops to rotate with each other, forecasting the weather.”

            “Wait...did you...”

            “Yup.  Coming here was the first time I ever set foot off my parents’ farm.”

            “I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean...”

            “Don’t worry about it.  If you’ve never even been to a farm, how could you know?  Anyway, that’s why you come to school, right?  To learn things you never would have been able to learn otherwise.”

#

Kathryn was not even listening to the debate taking place around her any more.  She remembered how exhilarating it had been convening the first council after the very first free election in the new Republic.  Without the requirement that all councilors pass some official exam, she was sure the government would truly be a representative body of the people--how foolish she had been to think such things!  Most of them were carry-overs from the Imperial council, with the number of new representatives being able to be counted on one hand.  Now here she was, mired in an intense debate that sounded no different from the many she had endured under the old regime.  Had her efforts all been wasted?

            Bored, Kathryn allowed her eyes to wander over the faces of her fellow councilors.  First there was the imperialist.  Either he was too oblivious to have noticed, or just too stubborn to acknowledge its occurrence, but he persisted in behaving as if the rebellion had never taken place.  At least once a week he would make a motion to increase collection quotas that had long ago been abolished.  He refuted any attempts at innovation by quoting regulations from the old system and even went so far as to attempt to have the last emperor’s birthday restored to holiday status.

            Then there was the aristocrat.  His house had possessed wealth for as far back as any records had memory.  In principle he believed in the ideals of the rebellion, but his riches formed too great of a barrier between him and his fellow citizens for him to actually understand what those ideals meant.  How could one who had never had to do any work or had never felt the fear of starving comprehend what was needed to help those who had to toil ceaselessly in order to survive?  His heart was there, but it did not possess the sense of urgency that was required to effect real change.

            Across from him was a man who had become just as cut off from the world, but through different means.  His wealth was not comprised of material goods, but of a storehouse of knowledge that had been meticulously accumulated throughout his life.  He had read all the theories of the greatest thinkers, but had never seen the reality in which they were carried out.  As an idealist he was invaluable in exciting people about different causes.  His worth quickly evaporated, however, when any of the many unaccounted for problems of real life interfered.

            Around the table sat many others like these.  Nearly all of them had been educated in the Imperial school, and they were all well known persons in their home states.  People liked the familiar.  How could she have expected them to vote for anyone but these famous people when given the choice?  Maybe she was not being fair to herself.  Maybe grand changes such as she had envisioned took time.  The seeds had been planted, but only time could make them grow.  At least, she hoped that it would.

#

            The three days of nonstop riding were made to seem much longer by the complete lack of scenery.  At no point between them and the horizon was there a change in elevation of more than ten feet.  Where geography failed them, so too did the plant-life, with the occasional lonely tree providing the only relief from the monotony.  It was the route that every soldier dreaded more than any other in the Empire, connecting the northern cattle country to the capital via the vast plains.  Even the bandits avoided it, for any ambush could be seen from miles away in that open country.  Still, despite the fiercest concentration of power that the demons of boredom could muster, it was not totally without its pleasures.  Some entrepreneurial spirit had realized that the unification of the continent under the Empire would necessitate travel and that travel would necessitate inns.  At a point along the road perfectly judged to be the limit of a man’s ability to endure the plains, he had constructed a haven for weary travelers.  Since then the business had been passed down from one generation to the next, and over the years it had developed a considerable reputation for itself.

            As soon as the soldiers arrived they were met by stable boys who took care of their wagons and horses while they themselves were escorted inside.  Immediately upon passing through the door they were greeted with cold drinks and a large table at which to rest themselves.  The inn had only a few narrow slits to serve as windows, the primary source of light being a large fireplace at one end, which kept the room in a perpetual state of dim illumination regardless of the time of day.  Keeping track of the time was made even more difficult by the continuous arrival and departure of travelers at all hours.  As a result, the place was always full of people engaged in boisterous conversations.  The main hall only held about fifty at any one time, but the low light and ceaseless activity made it seem like far more.  Inside those walls guests felt themselves to be always in the midst of a grand feast.

            The atmosphere quickly washed away every thought of their wearisome journey from the soldiers’ minds, and that group of men who had so recently felt they could hardly stand another minute of each others’ company were now joking together and laughing loudly.  The riotous conversation made the minutes pass swiftly so that it seemed as if they had only just arrived when their meal was set before them.  There were piles of roasted meat, steaming vegetables, and freshly baked bread heaped so high that the soldiers were relieved of any fears that their appetites might outlast the food.  The talking suddenly stopped as they set about filling their mouths with as much as they could as rapidly as they were able.  When at last they were too full to continue feasting and yet too in love with the wonderful flavors to stop, their consumption was reduced to a small bite here and there in the midst of their renewed discussions.  It was at this point, when they were all feeling fully satisfied with life, that the innkeeper came to their table and introduced himself.

            “How was your meal?  Would you like anything else?  How about another round of drinks?  Just say the word, and it’ll be yours.”

            The key to the long-time success of the inn was the pleasure that each generation of owners took in running it.  This was the innkeeper’s world, and he delighted in wielding the powers he possessed there to fulfill his guests’ every wish.  Whatever gods ruled the world outside those walls were stingy, often withholding their gifts without regard for anyone’s needs.  Crops would fail when families were most hungry.  The sky would remain cloudless when the ground was already too hard for tilling.  Fishing boats would return empty when the demand at the markets was greatest.  In his world, however, the innkeeper was omnipotent and he made sure that none of these defects were present.  Here he made everyone a king and left no one a pauper.

            Each of the soldiers at the table thanked their host and commended him for the outstanding business he ran.  They told him stories of their travels and he repaid them with some of the many tales he had heard during his time there.  After he had assured himself that they were not lacking in anything, the innkeeper excused himself to check on his other guests.  Shortly thereafter the soldiers all realized how tired they were and made their ways to their rooms, unsure of whether or not night had yet fallen.

#

            It could scarcely be called a home.  Although its single room was only fifteen by ten feet, the owner never worried about finding space to store his possessions.  Indeed, with a desk, a chair, and a mattress as the only furniture, the place actually appeared to be too large for him.  On the desk were a pen, an inkwell, and two large stacks of parchment.  The one pile contained only blank pages, while the other contained sheets packed with small, but very neat and legible, writing.  The man who lived there was currently sitting at the desk writing, which was where he spent nearly all his waking time and often slept as well.  His current work was an epic about true love, as all great stories were, in which the hero was faced with the decision of being forever parted with his love or seeing everyone in his village destroyed.  In the end he would find a way to cheat fate and save his neighbors without having to sacrifice his own happiness.

            This story was only one in a long series of novels that were set in a wide variety of exotic places and eras in history.  After he had released one of his works, he paid little attention to how it was received.  He would have been shocked to learn about the following he had acquired and even more surprised to hear the speculations they were making about his own life.  Surely in order to compose such fantastic narratives he must himself have led a life of high adventure.  How could one capture such emotions without having experienced first hand the heights of the most passionate loves and the depths of the bitterest rages?

            Unfortunately, it was not true.  At one time he had been a modest land owner with enough wealth to ensure himself a comfortable life.  Then he had fallen in love.  The way they had met--his having lost his way only to stumble across a poor maiden in distress--had seemed so ordained by fate that if he had lived inside the pages of a novel, it would have been plain to any reader that the two of them would spend the rest of their days living happily ever after together.  In real life it had not been so simple.  They had been in love for many months and had even begun talking of marriage when, for reasons that he still did not understand, she had left him.  He wished he could say that he saw the greater good in their separation or that he was better off for having met her, but he could not.  Since that day his life had shriveled up on itself, cutting off his soul from the outer world.  All that was left him were his stories.

#

            “I won’t leave until he agrees to pay me for the ox he killed!”

            “It was sick when you loaned it to me and you knew it!  He’s just trying to pass off his bad luck onto me!”

            These two men had been arguing before Elika in this manner for a quarter hour already, and before them had been an entire day filled with similarly heated but inane debates.  At first he had met his duties as the chief of this region enthusiastically, questioning those who brought each dispute before him until he felt he understood every nuance of the situation thoroughly.  Only then did he feel that he could make a fair judgment.  Within a few days, however, Elika had found that in many instances there was no clear owner of the guilt regardless of how many details he discovered.  After pronouncing his verdict in such cases he always felt as if his ruling had been foolish.  This constant, nagging uncertainty along with the sheer volume of cases brought before him left him perpetually fatigued, further impairing his judgment and starting a cycle that continuously led him deeper into despair.

            “You will pay him half of what the ox was worth,” said Elika wearily, interrupting one of the petitioners in the middle of an argument.

            “But...” they both interjected together.

            Elika’s body shot up rigidly from its slouched position, and he gave the two men a stare so fierce that they instantly forgot their protests.  Hanging their heads meekly, they backed out of the chamber, the whole time avoiding eye contact with their suddenly terrifying leader.  As soon as they were gone Elika slumped back down into his chair, disappointed with himself for having allowed these ordinary men to provoke him to such anger.  He was too weary to deal with any more of this.  Informing his scribe that there would be no more rulings that day, he left the palace.

            His path took him into the woods, as it had often done those past few weeks.  The deeper in he went, the easier it was for him to leave his responsibilities behind.  How had his life become so complicated?  Was there any way to regain the simplicity he had known before?  It was not just the legal disputes, but the myriad of other administrative tasks with which he had been shackled as well.  From setting the taxes to maintaining the roads, he was the foundation upon which the entire region rested and he was starting to doubt whether he would be able to support that burden for much longer.

            He had become so agitated that he lost track of how far and for how long he had been walking until he found himself emerging from the woods that marked the edge of his realm.  Not much farther beyond him stood a small village.  Since the sun was beginning to set, and also because he was still not ready to return home, he decided to walk down to it and see if he could find lodging there for the night.  As he entered he realized that it was probably too small to contain an inn, but fortunately there was still a man making his way across the central square.

            “Hello there,” called out Elika.

            The man stopped and turned toward the stranger.  “Hello.”

            “I’m a traveler who’s a long way from home.  Is there any place in this town where I might be able to spend the night?”

            “If you’re tired you’re welcome to stay under my roof,” replied the man as he drew closer.  “What’s your name?”

            “Elika.  And thank you.”

            “We’re always willing to help out a stranger here.  It’s good luck, you know, and we could sure use all the luck we can get.  Come on, let’s get inside before it gets too dark.”

            The two walked along toward the man’s house until he broke the silence by asking Elika, “Are you a soldier?”

            “No, why do you ask?”

            “Well, I see you have that sword there and there are only a couple kinds of folks that go about armed.”

            Elika laughed, “Well, I’m not a bandit either, if that’s what you’re thinking.  This is a very special sword that was given to me as a gift.  Only seven like it were ever made, so I keep it with me at all times.”

            “Really?” asked the man, his eyes growing wide.  “Do you mind if I take a look?”

            “You’re welcome to try,” said Elika as he unclasped his belt and slid off his weapon.

            He handed it to the man, still in its sheath.  It was heavier than it looked like it should be for its size.  The man then attempted to draw it, but it would not slide even an inch.

            “It’s stuck.”

            “No it’s not.  Give it here.”

            The man obeyed and upon taking it back into his hands, Elika drew the blade without any effort, holding it out for the man to see.

            “Can I hold it?”

            “No,” answered Elika.  “If you weren’t able even to draw it, then you certainly won’t be able to wield it.  A sword such as this is not for the inexperienced.”

            He then sheathed it and reattached it to his belt.  They did not speak again until after they were seated by a small fireplace in the man’s home.  First thing after they had entered, the man had started a fire and hung a pot over it filled with water and some coarsely chopped vegetables.

            “The stew will only take a few minutes, if you’re hungry,”

            “Thank you,” said Elika.  “Some food would be great.”

            Then the man’s demeanor suddenly changed.  He went instantly from being the joyous host to a small, timid man with slouched shoulders.

            In a nervous voice he asked, “You must be some great warrior to own a sword like that, right?”

            “I don’t know about ‘great,’ but I have fought one or two battles in my time and have been lucky enough to survive.”

            “Well, you see, our village has fallen on hard times, and if you don’t mind my asking, maybe you could help us out.”

            “What sort of trouble are you in?”

            “For as long as it’s been here, our village has been under the protection of the earth goddess.  We have a shrine in the center of the main square from which she watches over us and grants us abundant crops.  But another village was jealous of the blessings we received from her and came in the middle of the night and stole her.  We sent spies to see whether we could steal her back, but they are much more numerous than we and are guarding her too carefully.  Without her our crops will fail, and I’m afraid we won’t be able to survive the year.  But with a skilled warrior such as you leading the way, if you were able to spare your valuable time to help some poor folk such as us, I’m sure we’d be able to get her back.”

            Elika considered the request for a moment.  With the army under his command waiting for him at home, it would be nothing to march into the enemy village and take whatever he wanted.  Somehow, however, that idea seemed repugnant to him.  The thought of returning to that complex world--of asking for help from that system from which he yearned to escape--sent shivers through his body.  Besides, against such provincial foes he would not need any help.  He was once more in a realm where he could control his own fate, and the realization of this freedom instantly dissolved the despair with which he had been encumbered.

            “Just point me in the direction of their village, and I’ll retrieve your goddess.”

            He set out early the next morning.  It was about a three hour walk and he made it alone, having refused the assistance offered him by the villagers.  Their lack of experience in such matters would have made them more of a hindrance than a help.  When he arrived at his destination he walked calmly down the main street.  Many people were out, and as he passed by they stopped and stared.  Elika simply continued on his way as if not noticing them.  Eventually one of them stepped into his path and addressed him.

            “Welcome, stranger.  What brings you to our village?”

            “I have come to retrieve an earth goddess which was stolen from your neighbors.  If you could show me where it is, I’d be most grateful.”

            “I’m sorry, but we’re not going to return it.  That goddess has brought us good fortune ever since it came to our village.  If it wanted to return, then why hasn’t it punished us with bad luck instead of rewarding us with good?”

            “It has brought you bad luck.  Show me where the goddess is and maybe it’ll pass you by.”

            As they had been talking a crowd of men had gathered around them.  They were armed with an assortment of farm implements--staves, scythes, hoes, and sickles.  A few of them even had swords.  Their presence filled the man confronting Elika with confidence and brought a smile to his lips as he continued speaking.

            “Bad things may be coming our way, but I think that perhaps you will be the one to suffer from them rather than us.”

            “I don’t wish to waste any more time,” answered Elika, his voice remaining calm throughout the conversation.  “If you won’t help me then maybe one of these other men will.”

            “I doubt that.  They’re all friends of mine and they don’t like strangers much.”

            “Then I’ll just have to search for it myself.  Good day.”

            Elika made a move to walk around him, but the man stepped into his path.  As soon as he did so, he was sent staggering back as the edge of Elika’s hand caught him sharply in the sternum.  Elika then continued on until he reached the edge of the surrounding crowd where he was met by the curved blade of a scythe flying toward his head.  Before the wielder of that weapon understood what had happened, Elika had drawn his sword, sliced the shaft of the scythe in half, and returned his blade to its sheathe.  For an instant the shocked spectators withdrew out of his way, but it only took a few seconds for them to regain their composure.  Then they swarmed upon him with angry shouts of threats and intimidation, hacking away furiously.  Once more the sword was unsheathed and began driving back the assailants.  Elika quickly broke through the crowd, but rather than escaping he turned back upon them.  Fear took hold of the untrained villagers, and although they still may have been able to overwhelm Elika with their superior numbers, many would have surely suffered grave injury in the process, and none were willing to assume that risk.  Instead they fled, pushing each other out of the way in a chaotic stampede.  Elika continued driving them back until he stood alone in the street.

            “Will someone show me where you have taken the earth goddess,” he called out to the hidden villagers, “or will I need to tear your village apart in order to find it?”

            “It’s in the shrine at the end of the road,” replied a frightened voice from an unseen location.  “Just take it and leave.”

            Elika turned and walked down the road as he had been instructed.  He had not gone far when he found the shrine.  Inside was a small bronze statue, about two feet in height, of a female figure.  He took it and then departed, seeing no sign of the villagers as he left.  It was not yet evening by the time he returned to the village from which he had set out that morning, and there were still many people in the streets.  When they saw that their goddess had been returned they quickly gathered around Elika, but still kept a nervous distance from this strange man.  What terrible power must he have possessed to have accomplished something by himself that their entire village could not have done together.  Then the man who had given him shelter the previous night ran up to him.

            “You did it!” he exclaimed.  “You must truly be the greatest warrior ever to walk this land!”

            “No,” replied Elika, “I have fought alongside far greater men than myself and have battled far more dangerous enemies than those villagers.  In that world I am only a man of modest skill.  It’s just against people that know nothing of the art of combat that I appear to be great.”

            They held a great feast for Elika that evening.  Everyone in the village attended, from the newest babe to the elder who was the last living member of his generation.  The food was simple, but came in ample supply, and when the meal was over drums and horns were brought out so that the celebration could be continued with music and dancing.  After this had been going on for a few hours, several men approached Elika, who had remained at the table watching the others enjoy themselves.

            “We have conferred amongst ourselves,” began one of them, “and the village leaders are in agreement that we would like you to be our new chief.  We would be most honored if you accepted.”

            “Thank you,” replied Elika.  “I am indeed grateful, but I have other obligations back home that I cannot neglect.”

            “We are sorry to hear that, but we understand.”

            They began walking away when Elika called back to them, “Wait.  It might actually not be impossible for me to stay here after all.  Can I have until morning to give you my final answer?”

            “Yes, of course.  Until then, please enjoy the celebration.  Everything we have is at your disposal.”

            The men returned to the dancing while Elika continued sitting at the table.  He did not move from that spot as the party wore on and eventually died away, leaving him alone in the night.  How could he stay?  This was not his world.  There was too much waiting for him back at his true home.  Indeed, the amount of work that must have accumulated in his single day’s absence would be quite considerable.  This last thought caused him to shudder.  His entire body became cold as his mind was flooded by images of that other world.  Certainly it was a far greater honor to be responsible for the lives of thousands rather than tens, but it was an honor he felt unable to control.  There he had the opportunity to help so many more than his skills actually allowed him to.  He knew he would never be able to fulfill the full potential of that office.  Here he would only be responsible for some fifty people, but what good he would be able to accomplish for them!  In this provincial region the village would never be confronted with a problem from which he could not protect them.  This internal debate denied him sleep for the rest of the night, but by the time the sun began creeping over the eastern horizon the answer was clear to him.  He would remain in the world he could control.

#

            It was the first time he had seen the gate in six years, and the emotions with which it filled Abar were not what he had been expecting.  The flood of joy at returning to the land of his people was there, but along with it came a vague feeling of contempt, the target of which he was not quite certain.  Passing through the gate and looking once more upon the valley where he had been raised, he was surprised by how small it now appeared.  He suddenly felt ashamed that some outsider might see it and laugh at the idea of anyone thinking this place worth walling in.  What treasure did this valley possess that could not be found in thousands of times greater quantities elsewhere on the continent?  Yet this was his inheritance, and he had returned to claim it.

            During his travels Abar had never considered the effects of his departure on his home and family until three weeks ago when he had decided it was at last time to return.  The brief note he had left for his parents would not have been enough to prevent their worrying about him.  He regretted the pain that his actions must have inflicted on them but felt no guilt.  Looking back he knew that he had followed the only correct path before him.  As for the rest of the people, it soon became clear that they had not forgotten him, for as they caught sight of him they began whispering excitedly to one another.  He did not stop to talk to any of them, but walked directly to his parents’ home.

            “May I enquire who...” started the servant who opened the door for Abar until he recognized to whom he was speaking and suddenly was struck silent.

            Abar smiled gently, pardoning the very understandable breech of etiquette, and asked, “Are my parents in?”

            “Yes...they’re in the dining hall taking dinner.  Would you like me to take you there?”

            “Thanks, but I remember the way.”

            Whatever surprise the servant had experienced upon seeing him was magnified several-fold in his parents.  Uncertain of what he would encounter, Abar had not prepared what he would say ahead of time.  Now he found himself overwhelmed by such powerful emotions, emanating from both himself and his parents, that he could not find any words that seemed appropriate for the occasion.  Joy, hope, wonder, despair, and rage all swirled about them as they stared silently at each other.

            It was his mother who eventually broke the silence, saying simply, “You’re back.”

            “Yes,” replied Abar, still not sure what else he might be able to add.

            “We were so worried!” continued his mother.  “Why did you leave like that?  Are you all right?  Are you going to stay?  Don’t ever run off like that again!”

            “I’m sorry.  I didn’t want to cause you any suffering, but I had to go, and I was afraid that if I had tried to explain myself before leaving that you would have talked me out of it.”

            “Well maybe you should have given us that chance.”  This time it was his father who spoke.

            “No,” said Abar, “Now I’m certain that I did the right thing.  I’ve grown more during my travels than I ever could have hoped to had I stayed here for the rest of my life.”

            “Yes,” answered his father, “but it’s a question of your inheritance as well.  We were afraid you weren’t coming back so we’ve already begun making arrangements to hand everything over to your cousin.”

            “Well we’ll need to undo that because I need the land now.”

            “But it isn’t that easy.  We already have a verbal agreement, and it could lead to hostility if we back out now.”

            “He won’t object once I explain things to him,” Abar replied calmly.  “Something far bigger than any of us is about to take place.”

            “What?”

            “I’m not sure how exactly to explain it because I haven’t worked out all the details myself, and there is much that I still don’t understand.  I’m not even sure if such a feat as I’m planning will even be possible, but I do know that it’s something that must at least be attempted.”

#

            It had begun to rain lightly as Dinah and her brother were returning to their village with their baskets full of fruit.  The echoing thuds of the drops striking the canopy of leaves above them made the rain sound as if it were falling much harder than it actually was.  This fact was more or less irrelevant to the two siblings since very few of the drops made it through the foliage to the ground below, which was fortunate since they still had a long journey ahead of them.  Dinah’s favorite fruit grew in a tree that was found only on the northern edge of the jungle.  Since neither of them had had anything particular to do that day, they had decided to make the journey north, which had taken up their entire morning.  Their afternoon had been spent climbing trees to gather the fruit and now they had just set off on the return trip.

            Dinah and her brother had always been close, and they talked continuously as they walked along.  They were so absorbed in their conversation that when they finally noticed the noise coming from behind them and turned to see what it was, the men were already upon them.  One of them grabbed Dinah violently by both arms while the other three looked on.  Her brother lunged at Dinah’s captor and managed to reach him before his companions could react.  A blow to the jaw caused the man to release his grip on Dinah, who took the opportunity to scramble away.  The four men then turned on her brother, beating him with their fists until he crumpled to the ground.  Dinah grabbed one of them in an effort to pull him off only to be flung down herself.  The back of her head landed hard on a tree root, dazing her momentarily.

            The men seemed strangely clothed to her, for she had never seen anyone from outside her village.  They never had reason to venture outside of the jungle, and the outsiders were all afraid to enter it.  These men happened to be thieves who had tried to take advantage of the disorder caused by the recent fall of the Empire.  Unfortunately for them, the town they had chosen as their target was inhabited by people who were plenty capable of defending themselves without the Imperial army.  They had chased after the thieves with such tenacity that the latter had only been able to escape by fleeing into the one place where their pursuers would dare not follow.  As for the townsfolk, they were happy to give the ruffians up to the jungle, certain that a punishment far worse than anything they could have meted out themselves awaited them there.

            Dinah began frantically searching the ground for anything she could use as a weapon when another person stumbled out from the trees and nearly ran into one of the thieves.  Despite the heat the man wore a red cloak with the hood pulled low over his head, making it difficult to see his face.  He staggered from side to side as he walked and seemed to be completely unaware of the scuffle taking place right in front of him.  The thieves ceased their assault on Dinah’s brother, unsure of what to do with the newcomer.  They recognized his robe as the one worn by the elite members of the Imperial army, but the disheveled manner in which he carried himself made it impossible for them to take him as a serious threat.

            “Get drunk and lose your way?” snarled one of the thieves.  Then shoving him added, “Maybe you should go home.”

            The man stumbled backward until his back smacked against a tree.  He looked up in the direction of the man who had struck him, but his face bore the puzzled expression of someone confronted with something he had never seen before.  The jolt of the impact had caused his robe to fly open, revealing a medallion that hung from his neck. 

            “Look at that,” said one of the thieves pointing to the medallion, which bore the coloration of that of a common soldier’s.  “He’s not an elite after all.  He must have stolen that robe before he fled the capital during the revolt.”

            This observation caused the speaker to become bolder.  He drew his sword and walked up to the man, waving it in his face.

            “So, do you have any gold on you?”

            The only response the soldier gave was to continue staring back stupidly.

            “How `bout that bit of metal hanging `round your neck?” the man tried again, but still failed to elicit a response.  He grabbed the soldier’s neck with his left hand and raised his sword above his head with the other as he shouted, “Answer me!”

            Still the soldier’s expression remained unchanged.  In a sudden fit of rage the thief brought his blade down against the man’s left shoulder, cutting deep into his flesh.  The blow caused the soldier’s entire body to convulse.  His head snapped up with his eyes now blazing fiercely with a light of intelligence that had seemed entirely absent up to that point.

            “I see that got your...”

            “Let go of me,” interrupted the soldier in a soft voice that still managed to bear an intense rage.

            “I don’t think...”

            This time he was cut off by the back of the soldier’s right hand flying across his face.  The thief was knocked off his feet and crashed head first into the trunk of a particularly stout tree.  Drawing their swords, the other three ruffians charged.  Just as she saw them reach their unarmed victim, Dinah turned her head, unable to watch the final blows.  There was a brief flurry of noise and then silence.  Dinah looked up again and saw the soldier standing there surveying the unconscious bodies of his attackers.  The way he stood, so stern yet calm, made him look in that instant as if he was completely invincible.  Then he suddenly brought up his right hand to clutch his left shoulder where it was bleeding profusely and fell back against the tree.  His back slid down along the trunk until he was seated on the ground.  Dinah pushed herself to her feet and hurried over to him.

            “Are you all right?” she asked.

            He looked up at her but said nothing.  In his eyes she saw a pain that somehow seemed to have nothing to do with his wounded shoulder.

            “Your shoulder looks pretty bad.  Let me take a look at it.”

            He allowed her to remove his robe and then to tear off the left sleeve of his shirt.  The wound was deep, but the amount of blood covering it made it difficult to judge exactly how deep it was.  Dinah wrapped the torn sleeve around his shoulder and pulled it tight until the bleeding stopped.

            “That will soak through and need to be changed soon,” she said.  “If you come with me back to my village I can take care of it properly.”

            Just then her brother began to stir.  She ran over to him and helped him to his feet.  With her brother’s arm around her shoulders to support him, she walked back over to the soldier and extended her hand to him.  He pushed himself to his feet with his good arm, refusing the offer of help.

            “Do you think you’ll be all right to walk back with us?”  Dinah asked him.

            The soldier remained silent, not even raising his eyes to look at her.

            “Well, you look strong enough.  If you want to get that arm patched up properly then follow us.”

            Dinah turned and began walking away with her brother.  Jacob watched them for a few moments and then followed after them.

#

            “Are you sure this is the right town?” asked Jorim.

            “This is the one they told us,” answered Jacob.

            “It just seems too...quaint to be the base of operations for the largest conglomeration of bandits in the Empire.”

            “Well this is it, and I’ve never known them to be wrong.”

            “Yeah, but I didn’t really understand the explanation of their evidence.  What was all that about ‘anomalies in the surplus and deficit figures’?”

            “Is that what they said?  I wasn’t really paying attention to that part.  The way I see it, it’s their job to track down the thieves and tell us where they are, not to prove their findings to us.  It’s our job to make the arrests.”

            “But what if someone asks us our reason for making those arrests?”

            “All they need to know is that we’re under orders from the emperor.  Excuse me sir,” Jacob said, addressing these last words to an old man hobbling down the street in the opposite direction as them.  “Could you please direct us to the mill?”

            “Turn left down the road just past the church,” the old man answered as he pointed the way.  “Follow that down to the river and you’ll see it.”

            “Thank you.”

            They soon found the mill just as they had been directed.  Jacob banged on its heavy wooden door, and a few seconds later a slat covering a small window in it was slid back and a face peered out at them from within.

            “Can I help you?” asked the man inside.

            “We’re Imperial soldiers who’ve been sent to search this mill,” answered Jacob.

            “Why?”

            “We’ve reason to suspect that one of the more notorious bandit hordes has been operating out of this place.”

            “That’s ridiculous!” replied the man.  “There’ve been no illegal activities of any kind here and certainly no bandit hordes.  What could possibly make you think anything so absurd?”

            “There’ve been some anomalies in the surplus and deficit figures from this town,” said Jorim in as official a tone as he could manage.

            “What’s that supposed to mean?”

            “Uhm...” started Jorim.

            Jacob interrupted in a stern voice, “We’re under orders from the Emperor to search this barn.  Now please open this door so we can do our duty.”

            “All right, all right...no need to get angry.  I just thought I might be entitled to some sort of explanation before having my mill searched like I was some sort of common thief.”

            The door was slowly drawn open, and the two soldiers stepped inside.  If any milling actually took place in there it was difficult to see how, for the space was almost completely filled with crates bearing the Imperial insignia.

            “Whatever your reasons for suspecting us, I guess they must have been good ones,” said the man as Jacob and Jorim stared at the stacks of stolen goods.

            People began emerging from behind the crates until the room was filled with men armed with swords and spears.  Jacob and Jorim backed out through the door and were surprised to see a crowd of people who must have followed them down from the town.  In the front they recognized the old man who had given them directions.  He looked at them with a curious smile and then straightened his stooped back, appearing to have instantly regained twenty years of his life.  The crowd closed in around them leaving them pinned against the mill.

            “Well, it looks like we got the right town at least,” said Jorim.  “What now?”

            “Back inside.  Then at least we’ll only have to deal with half of them at a time.”

            The soldiers plunged back into the mill, slamming the door shut behind them.  The townsmen-turned-bandits went to pursue them but found the door had been barred.  Unfortunately for any attempts to batter it down, the door was much heavier than those possessed by normal mills, since normal mills did not have to worry about defending themselves against military raids.  They debated amongst themselves whether they should even go to the effort of trying to force their way in.  Surely the forty men inside would be able to quickly subdue the soldiers without their help, even if they were members of the elite unit.  Fifteen minutes passed and they began to grow anxious.  Ten minutes later they had chopped down a stout tree and were ramming it against the door.  After three blows it yielded and the men started pouring inside.  The flood came to an abrupt stop after only about half of them had gone in.  What the men leading the charge had encountered was utter stillness.  Their comrades who had been inside were now strewn across the floor, lying either dead or unconscious.  The two soldiers could not be seen.

            The mob now began cautiously creeping forward into the room and entering the narrow channels that ran between the stacked crates.  These temporary walls were tall enough that one could not see over them from one aisle to the next, so the bandits were cut off into groups of threes and fours as they conducted their search.  The psychological effects of the silence and the isolation were tremendous.  Like the pagan deities worshipped in a past age, the soldiers possessed an intangibility that seemed to set them apart as beings who could not suffer harm from humans.  The solitary screams and sounds of intense scuffles erupting periodically only strengthened the attack on their nerves.  Then, his mind completely consumed with fear, one of the thieves would peek around a corner knowing that only two of his allies were close enough to lend support should danger be awaiting him.  There he would have time to see but a brief flash of red before a hard blow to the head turned everything black.

            “How many of them do you think are left?” whispered Jorim as he rejoined Jacob.

            “I got forty-six,” Jacob whispered back.

            “And I got twenty-nine.”

            “We were at twenty-four and sixteen before the others broke in, and there couldn’t have been more than forty of them, right?”

            “Yeah, so that leaves five more at the most.”

            “Do you think they’re still looking for us, or do you think they’re just trying to escape at this point?”

            “Don’t know--depends on how smart they are.”

            “Why don’t you go watch the door and I’ll give away my position?  Then we’ll be covered either way.”

            As Jorim made his way to the door, Jacob headed toward the back of the mill.  Once he was satisfied that his partner had been given sufficient time to reach his destination, he began walking back and forth with heavy steps, carelessly knocking against the crates.  Apparently the bandits still considered themselves the aggressors, for it was not long before three of them emerged from one of the narrow pathways to confront Jacob.  Here the space was wide enough for them to charge at him all three abreast.  Jacob waited for them to draw closer and then, picking out the one on the left, made a sudden lunge.  Striking the bandit before he could deliver a blow of his own, Jacob drove through him and then turned quickly to face the other two.  He was now behind them and was able to take out a second one before either of them could turn around.  One on one the last bandit was no match for Jacob.  A single parry followed by a strike and the battle was over.

            “You just wanted the last three for yourself, didn’t you?” said Jorim as Jacob met him by the hole where the front door had once stood.

            “Well I have to pad my numbers somehow.  Come on, we’d better get to an outpost and find some people to help us return all this stuff to the capital.”

            #

            For two months he had not spoken to anyone, and he was not sure why the villagers still tolerated him.  Perhaps it was Dinah’s influence.  Certainly he had rescued her from those thugs, maybe even saved her life, but given the way he had persistently ignored her since then, her loyalty toward him was truly astounding.  Why was she so insistent on trying to cheer him up?  Why had her efforts failed so miserably?

            Maybe he was trying to punish himself.  His best friend--a man with whom he would have trusted his life and who at one time had felt the same way toward him--had become one of them without his noticing.  Was there some sign he should have seen, and if he had, could he have done something to stop him?  Could the two of them together have stopped the rebellion?  It did not matter.  The Empire was gone and that was a fact he would need to accept.

            Why had it been so dear to him?  Ever since he had been a child training with his father he had dreamed of serving the Empire and rising through the military ranks.  All those hours of grueling exercises had been endured to ensure that his father’s memory might live on through him.  Now that link to the man he had loved so deeply was gone.  Was his sorrow an expression of that which his father could no longer express?  Perhaps, but if his father were still alive he would certainly be more grieved at his son’s despair than at the loss of the Empire.  He had to bring himself out of it for him.

            The idea of being happy again made him feel strangely uncomfortable.  He suddenly realized that he had found a certain freedom in his hopelessness that he now did not want to let go of.  The barrage of tragedies he had undergone had left him feeling powerless to control his own fate, and without power he had been without responsibility as well.  He had given up ownership of his destiny to that malevolent power that seemed to be steering his life irresistibly toward destruction.  The outcome had not been important to him, just so long as he could avoid taking blame for it.  Now he wondered how long this sort of thinking had kept him from seeing the hope that now presented itself.  Had his life really been as out of his control as he had wanted to believe?

            There was Dinah carrying a bucket filled with water she had drawn from the well.  His eyes always seemed to gravitate toward her whenever she was near.  Every movement she made was so well balanced, each flowing into the next with such effortless grace that she was a pleasure to watch.  It was as if every step she took was part of a dance celebrating the simplicity of life.  Why did worry seem to slip so easily from her when it clung so fiercely to him?  Of course it was easy for her to be happy because she had not suffered a loss as great as he had.  Yet, at the same time she possessed nothing more than he did.  He had only been capable of losing much because he had first been given much.  That divine power which he held responsible for his suffering had really only been guilty of showering him with blessings.  Now that they were gone, who was he to complain?  If he had lived his entire life in this village he would have been as happy as Dinah without ever having known of such a thing as the Empire.  Should he feel sorrow now simply because he had at one time had the opportunity to experience a greater joy?

            “Hello there, would you like a drink?” asked Dinah who had walked up to him with her bucket of water.

            “Yes.  Thank you,” replied Jacob.

#

            “So how long will the emperor be keeping you away this time?” asked Kathryn.

            “Only two weeks,” answered Jorim.  “Should be pretty routine.”

            “Hmmm...that won’t leave much time for all my other suitors.  I may not be able to see poor George at all this time.  He’ll be so heartbroken.  Do you think maybe you could take the long way back?”

            “Well I haven’t seen Daisy in a while.  Perhaps I could pay her a visit...”

            “Don’t make me use my influence in the council to appoint an official chaperone for you.”

            Jorim lost the game by being the first to smile.  “You know my thoughts are always on you when I’m on a mission.”

            “Well I hope they’re not too much on me.  If something should happen to you I’d hate to think that it might have been because I was a distraction to you,” replied Kathryn now smiling as well.

            “No, I don’t think you ever have to worry about that.  Without you I might not have a reason to come home alive at all.  If the gods of war fated me to sacrifice my life and my mind weren’t filled with thoughts of you, then I’d probably be perfectly content to obey their call.  But you make me so happy, Kathryn.  If Death himself came for me I swear I’d knock him upside the head and run back here to you.”

            “Well good, then.  I’ll try to make myself even more of a distraction to you in the future.”  After saying this she noticed someone walking by and added, “Isn’t that Jacob?”

            Even in the darkness of the night Jorim was able to recognize his friend.  “I think it is.  Hey Jacob, how’s it going?”

            Jacob turned and walked over to them.  “I’m doing well.  How’s this fine evening treating the both of you?”

            “Very well, thanks,” answered Kathryn.  “I bet you’re looking forward to being able to get out of here tomorrow.”

            “Yes.  I do like it here in the capital, but it can get a bit boring after a couple of days.  Now don’t you keep Jorim up too late.  I’ll need him tomorrow.”

            “Will you?  I think you’d be able to manage just fine by yourself if you had to,” said Kathryn.

            “Don’t believe everything you hear--I’m just better at drawing attention to my acts of heroism than he is.  I’d be absolutely lost without Jorim.”

            “Don’t worry,” replied Jorim, “you’ve saved my life enough times that I certainly wouldn’t abandon you.  I’ll be ready in the morning.”

            “I never doubted it.  Have a good night you two.”

#

            It was a dreary day in the forest.  Cold rain had been falling persistently since before sunrise, and the bare autumn branches provided little shelter from it.  Even if one took cover amongst the most densely packed trees, a strong gust would soon find its way through, carrying the chilling dampness with it.  There was no warmth to be found in the outside world, but Helez did not need it.  He was only dimly aware that the thrill he enjoyed from the miserable weather was due to the way it accentuated the self-sufficiency of the heat generated by his own body as he ran through the woods.

            These moments when he had no company but that of his hunting dog, Griselda, were the ones most sacred to him.  Yes, there were thousands of people populating the cities and towns under his rule, but he preferred being away from them as much as possible.  They were better off for it.  What was more important than freedom, and if his delinquency gave them more of it then how could it be a bad thing?  Besides, he was currently providing a service to one of the smaller towns.  Each morning for the past week, several cattle had been found brutally mauled.  In addition, a handful of different witnesses on separate occasions had reported seeing a bear of extraordinary size prowling in the darkness.  Had the townsmen decided to try to hunt it down themselves, it would have taken a posse of at least twenty.  Certainly it was more efficient for Helez to take on the job himself rather than wasting so much manpower.

            “Well I’ve lost it.  Do you still have the trail, Griselda?”

            The dog looked up at him with an expression that he knew from years of experience meant that she had lost it as well.  Throughout the day he had alternately praised and cursed the rain for its role in the hunt.  The thick mud allowed for obvious tracks to be left, but periodically there were bursts of heavier showers that washed away both the footprints and the scent, leaving Helez and Griselda to wander about aimlessly until they could pick up the trail again.  Despite these difficulties, and despite the pathetic look given her by her thoroughly soaked fur, Griselda had not lost any of her enthusiasm as the hours had passed by.  The dark clouds that covered the sky scarcely drew her attention, for in her world there was only one sun, and as long as he was nearby there was nothing more she could desire.

            It was an hour before a series of excited barks from Griselda told her master that she had found the trail once more.  They pressed on following it but were unable to make much progress before the sun set.  Any gaps in the clouds might have allowed through enough light for them to continue the chase, but as it was they found themselves stumbling through almost complete darkness.  There was no wood dry enough even to attempt a fire, so they had no choice but to find a tree to lean against and bed down for the night.  Helez was soon in a deep sleep, but he awoke early feeling cold, stiff, and hungry.  He had not counted on the weather slowing him down as much as it had and as a result had not brought any provisions for a second day.  At least the rain had stopped, he thought to himself as he began foraging for anything that looked like it might be edible.  Despite his extensive knowledge of the plant-life in that region, he was unable to find any berries or fruits that were familiar.  A half hour of searching produced only some purple berries that vaguely resembled blueberries.  Although he knew it was dangerous, his hunger overcame his caution and he grabbed a bunch and ate them.  They tasted sweet, but as they reached his stomach they turned sour, making him feel queasy.  He was forced to lie down for a while, and by the time he arose again he felt it wiser to return home rather than continuing the hunt.  After having fled so far it seemed unlikely that the bear would return to that village again anyway.

            As they began walking back, Helez found himself depending increasingly on Griselda for direction, for his own mind was rapidly losing coherence.  His thoughts were wandering where they pleased, as they did right before falling asleep, and it was only with great effort that he could focus them on any one subject for more than a few seconds at a time.  Even without the rain, it took them well into the afternoon to reach the town from which they had set out.

            A large crowd gathered to greet Helez, anxious to hear news of a successful hunt.  It did not take them long, however, to realize that something was not quite right with him.  No one feature by itself stood out, but the combination of his silence, the slight stagger in his gait, and the peculiar expression locked on his face all served to make them feel ill at ease.  Most of them suspected that he had merely failed to locate the bear and that the resulting disappointment with himself was responsible for his condition.  Then, still without speaking a word, Helez drew his sword and struck the nearest townsman, causing him to fall to his knees screaming in pain.  All speculation about the cause of Helez’s strange appearance evaporated as the townsfolk suddenly became concerned only with fleeing as quickly as possible.  Helez continued striking down anyone within reach as Griselda followed behind.  She could sense that things were not as they should be, but remained confident that if she simply stayed close to him everything would work itself out.

            No one in the town possessed either the courage or the skill to confront Helez, and his rampage might have continued until there was no one left to cut down if his arm had not begun to grow weary.  Each blow was more labored than the one preceding it until he was struggling just to hold his sword in the air.  Had his mind not been in such an unsettled state, Helez would have noticed that it was not his muscles wearing out, but rather the sword itself becoming heavier.  It had been forged so that it could only be wielded by the most skilled of swordsmen, and in his present condition Helez was rapidly losing his ability to control it.  At last the blade pulled itself violently back into its sheath and stuck there fast.

            Helez stood there, wholly absorbed in the task of trying to pull his weapon free, but meeting with no success.  Meanwhile, Griselda danced about his legs striving to gain his attention.  When she finally did, however, it only resulted in a hard kick from her master that sent her sprawling away.  She quickly regained herself and returned to Helez’s side, keeping just enough distance to be out of range of any other kicks, but still staring up at him with patient devotion.  Some of the bolder townsfolk had by this time found the courage to peek through their doorways to see what was happening outside.  They watched for several minutes as Helez tugged helplessly at the hilt of his sword, not sure at all how to interpret what they were seeing.  Then they slowly began creeping back out into the street, this time armed with a wide assortment of whatever sharp or heavy objects could be found, ranging from stones picked up off the ground to machetes used to clear fields.  Normally an attempt at direct retaliation against such a man as this would have been unthinkable, but the desperation with which he struggled with his sword made Helez appear to be somewhat vulnerable.  Besides, at least a dozen people had been either killed or severely wounded by him and some form of retribution was required.  At last one of them decided that an attack had to be made and began to charge, quickly followed by the others.

            The first to react was Griselda who sprinted toward the mob, growling fiercely and bearing her teeth.  She looked so savage that the townsfolk suddenly froze, afraid to confront the enraged animal.  Helez stared up dumbly as if he were having trouble comprehending the scene before him.  Gradually the facts that there were many people there and that they meant to do him harm became evident and he began running away from them back into the forest.  Upon seeing this, the mob forgot about the dog and surged forward.  Griselda valiantly tried barring their way, leaping up at the first man to reach her and tackling him to the ground.  She stood for a moment on the outstretched body of the terrified man before a wooden staff was swung into her side and knocked her away.  She tried springing back to her feet so as to rejoin the battle to defend her master, but a sharp jolt of pain in her ribs caused her to crumple back to the ground.  A second later she tried again, this time moving much more gingerly.  By the time she reached her feet, both the crowd and her master had disappeared into the forest.

            Griselda’s awareness of her pain was pushed aside by her desire to be reunited with Helez.  She began limping toward the forest and soon picked up the scent that was more familiar to her than any other.  As she followed it she paid no attention to the occasional townsperson she passed.  They had lost track of their quarry and dispersed to search the area more efficiently.  Fortunately for her, the humans ignored her as well, or else she might have inadvertently led them to the one she was trying to protect.  She soon found him lying in a thick nest of bushes where he must have managed to hide himself before passing out.  Griselda’s attempts to arouse him with gentle nudges from her nose produced no results, so she lay down next to him to wait.

            A young girl who had sneaked out after her parents and joined the search party without their knowing had wandered away from the rest of the group.  Distracted by some squirrels scurrying through the branches overhead, she accidentally stumbled into the bush where Helez and Griselda happened to be lying, nearly stepping on the latter’s tail.  She jumped back and gave a small scream as she felt her leg brush against something furry.  Griselda was too worn out from her injuries to do anything more than stare at the girl, while Helez could not manage any action at all but persisted in his comatose state.  Some nearby adults heard the scream and ran to see what had evoked it.  When they arrived they spotted Helez among the bushes.  Soon the entire mob had reassembled itself there.

            One of the men poked the end of his staff through the shrubbery in order to see whether any life still remained in Helez.  As soon as the outermost leaves were disturbed, however, Griselda forced herself from the ground and lunged at the man.  There she stood, leaning to one side and often having to shuffle her feet to regain her balance as her injury got the better of her, but nevertheless snarling defiantly at the crowd.  The people, for their part, stared back at her with a mixture of fear and pity.  A few attempts were made to get around the dog to her master, but all of them were rebuffed by Griselda’s snapping jaws.  These were followed by a group of people trying to push the wounded animal gently aside, but this only resulted in one woman’s arm being bitten through almost to the bone.  It quickly became apparent that reaching Helez would first mean forcefully eliminating the dog.  Afraid of incurring further injuries to themselves, they began throwing stones.  Griselda stood her ground as best as she could, springing immediately back up whenever knocked down by one of the larger rocks.  After several such blows her difficulty in maintaining her feet had increased noticeably.  The intensity in her eyes had dulled over and her growling had been reduced to a pathetic whimpering, but still she would not back down.  Then the barrage stopped.

            “Why are you attacking me?” asked Helez who was now standing behind his dog.

            The townsfolk were too shocked to offer an immediate answer, but eventually one of them replied, “You came into our town and slaughtered several good men and women without any provocation, and now you ask us what reason we have to attack you?”

            “But I...” started Helez.  There he stopped, straining to remember what had taken place during the last couple of hours.

            “Don’t try to make excuses for yourself,” replied the man who had spoken before.  “We will see justice carried out.”

            Once more the crowd surged toward him.  Not knowing what else to do, Helez drew his sword, bringing the onrush to a sudden stop.

            “I don’t want to hurt you,” said Helez, “but if you attempt to harm either me or my dog, then I will not sheathe this blade again until you are all dead.”

            The people stood there hesitantly for a while, unsure of what to do.  Then they gradually began to retreat, a few at a time, until Helez and Griselda were left alone together.  As soon as they were gone, Helez knelt down and hugged her.

            “What have they done to you, girl?”  He wept softly as he added, “Where can we go now?”

            Memories of the violence he had committed while under the influence of those maddening berries had begun coming back to him.  They were disjointed and incomplete, but real enough for him to realize that the accusations the man had made against him were true.  Returning home would now be impossible.

            “Come on girl, let’s go.  It’s a big world and I’m sure there’s plenty waiting out there for us.”

#