"I'm quite aware of that," said Motiak. "That's why you aren't under the same charges as Bego and Khideo."
"If you think you can silence me by threatening the death penalty for Bego, you're mistaken," said Akma. "It's me you'll have to kill."
Motiak leapt to his feet, leaned across the table, and slapped the surface right in front of Akma. "I'm not killing anyone, you stupid little boy! I'm not threatening anyone! I'm letting you see the truth about what's been going on!"
"Very well," said Akma quietly. "I see that Bego thought he controlled me. I see that Khideo believed it also. Unfortunately, it was never true. Because I formed my plan long before any of you think. I planned it sitting on a hill in a place called Chelem. Watching my father shower love on torturers and tormentors, I took a solemn vow that I would someday come back to that place with an army at my back, to conquer and subdue the Elemaki. The land where I and my people were enslaved and mistreated will fall under the power of the Nafari, and the diggers will be driven out. They and the humans who choose to live with them will have no place in the gornaya. That was the vow I made then. And all that has happened since has merely been a part of accomplishing it. What do I care about religion? I learned from my father that religious stories are just a way to get people to do what you want-the way he did with the Pabulogi. The tragedy of my father is that he believes his own stories."
Motiak smiled. "Thank you, Akma. You've given me what I needed."
Akma smiled back. "I've given you nothing that you can use. Your sons and I have already planned the military strategy that will bring us victory. We've studied the reports of the spies. You discard all the useful information because you have no interest in carrying war to the enemy-but we use it, we learn from it. The Elemaki are divided into three weak and quarrelsome kingdoms. We can defeat them one at a time. It's an excellent plan, and there is nothing treasonable about it.
Whatever role I play will be as the true and loyal servant of the king. That you will not be the king to whom I bring such glory is sad, but that is your choice, sir. By all means, announce to your people that this is my plan-to defeat and destroy our enemies and bring peace to the whole land. See how unpopular it makes me."
"The people don't love war," said Motiak. "You misjudge them if you think they do."
"You misjudge them, not me," said Akma. "They hate the constant vigilance. They hate knowing that the Elemaki raiders know they can return beyond our borders and we won't pursue them and destroy them. Why do you think there was so much loathing against the diggers? Why do you think the civil guard wouldn't obey you when you commanded them to stop the violence? The difference between us, sir, is that I will channel that rage against the real enemy. Your policies channeled it against children."
Motiak stood. "There is no law requiring me to appoint one of my sons to succeed me."
Akma also stood. "And there is no law requiring the people to choose the successor that you name. The people love Aronha. They will love him all the more when they see that he-that we-intend to restore the old order, the old ways."
"All that you plan, all of it, and the fact you dare to fling it in my face-it all depends on the fact that I'm a gentle king and don't use my power arbitrarily."
"Yes," said Akma. "I count on that. I also count on the fact that you love this kingdom and you won't needlessly plunge it into civil war or anarchy. You will appoint Aronha as your successor. And by the time that day comes-and we hope it is not soon, sir, no matter what you might imagine-by that time we hope, we believe, that you will have come to realize that our plan is ultimately the best for your people. You will wish us well."
"No," said Motiak. "That I will never do."
"It's your decision."
"You think you've outmaneuvered me, don't you?"
"Not at all. My only enemy is the nation of diggers and loathsome ratlike humans in the high mountains. I had nothing to do with the trials that led to the legal situation that opened the floodgates of persecution, and you know it. I was never one of the players in that miserable game, and I reject it. But this decree you're making now, yes-that is a maneuver. But I didn't notice you coming up with anything better. It seems, however, that my reward for suggesting the solution to your problems is to come to this room to be called a puppet, a traitor, a torturer of children, and every other vile thing you can think of. I will not forget that my mother and father sat and listened to all of this without once, not once, raising their voices in my defense."
Bego laughed. "You are the man I thought you'd be, Akma!"
A look from Motiak brought silence to the table.
"Akma," said Father, quietly. "I beg you for mercy."
No, don't do this, Akma said silently. Don't humiliate yourself before me, the way you humiliated yourself before the Pabulogi.
"I have searched my memory and my conscience," said Father, "trying to imagine how I might have acted differently back in Chelem. I beg you to tell me now-what should I have done? Befriending the sons of Pabulog, teaching them the way of the Keeper, the doctrines of Binaro-that won our freedom. It brought us here. How else could I have done it? What should I have done?"
"I don't dwell in the past," said Akma, trying to fend off the embarrassing question.
"So you can't think of anything better I could have done, either," said Father. "No, I didn't think you could. Hatred and anger aren't rational. Just because you know I had no other choice doesn't make the anger go away. I understand that. But you're a man now. You can put away childish things."
"Is this your idea of an apology?" asked Akma lightly. "To call me childish?"
"Not an apology," said Akmaro. "A warning."
"A warning? What, from the man who teaches peace?"
"You claim that you are repelled by what the persecutors have done. But in all your wisdom, in all your planning, you seem not to realize that the course you are embarking on will cause suffering on a scale that will make these persecutions look like a holiday."
"The Elemaki attacked us. Again and again. No, I won't shed any tears over their suffering."
"A schoolboy looks at war and sees maps and flags," said Akmaro.
"Don't tell me about war. You've seen as little of it as I have, and I've read more."
"Don't you think Motiak and I have talked about war? If we thought it could be done quickly-the Elemaki defeated and destroyed in a single campaign-do you think we would shrink from it? My love for peace isn't mindless. I know the Elemaki attack us. Motiak feels every blow to his people as if they fell on his own body. The reason the king has refused to attack the enemy strongholds is because we would lose. Without doubt, without question, we would be destroyed. Not a soldier would live to reach the ancient land of Nafai. The high valleys are a death trap. But you'll never get that far, Akma. Because the Keeper rejects your plan from the start. This land belongs to all three peoples equally. That is what the Keeper decrees. If we accept that law and live together in peace, then we will prosper here. If we reject it, my son, then our bones will bleach in the sun like the bones of the Rasulum."
Akma shook his head. "After all these years, do you still think you can frighten me with warnings about the Keeper?"
"No," said Akmaro. "I don't think I can frighten you at all. But I have a duty to tell you what I know. Last night I had a true dream."
Akma groaned inwardly. Oh, Father, don't embarrass yourself even further. Can't you handle your defeat like a man?