“Yes.” Samah glanced about the garden, not looking at his wife. “The dolphins report that the dragon-snakes have repaired the mensch ships. The mensch themselves held a joint meeting and have decided to set sail for this realm. They are obviously planning on war.”
“Oh, surely not,” Orla began.
“Of course they mean to attack us,” Samah interrupted impatiently. “They are mensch, aren’t they? When, in their entire bloody history, did they ever solve a problem except by the sword?”
“Perhaps they’ve changed . . .”
“The Patryn leads them. The dragon-snakes are with them. Tell me, Wife, what do you think they intend?”
She chose to ignore his sarcasm. “You have a plan, Husband?”
“Yes, I have a plan. One I will discuss with the Council,” he added, with an emphasis that was perhaps unconscious, perhaps deliberate.
Orla flushed, faintly, and did not reply. There had been a time when he would have discussed this plan with her first. But not now, not since before the Sundering.
What happened between us? She tried to remember. What did I say? What did I do? And how, she wondered bleakly, am I managing to do it all over again?
“At this Council meeting, I will call for a vote to make our final decision concerning the fate of your ‘friend.’” Samah added.
Again the sarcasm. Orla felt chilled, kept her hand on the dog to urge it to stay near her.
“What will happen to him, do you think?” she asked, affecting nonchalance.
“That is up to the Council. I will make my recommendation.” He started to turn away.
Orla stepped forward, touched him on the arm. She felt him flinch, draw back from her. But, when he faced her, his expression was pleasant, patient. Perhaps she had just imagined the flinch.
“Yes, Wife?”
“He won’t be ... like the others?” she faltered.
Samah’s eyes narrowed. “That is for the Council to decide.”
“It wasn’t right, Husband, what we did long ago,” Orla said determinedly. “It wasn’t right.”
“Are you suggesting that you would defy me? Defy the decision of the Council? Or, perhaps, you already have?”
“What do you mean?” Orla asked, staring at him blankly.
“Not all who were sent arrived at their destination. The only way they could have escaped their fate was to have foreknowledge of it. And the only people who had that knowledge were the members of the Council . . .” Orla stiffened. “How dare you suggest—”
Samah cut her short. “I have no time for this now. The Council will convene in one hour. I suggest you return that beast to its keeper and tell Alfred to prepare his defense. He will, of course, be given a chance to speak.” The Councillor walked out of the garden, heading for the Council building. Orla, perplexed, troubled, watched him, saw Ramu join him, saw them put their heads together in serious and earnest conversation.
“Come,” she said, sighing, and led the dog back to Alfred. Orla entered the Council chamber strong with resolve, her attitude defiant. She was prepared to fight now as she should have fought once before. She had nothing to lose. Samah had practically accused her of complicity. What stopped me then? she asked herself. But she knew the answer, though it was one she was ashamed to admit.
Samah’s love. A last, desperate attempt to hold onto something I never truly had. I betrayed my trust, betrayed my people, to try to cling with both hands to a love I only truly held with the tips of my fingers.
Now I will fight. Now I will defy him.
She was fairly certain she could persuade the others to defy Samah, as well. She had the impression several of them were feeling not quite right about what they’d done in the past. If only she could overcome their fear of the future . . .
The Council members took their places at the long marble table. When all were present, Samah entered, sat in his chair at the center.
Prepared for a stern and judgmental Councillor, Orla was astonished and surprised to see Samah relaxed, cheerful, pleasant. He gave her what might be taken for an apologetic smile, shrugged his shoulders.
Leaning over to her, he whispered, “I’m sorry for what I said, Wife. I’m not myself. I spoke hastily. Bear with me.”
He seemed to wait with some anxiety for her reply.
She smiled at him tentatively. “I accept your apology, Husband.” His smile broadened. He patted her hand, as if to say, Don’t worry, my dear. Your little friend will be all right.
Astonished, puzzled, Orla could only sit back in her chair and wonder. Alfred entered, the dog trotting along faithfully at his heels. The Sartan took his place—again—before the Council. Orla could not help thinking how shabby Alfred looked—gaunt, stooped-shouldered, poorly made. She regretted she hadn’t spent more time with him before the meeting, hadn’t urged him to change out of the mensch clothes that were obviously having an irritating effect on the other Council members.
She’d left him hurriedly after returning the dog, though he’d tried to detain her. Being with him made her uncomfortable. His eyes, clear and penetrating, had a way of breaking down her guard and sneaking inside her in search of the truth, much as he’d sneaked inside the library. And she wasn’t ready for him to see the truth inside her. She wasn’t prepared to see it herself.
“Alfred Montbank”—Samah grimaced over the mensch name, but he had apparently given up his attempts to urge Alfred to reveal his Sartan name—“you are brought before this Council to answer two serious charges.
“The first: You willfully and knowingly entered the library, despite the fact that runes of prohibition had been placed on the door. This offense you committed two times. On the first occasion,” Samah continued, though it seemed Alfred wanted to speak, “you claimed you entered by accident. You stated that you were curious about the building and, on approaching the door, you . . . um . . . slipped and fell through it. Once inside, the door shut and you couldn’t get out, and you entered the library proper searching for the exit. Is this testimony that I’ve repeated subtanrially true?”
“Substantially,” Alfred answered.
His hands were clasped before him. He did not look directly at the Council, but darted swift glances at them from beneath lowered eyes. He was, Orla thought unhappily, the very picture of guilt.
“And on this occasion, we accepted this explanation. We explained to you why it was that the library was prohibited to our people, and then we left, trusting that we would have no need to say anything further on the subject.
“Yet, in less than a week, you were again discovered in the library. Which brings us to the second, and more serious, charge facing you: This time, you are accused of entering the library deliberately and in a manner which indicates you feared apprehension. Is this true?”
“Yes,” said Alfred sadly, “I’m afraid it is. And I’m sorry. Truly very sorry to have caused all this trouble, when you have other, greater worries.” Samah leaned back in his chair, sighed, and then rubbed his eyes with his hand. Orla sat regarding him in silent astonishment. He was not the stern, awful judge. He was the weary father, forced to administer punishment to a well-loved, albeit irresponsible, child.
“Will you tell the Council, Brother, why you defied our prohibition?”
“Would you mind if I told you something about myself?” Alfred asked. “It would help you understand . . .”
“No, please, Brother, go ahead. It is your right to say whatever you like before the Council.”
“Thank you.” Alfred smiled, faintly. “I was born on Arianus, one of the last Sartan children born on Arianus. That was many hundred years after the Sundering, after you went to your Sleep. Things weren’t going well for us on Arianus. Our population was decreasing. Children weren’t being born, adults were dying untimely, for no apparent reason. We didn’t know why then, though, perhaps,”[40] he said softly, almost to himself, “I do now. That, however, is not why we’re here.
40
Reference to the startling and horrifying discovery that the dead were being brought to life in Abarrach, recounted in Fire Sea, vol. 3, The Death Gate Cycle. It is theorized that for one person to be brought to life untimely, another will die untimely.