“And then it was that the Patryns managed to discover our weakness. Through vile trickery and magic, they convinced some of our people that this nebulous Supreme Being, whom even the mensch had now ceased to worship, actually did exist!”
Alfred started to speak.
Samah raised his hand. “Please, let me continue.” He paused a moment, put his fingers to his forehead, as if it ached. His face was drawn, fatigued. With a sigh, he resumed his seat, looked back at Alfred. “I do not fault those who fell victim to this subterfuge, Brother. All of us, at one time or another, long to rest our head upon the breast of One stronger, wiser than ourselves; to surrender all responsibility to an All-Knowing, Ail-Powerful Being. Such dreams are pleasant, but then we must wake to reality.”
“And this was your reality. Tell me if I’m wrong.” Alfred regarded them with pity, his voice soft with sorrow. “The Patryns were growing stronger. The Sartan were splintering into factions. Some of them began denying their godhood. They were prepared to follow this new vision. And they threatened to take the mensch with them. You were on the verge of losing everything.”
“You are not wrong,” Orla murmured. Samah cast her an angry glance that she felt but did not see. She was looking at Alfred.
“I make allowances for you, Brother,” the Councillor said. “You were not there. You cannot possibly understand.”
“I understand,” said Alfred clearly, firmly. He stood straight and tall. He was, Orla thought, almost handsome. “At last, after all these years, I finally understand. Who did you truly fear?”
His gaze swept over the Council. “Was it the Patryns? Or did you fear the truth: the knowledge that you aren’t the moving force in the universe, that you are, in fact, no better than the mensch you’ve always despised? Isn’t that what you truly feared? Isn’t that why you destroyed the world, hoping to destroy truth as well?”
Alfred’s words echoed throughout the silent hall.
Orla caught her breath. Ramu, face dark with suppressed fury, cast a questioning glance at his father, as if seeking permission to do or say something. The dog, who had flopped down at the Sartan’s feet to doze through the boring parts, sat up suddenly and glared around, feeling threatened. Samah made a slight, negating gesture with his hand, and his son reluctantly settled back in his chair. The other Council members looked from Samah to Alfred and back to their Councillor again, more than a few shaking their heads.
Samah stared at Alfred, said nothing.
The tension in the room grew.
Alfred blinked, seemed suddenly to realize what he’d been saying. He began to droop, his newfound strength seeping from him.
“I’m sorry, Samah. I never meant—” Alfred shrank backward, stumbled over the dog.
The Councillor rose abruptly to his feet, left his chair, walked around the table and came to stand beside Alfred. The dog growled, ears flattened, teeth barred, tail swishing slowly side to side.
“Shush!” said Alfred unhappily.
The Councillor reached out his hand. Alfred cringed, expecting a blow. Samah put his arm around Alfred’s shoulders.
“There, Brother,” he said kindly, “don’t you feel better now? Finally, you have opened up to us. Finally, you trust us. Think how much better it would have been for you if you had come to me or to Ramu or Orla or any of the Council members with these doubts and problems! Now, at last, we can help you.”
“You can?” Alfred stared at him.
“Yes, Brother. You are, after all, Sartan. You are one of us.”
“I’m s-sorry I broke into the library,” Alfred stammered. “That was wrong. I know. I came here to apologize. I don’t . . . don’t know what got into me to say all those other things—”
“The poison has been festering inside you long. Now it is purged, your wound will heal.”
“I hope so,” Alfred said, though he seemed dubious. “I hope so.” He sighed, looked down at his shoes. “What will you do to me?”
“Do to you?” Samah appeared puzzled. “Ah, you mean punish you? My dear Alfred, you have punished yourself far more than such an infraction of the rules warrants. The Council accepts your apology. And any time you would like to use the library, you have only to ask either myself or Ramu for the key. I think you would find it extremely beneficial to study the history of our people.” Alfred gaped at the man, all power of speech lost in unparalleled astonishment.
“The Council has some additional, minor business,” Samah said briskly, removing his hand from Alfred’s shoulders. “If you will seat yourself, we will attend to our work swiftly and then we can depart.”
At a gesture from his father, Ramu silently brought Alfred a chair. He collapsed into it, sat huddled, drained, dazed.
Samah returned to his place, began to discuss some trivial matter that could well have waited. The other Council members, obviously uncomfortable and eager to leave, weren’t listening.
Samah continued to talk, patiently, quietly. Orla watched her husband, watched his deft, facile handling of the Council, watched the play of intelligence on his strong, handsome face. He had successfully won over poor Alfred. Now, slowly, surely, he was winning back the loyalty and confidence of his followers. The Council members began to relax under the influence of their leader’s soothing voice; they could even laugh at a small joke. They will leave, Orla thought, and the voice they hear will be Samah’s. They will have forgotten Alfred’s. Odd, I never noticed before how Samah manipulates us.
Except now it is them, not us. Not me. Not anymore.
Not anymore.
The meeting came to an end at last.
Alfred didn’t listen, he was lost in troubled reveries, was roused only when people began to move.
Samah stood up. The other Council members were at ease, feeling better. They bowed to him, to each other (not to Alfred, they ignored Alfred), and took their leave.
Alfred wavered unsteadily to his feet.
“I thought I had the answer,” he said to himself. “Where did it go? How could I lose it so suddenly? Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps the vision was, as Samah said, a trick of Haplo’s.”
“I have noticed that our guest seems extremely fatigued,” Samah was saying.
“Why don’t you, Wife, take Alfred back to our house and see to it that he relaxes and eats something.”
The Council members had all filed out by now. Only Ramu lingered behind. Orla took Alfred’s arm. “Are you all right?”
He still felt dazed, his body shook, feet stumbled over themselves. “Yes, yes,” he answered vaguely. “I think I would like to rest, however. If I could just go back to my room and ... lie down.”
“Certainly,” said Orla, concerned. She glanced around. “Are you coming with us, Husband?”
“No, not just yet, my dear. I need to arrange with Ramu to attend to that small matter on which the Council just voted. You go ahead. I will be home in time for dinner.”
Alfred let Orla guide him toward the door. He was almost out of the Council Chamber when it occurred to him that the dog wasn’t following. He glanced around for the animal, could not, at first, find it. Then he saw the tip of a tail, sticking out from under the Council table.
An unwelcome thought came to him. Haplo had trained the dog to act as a spy. He often ordered it to tag along with unsuspecting people, whose words were then carried through the dog’s ears to the Patryn’s. Alfred knew, in that moment, that the dog was offering this very same service to him. It would stay with Ramu and Samah, listen in on what they said.
“Alfred?” said Orla.
The Sartan jumped, guilt assailing him. He whirled around, didn’t watch where he was going, and smashed nose first into the doorframe.
“Alfred . . . Oh, dear! What have you done? Your nose is bleeding!”