Serpent Mage (41 page)

“Life for the Sartan on Arianus was extremely difficult. There was so much needed to be done, but not enough people to do it. The mensch populations were increasing rapidly. They had gained in magical talent and in mechanical skills. There were far too many of them for us to control. And that, I think, was our mistake. We weren't content to advise or counsel, offer our wisdom. We wanted to control. And since we couldn't, we left them, retreated below ground. We were afraid.

Our Council decided that since there were so few of us remaining, we should place some of our young people in stasis, to be brought back to life some time in the future when, hopefully, the situation had improved. We were confident, you see, that by then we would establish contact with the other three worlds.

“There were many of us who volunteered to enter the crystal chambers. I was one of them. It was a world,” Alfred said quietly, “I was glad to leave.

“Unfortunately, I was the only one to come back.”

Samah, who had seemed to be only half-listening, a patient, indulgent expression on his face, sat up straight at this and frowned. The other members of the Council murmured among themselves. Orla saw the anguish, the bitter loneliness of that time, reflected on Alfred's face, felt her heart wrung with compassion, pity.

“When I woke, I discovered that all the others, all my brothers and sisters, were dead. I was alone in a world of
mensch. I was afraid, terribly afraid. I feared die mensch might find out who and what I was, discover my talent for magic, try to make me use that talent to aid them in their ambitions.

“At first, I hid from them. I lived… I don't know how many years of my life in the underground world to which the Sartan had retreated long ago. But, during those rare times I visited the mensch in the worlds above, I couldn't help but see what dreadful things were happening. I found myself wanting to help them. I knew I
could
help them, and it occurred to me that helping them was what we Sartan were supposed to be doing. I began to think that it was selfish of me to hide myself away, when I might, in some small way, try to make things right. But, instead, as usual, I only seemed to have made things all wrong.”
²

Samah stirred, somewhat restlessly. “Truly your story is tragic, Brother, and we are grieved to have lost so many of our people on Arianus, but much of this we knew already and I fail to see—”

“Please, bear with me, Samah,” Alfred said, wiuVa quiet dignity that was, Orla thought, most becoming to him. “All that time I spent with the mensch, I thought of my people, missed them. And I knew, to my regret, that I'd taken them for granted. I had paid some attention to their stories of the past, but not enough. I had never asked questions, I wasn't interested. I knew, I realized, very little about being a Sartan, very little about the Sundering. I grew hungry for that knowledge. I'm still hungry for it.”

Alfred gazed at the members in wistful pleading. “Can't you understand? I want to know who I am. Why I'm here. What I'm expected to do.”

“These are mensch questions,” said Samah, rebuking. “Not worthy of a Sartan. A Sartan knows why he is here. He knows his purpose and he acts upon his knowledge.”

“Undoubtedly, if I had not been so much on my own, I would have never been forced to ask such questions,”

Alfred answered. “But I didn't have anyone to turn to.' He stood tall, no longer crushed with awe, no longer meek, apologetic. He was strong with the Tightness of his cause. “And it seems, from what I read in the library, that others asked the same questions before me. And that they found answers.”

Several Council members glanced uneasily at each other, then all eyes turned to Samah.

He looked grave and sad, not angry. “I understand you better now, Brother. I wish you had trusted us enough to tell us this before.”

Alfred flushed, but did not lower his gaze to his shoes, as he was wont, He regarded Samah steadily, intently, with that clear-eyed gaze that had often disturbed Orla.

“Let me describe our world to you, Brother,” said the Councillor, leaning forward, fingertips together on the top of the table. “Earth, it was called. Once, many thousands of years ago, it was ruled exclusively by humans. Consistent with their warring, destructive nature, they unleashed a dreadful war upon themselves. The war did not destroy the world, as so many had feared and predicted. But it changed the world irretrievably. New races, they say, were born out of the cataclysmic smoke and flame. I doubt the truth of that. I believe these races were always present, but had remained hidden in the shadows, until the light of a new day should dawn.

“Magic came into the world then, supposedly, though all know that this ancient force has been in existence since the beginning of time. It, too, was waiting for the dawn.

“There had been many religions in the world over the centuries; the mensch being glad to toss all their problems and frustrations into the lap of some nebulous Supreme Being. Such Beings were numerous and varied. They were never seen, capricious, demanded to be taken on faith and faith alone. No wonder, when we Sartan came to power, the mensch were thankful to switch their allegiance to us, to flesh and blood beings, who laid down strict laws that were fair and just.

“All would have been well, had it not been that our opposite number, the Patryns, rose to power at the same
time.
³
The mensch were confused, many began to follow the Patryns, who rewarded their slaves with power and wealth seized at the expense of others.

“We fought our enemy, but battle proved difficult. The Patryns are subtle, tricky. A Patryn would never be crowned king of a realm, for example. They left that to the mensch. But you would be sure to find one of their number acting in the role of ‘adviser’ or councillor”

“And yet,” Alfred inserted mildly, “from what I have read, the Sartan were often to be found in such roles themselves.”

Samah frowned at the implication. “We were
true
advisers; we offered counsel and wisdom and guidance. We did
not
use the role to usurp thrones, to reduce the mensch to little more than puppets. We sought to teach, to elevate, to correct.”

“And if the mensch didn't follow your advice,” Alfred asked in a low voice, clear eyes unwavering, “you punished them, didn't you?”

“It is the responsibility of the parent to chastise the child who has behaved heedlessly, foolishly. Certainly we made the mensch see the error of their ways. How would they learn otherwise?”

“But what about freedom of will?” Alfred took several steps toward Samah, passion carrying him forward. “Freedom to learn on their own? To make their own choices? Who gave us the right to determine the fate of others?”

He was earnest, articulate, confident. He moved with grace, with ease. Orla thrilled to hear him. He was speaking aloud the questions she had asked often in her own heart.

The Councillor sat silent during the onslaught, cold, unassailable. He let Alfred's words hang in the quiet, tense atmosphere for a moment, then caught and returned them with studied calm.

“Can a child raise itself, Brother? No, it cannot. It needs parents to feed it, teach it, guide it.”

“The mensch are not our children,” Alfred returned angrily. “We did not create them! We did not bring them into this world. We have no right to try to rule their lives!”

“We did not try to rule them!” Samah rose to his feet. His hand flattened on the table, as if he might have struck it, but he controlled himself. “We permitted them to act. Often, we watched their actions with deep sadness and regret. It was the Patryns who sought to rule the mensch. And they would have succeeded, but for us!

“At the time of the Sundering, the power of our enemy was growing exceedingly strong. More and more governments had fallen under their sway. The world was embroiled in wars, race against race, nation against nation, those who had nothing slitting the throats of those who had everything. No darker time had ever been and it seemed worse must come.

“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 nut 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 youself 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.”