The Water Road (8 page)

The business of the Grand Council
sessions continued for the rest of the week. Alban’s routine remained the same,
as well. Every day, Antrey would have to drag him back to the Grand Council for
the afternoon session, away from the book he was reading at his desk. Antrey
thought it was always the same one, although she was never allowed close enough
to be sure. One thing had changed, however. Alban had been more careful about
making sure he put the book in the locked glass cabinet before he returned to
the chamber each afternoon.

At the end of the week the Council
adjourned after its morning session for the weekend. Alban sent Antrey to the
apartment for supplies and stayed behind in his office, working on something.

It was early afternoon when Antrey
returned. She took supplies into Alban’s office itself, only to find that he
was not there. Whether he had just stepped out or left for some period of time
was unclear. Antrey went to the desk to unload her cargo, where she saw the
book, lying out, open to a page, just as it had been earlier in the week. She
placed the supplies on the desk and then studied the book more closely.

The first thing she noticed was
that it was not printed. Most of the books in Alban’s library, even the ones
that contained his own notes about Grand Council sessions, had been
professionally printed and bound. This book was handwritten in neat semi-block
letters. The writing did not belong to Alban, Antrey was certain. The paper
itself seemed old and weathered, the ink fading in spots due to age. It was a
small volume, containing only about a hundred pages. It was open to a spot in
the middle, where Antrey could see, at a quick glance, that the clan structure
of the Neldathi was being discussed.

Antrey walked over to the doorway
from Alban’s office back towards the public entrance, to make sure he was not
there. Then she did the same thing with the doorway and corridor that led to
the Grand Council chamber. It was completely empty.

When she returned to Alban’s
office, Antrey sat down on the chair behind the desk and placed a scrap of
paper in the book to mark the spot where Alban had been reading. She looked at
the cover to find there was no title on the front, nor an indication of who the
author was. She picked it up and looked at the spine, but it was similarly
blank. The binding was simple and unadorned red leather, fraying a bit around
the corners where fingers would flip through the pages. On the inside of the
front cover, in the same neat script that apparently filled the rest of the
book, was written “A Summary of the Grand Council’s Conclusions Regarding the
Neldathi Problem.” Underneath, it said, “Noted by Rangold, First Clerk of the
Grand Council of the Triumvirate.”

Antrey’s first thought was that it
was odd for such a book to be one of those that Alban kept locked in the glass
case. There were numerous history books in his library, including Antrey’s
beloved Xevai’s
History
that discussed the Triumvirate’s policies
towards the Neldathi in great detail. After all, containing the threat posed by
the Neldathi was the primary function of the alliance, once the Rising itself
had been put down. The Grand Council’s plan, which called for both maintaining
the alliance itself and the creation of an extensive series of fortifications
along the Water Road, was well understood throughout the land. Why should this
book be locked away when all those were not? For a moment Antrey thought that
perhaps it was simply an old primary source, valuable for its age alone rather
than what it actually said.

She began turning pages, skimming
the words to find some hint of something beyond her knowledge of the
Triumvirate. In the beginning pages, Rangold laid out the conclusions reached
by the Grand Council on the nature of the Neldathi clans and how they
interacted with one another. She swiftly came to the section Alban had been
reading, which addressed the organizational structure of the clans, and
continued skimming quickly over the words.

After a few more pages, the
discussion turned to Neldathi religious beliefs. “Like the Altrerians before
the old religion was set aside,” Rangold had written, “the Neldathi believe in
a pantheon of different gods. Unlike the Altrerians, however, who once
worshiped those gods as a group, the Neldathi believe that various gods are
associated with each of the clans. In essence, each clan worships a god in
return for it acting as a protector and bringing favor to the clan.”

All that was true, Antrey knew from
her youth. She was surprised when she met Alban and learned about how most
people in the Triumvirate had simply given up their beliefs in the gods more
than fifty years before the Rising. Traces of the old gods remained, in local
customs and habits, but almost no Altrerian seriously believed that the gods
existed or that the Maker of Worlds created them all. The Neldathi, at least
the ones Antrey had grown up with, were fervently faithful and certain that
Alun, the goddess of the moon and protector of the Kohar, impacted their daily
lives.

Antrey skipped over the next few
pages, which laid out the relationship between the Neldathi gods and the clans.
She stopped when she saw a blank page and then, turning it, saw the word
“proposal” written across the top of a fresh page in all capital letters.
Underneath, Rangold wrote, “The danger of another Neldathi uprising is born
from the possibility that the eleven clans, or at least some significant number
of them, will again unite and direct their violence against us. It is therefore
the best hope for maintaining peace between the Triumvirate and the Neldathi
that the clans be prevented from uniting. To do this, the Triumvirate must
ensure that clans focus on the conflicts and rivalries between each other, thus
making them unable or unwilling to cooperate and strike north.”

From reading Xevai’s
History
,
Antrey knew that Sirilo’s greatest accomplishment had been to bring seven of
the clans, including three of the largest ones, together for a common cause. He
was able to overcome the natural animosity between clans, although no one north
of the Water Road had ever discovered how he did it. That unification had
occurred before any Altrerian had heard Sirilo’s name, much less recognized him
as some kind of threat. To the extent that the Speakers of Time knew the story,
Antrey had never heard it told during her time with her clan.

Antrey recognized that what Rangold
had written up to that point was merely an observation, not a proposal for
action. She read on, “therefore, it is proposed that agents of the Triumvirate,
primarily members of the newly formed Sentinel corps, should infiltrate the
Neldathi clans posing as peddlers, travelers, and such. As part of this
infiltration, the Sentinels shall feed information to the various clans in
order to spark conflicts between them, sewing long-term feuds. To do this,
Sentinels will tie questions of insult, honor, and revenge to the various
protector gods of the Neldathi. This should transform small and routine
disputes into religious struggles that are easily explained, but not easily
extinguished.”

When she reached the end of that page,
Antrey sat back in the chair, stunned. She read it again, to ensure that she
knew precisely what it said. The Triumvirate, in order to protect itself, would
set the Neldathi clans against each other, arranging a series of civil wars
tied to fabricated, or exaggerated, religious disputes.

“That’s very clever,” she said to
herself, recognizing that the strategy made a certain degree of sense when
divorced from any concerns about right and wrong. “Keep your enemies fighting
each other. That way, they can’t fight you. If any one side prevails it
still
benefits you, since whoever is left after the conflict will be weakened in the
long run.” But she could not set aside the anger building inside her at the
implementation of such a plan. She sat back in the chair and stared out the
large window across from the desk. “By creating conflict where there is none,
you sacrifice the lives of your enemies for your own comfort.”

Antrey knew too well of the wars
between the clans. Although she knew that the stereotype of the brutal Neldathi
barbarians that populated many of Alban’s books was not accurate, she could not
avoid the fact that the clans fought each other regularly. The battles were
fierce and, in some cases, lasted for days. Even the brief raids were terrifying.
Antrey remembered seeing members of her clan carried away in such raids, taken
for who knows what purpose. She remembered how the Speakers told of horrible
things that one clan did to another, in the name of the gods, and how the other
clan would respond in kind. Most of all, she remembered that the death and
violence of those battles visited not just the warriors, but the old and young,
the weak and the ill. That those she saw brutalized did not think of her as one
of them did not mean she had not been heartbroken by their fate and furious at
those who had caused it.

But it was only a proposal, right?
Surely the Grand Council would not agree to such a ruthless policy being
carried out in its name. Antrey leaned forward and turned the page to a brief
summary of the debates about the proposal. They shocked her. The speeches were
peppered with references to the Neldathi “barbarians,” “savages,” and
“animals.” One Council member argued that “these brutes are going to fight
anyone they can find, why not let them fight each other? If I hold a spear
which may slip and pierce someone by accident, should I not point it at my
enemy rather than my friend?” No one spoke up against the proposal. Not a
single member of the Grand Council argued against it. No brave soul stood up
and argued that, whatever threat the Neldathi might legitimately pose, they
were sentient beings who should not be lied to and set upon one another like
dogs.

By the time the votes were taken,
there was no doubt about the outcome. There, in the neat script in the small
red leather book, it was recorded that each of the nine members of the Grand
Council voted in favor of the proposal. All agreed to purchase their own
security with Neldathi blood, the blood of women, children, the aged, and
anyone else.

Antrey sat back in the chair and
closed her eyes. Rather than weep, she sat and shook with fury, unable to get
up. Clouds shifted outside and sunlight began to flow in from the balcony. It
burned her face, but she did nothing to avoid it. She wanted to explode in a
hundred different directions.

~~~~~

Antrey was so wrapped up in her
anger that she did not notice Alban when he walked into the room. She did not
hear him call her name. It was only a shout that jostled her back to awareness.

“Antrey!” he said. “Didn’t you hear
me come in? What are you doing over there?” He walked over to the desk. “Ah, I
see,” he said, with a pleasant tone as he saw the book on the table, “got lost
reading. Well, I can’t complain about that, can I? So what are you…” his voice
trailed off as he recognized what it was Antrey had been reading. He looked at
her in stunned silence, as if he was unsure what to say.

“Is this why you locked these books
away?” Antrey asked, anger dripping from every syllable.

“I’m not sure I know what you’re
talking about, Antrey,” Alban said, maintaining his calm demeanor. He was
evidently concerned, however, and was not very convincing in his ignorance.
“Those books are first copies, originals. They are priceless historical
artifacts, more than just books. Some are the only known copies in existence.
They’re just too valuable to be left in the general library. They would…”

“Then why not make copies?” Antrey
shot back, interrupting her mentor. She had rarely done something like that, and
never out of shock and spite like she did now. “They could be set in a nice
readable type. Run a few, perhaps a hundred? Then there would be no risk of
their contents being lost. It would make it easier to share these priceless
treasures with the rest of the land.” Antrey stood up and stared directly into
his eyes. “Or is there something you don’t want to share with the rest of us,
sir?” The indignation that was boiling within Antrey scared her, but there was
no repressing it.

After a moment of tense silence,
Alban tried to deflect the accusation. “That is a very good idea, Antrey. I
fault myself for not thinking of it sooner. After this session of the Grand
Council is over, perhaps…”

“That is a lie,” Antrey said,
interrupting again. The accusation jumped out of her, it seemed.

“What?”

“You’re lying to me, sir. I don’t
think that you want what is in these books to leave this office. I think you’re
saying what you think it will take to calm me so I will get back to work and
forget about all this. I can’t do that, Alban. I will not do that.” She
realized after saying it that addressing Alban by name was a line she had never
crossed.

Alban stood and started to speak
several times, tying to conjure a response. Finally, in frustration, he said,
“What is it that you have read, Antrey? What do you think I would lie to you
about?”

She walked out from behind the desk
and stood directly in front of him. Although Alban was tall by Altrerian
standards, Antrey’s Neldathi heritage made them just about even. There was something
in her hand. “Why don’t you tell me, Alban? You’ve been reading it for days
now, during breaks in the Council sessions. This isn’t the first time you left
it out on the table, is it? Remember the opening day of the Council session? I
left it alone then. It must have made some impact on you.”