Thirty-One
Tarlain stood upon the steps of the Guild building in Bortruz, flanked on
either side by two tall Kallathik. He’d
thought it important to have them here, though there’d been one or two moments
while they’d been mounting the steps where he thought that the whole structure
was at risk of collapse. He needn’t have
worried, for though the ajura wood
steps had creaked and groaned under the Kallathik weight, they’d borne the
strain. He looked out over the assembled
faces, waiting, choosing his moment. At
first, only one or two of the local townspeople had gathered, but word swiftly
spread. It wasn’t often that something
this unusual happened in a place like Bortruz.
The Kallathik stood
motionless. If he had not known better,
even Tarlain could have mistaken them for totems. The slightest flick of one of their tails
told him they were watching, communicating between themselves in that silent
way he didn’t understand.
He looked around at the
crowd again, checking his words until the last few stragglers joined the back
of the group. Did he have any right to
ask for their support? It had to be
right. He had a duty as Men Darnak, as a
Guildsmen to make things right. If he
let the Kallathik action go unchecked, only bad could come of it.
Judging that the moment
was right, he lifted the spear he held, high above his head.
“Do you see this?” he
said clearly. “Do you know what it
means?”
A couple of the crowd
frowned. One or two looked at each other
blankly. There was the dull buzz of
voices from the back.
“This,” said Tarlain, “is the mark of a coming storm. A storm bigger than anything the Season can
throw at us. Bigger than anything the
Twins can throw at us.” He shook the
spear for emphasis, feeling the weight of the polished wood, then
cast it down, so it fell in the mud at the foot of the stairs.
“What’s your point,
Tarlain Men Darnak?” said a voice from the middle of the crowd.
“Did you hear that?”
said Tarlain. “You heard the name. Tarlain Men Darnak. You know who I am. But do you know who these are?” He gestured to either side at the motionless
Kallathik. “These are the owners of this
land, this place, this world. We are
nothing more than guests in their place, thrown here by an act of the
Prophet. We survive here because of
their grace, no other reason.”
“I’ve heard enough,”
said a man at the back and started to walk away. A brief mutter started to follow him.
“You there!” yelled
Tarlain. “Stay where you are!”
The man stopped, looked
slowly back at Tarlain, snorted, shook his head and turned away again.
“Stop,” said Tarlain.
In a blur, another,
different Kallathik stood in front of the miner, twin spears poised, staring
down at him with its four eyes, passionless.
The man swallowed, looked up slowly into those expressionless features
and lifted his hands. He took a hesitant
step back.
Tarlain had their
attention now.
He lifted an arm. “And there,” he said pointing.
Form the opposite
corner, yet another Kallathik appeared in a blur of motion, stopping just as
quickly as it appeared. The creature
beside him had seen his signal and passed it on. It had taken Tarlain a while to understand
that they could also communicate at a distance, but now that he knew they
could…
“That’s what awaits you if
you don’t listen to me now,” he said to the crowd. “And the Kallathik are ready to march. They are ready to march on the homes and the
families and the holdings of everyone who stands in their way. We have treated them like creatures for too
long. They have been patient while we
have ripped up their world around them, but now they are patient no more.” He paused, looking for signs that his words
were sinking in. “You have a choice, all
of you. I know the conditions you live
and work in. They are not far removed
from those of the Kallathik themselves.
Those conditions are put in place by the Guilds and the Guildmasters who
run them. Who gave them the power?”
Another
voice from the crowd. “By the tradition of the First Families.”
And
another. “And
by the Words of the Prophet.”
Tarlain waved his
hand. “The First Families brought us
here for what? Look around you. Is this the paradise they sought?”
A low mutter broke
out. Someone pushed someone else. The man pushed back. Someone else swung a blow.
“Stop!” yelled
Tarlain. He couldn’t afford to lose
them.
“Whatever happens now,”
he said. “The Kallathik are going to
march. You have a choice. You can march with them, or against them. The Guilds have ruled too long on a structure
supported simply by tradition. Well,
tradition is not enough. Now comes the
time for change. Do you want a better
life? A better life for you…” He picked out a face in the crowd and
pointed. “And you…and you. Do you want a better life for all of us?”
The muttering grew.
“So, now is the time to
make your choice. You either march with
us, or against us.”
Deliberately he took the
steps to the ground, one by one. The
paired Kallathik moved in behind him.
The front ranks of the crowd shrank back. Slowly, he stooped and picked up the spear he
had cast down, holding it to his side, one end planted in the ground.
“Make your choice,” he
said clearly. “You must make your choice
now.” He stepped forward and the crowd
parted to make a way through their middle.
Slowly, he walked the length, looking from face to face, the Kallathik
shuffling along behind. As he reached
the edge he spoke again, not looking back behind him, but in a clear strong
voice so that all could hear.
“Those who are with us
should follow us now.”
He didn’t bother to look
back at how many followed as he strode down between the buildings toward the
edges of Bortruz. He knew they were
there. Bortruz would be the first—the first
of many. And in ones and twos and in
numbers, he knew they would join.
Somewhere, back in the
crowd behind him, unnoticed, a solitary figure slipped away, heading for the
stables where his padder lay tethered and waiting.