The anti-government movement takes off

The next morning, Ansidrion excitedly described what he had learned the night before. After four weeks, this had become routine, but this time Ansidrion truly had news. “The Consul will come to Ilepya in the next month. He has already left Poonlon, and he passes along the coast as I speak.”

“When has the Consul most recently come to Ilepya?” I asked. I could not remember him ever coming to our city.

“It has been many years,” Yhako agreed.

“Nine, say the Brothers,” Ansidrion reported.

“Nine years? The second largest city in his whole nation, and he has not visited it in nine years?” I was stunned.

“You know that is not unusual, Federan,” Yhako reminded me. “The entire government consists of natives of Poonlon, who give Ilepya narry a thought. Now Ansidrion, what does the Brotherhood mean to do with this information? Shall you attempt to keep him away?”

“No, Yhako, we welcome him! Let him come to Ilepya!”

This tone made me nervous. “Why? What sort of embarrassment do you have planned for him here?”

“No embarrassment, Federan. No shame at all! Because I happen to know that once the Consul sets foot in Ilepya, he shall never leave!”

Yhako’s eyes widened and his mouth drew tight. He glared at Ansidrion. “Will you kill him?” He whispered.

“Shall I? I do not know if I shall. But someone will, yes.”

“How? How can you succeed at it?”

“It is not decided yet. But the Brotherhood will not consider allowing the Consul to come to us without making him pay for his oppression, and showing his government our power.”

I was horrified. “What will killing him accomplish? You know murder to be wrong! How can you celebrate in planning the death of a man?”

“Federan, this is what they do. They have been killing innocent people for years—they have done it with Sirlay. The only way they can be stopped is by removing those who command these killings.”

“They have done it with Sirlay, yes. Bishop Irat had Sirlay assassinated, and look at what it did for Irat! He is dead now, and everything he had believed in is wiped away. Is this what you want for yourself?”

Ansidrion shook his head. “Federan, it is not so simple. The government must be stopped, and little labor strikes and angry letters will not achieve it. We need something bigger.”

I was so angry that I could not even tolerate speaking with him. Instead, I stood up and walked out, throwing myself upon my bed in anger. Yes, he wanted to be a leader, to be a prophet, a man of bold action. But was murder the sort of bold action he wanted to be responsible for? What kind of leader plotted to kill a man? I had vowed not to be like Yhako, but I could not be like Ansidrion, either. If this was a revolution predicated on violence, I could take no part in it.

Yhako and Ansidrion let me have the day to myself, perhaps preoccupied in their own argument. I expected that Yhako might disagree with Ansidrion’s actions, but probably accepted them immediately. They might be discussing the issue as I lay in my bed; perhaps Yhako attempted to dissuade him. But I had learned from Yhako already that there could be no stopping Ansidrion. This he meant to do, and he would let nothing prevent him.

...

Then, as night began to fall, I heard strange sounds outside of my window. They were men’s voices, but there were more of them than I expected for our quiet street, and they sounded angry. I opened my window and led my head out of it, but I could see nothing, tucked away into the alley as I was. So I ran from my room, grabbed my coat and stepped outside. In retrospect, it was rather foolish of me to run outside in these times when I heard something strange happening, but I felt inexorably drawn to it, like Ansidrion to the Brotherhood.

There, on the street, were about a dozen men, walking together. With the cover of darkness, they were shouting phrases in unison. I caught one: “Yhahram alu—-the light is with me.” By the time I stepped onto Trafgha Street, they had nearly rounded the corner out of view, as they walked quickly, with their bodies pressed close together. From a distance, after they had left the street, I heard them call “tarbhasht.” Was this a Deshilva protest? Were they encouraging their neighbors to strike?

I hastened back inside and went directly to Ansidrion’s chamber. We had not spoken since our argument that morning, and I certainly had not accepted his new course, but I had to know what he knew about this protest. To my surprise, he was not asleep, but was rather writing at his small table.

“Ansidrion, heard you those men on the street?”

“No, I have heard nothing. What men?”

“Just this moment, there were a dozen men walking the street together, shouting about the tarbhasht. I believe it was a protest.”

“A protest? Here, on Trafgha Street?”

“Yes, right here, although they quickly proceeded toward the center of town. Is this the Brotherhood’s doing?”

“No, we do not protest. We have planned no tarbhasht.”

“Could there be one that you do not know about? The shouted those words clear as day.”

“No, I know of all of the Brotherhood’s doing. No protest, no tarbhasht.”

“Then this was a protest arranged by some other group. There are others organizing against the government.”

“I suppose, although a protest will not achieve much. They will meet their end at the hands of the asdesaj. No, this is not the Brotherhood’s doing, for we would not use such base tactics.”

Ansidrion’s smug and dismissive attitude disinterested me, so I left abruptly and returned to my room. Others were taking action as well. There was a way to take part in the revolution without joining the Brotherhood. Of course, this method might have been even more perilous, but seeing men appear in the streets, in complete defiance of their governmet, inspired me. Their mere presence showed a refusal to fear, which was the ultimate anti-government action. I knew very little of their motive or history, but merely from a few seconds of observation, I felt a sense of deep admiration.

I thought about their phrase, yharham alu. I did not quite understand what it meant, but the sound of it appealed to me. I turned it over in my head a few times, thinking of what light might represent. Then, I grabbed my letter to Qhema and signed it: “your brother, Federan Poniubiresh, yharham alu.”

The path of the Poniubiresh Brothers is irrevocably changed

And so things went on in this way for quite some time. I began to accept more and more of the Deshilva doctrine, and quickly adopted belief in a real political reform. The three of us studied together every day, and kept abreast of developments abroad by way of Sirlay’s old friends and word of mouth.

Sirlay’s murder had set in motion a series of events that eventually led to Bishop Irat’s own murder, and the overthrow of the old religious structure in all of Yafia. I was, of course, opposed to the murder as a matter of principle, but there was no doubt that good came from it. The Yiffens swore off all allegiance to the old religious regime, and established a new reformed church from Grontinion, while permitting religious freedom for all of its citizens. At the Council of Hillea, to which the governments of Yafia, Colof and Hihaythea all sent representatives, our government found itself under serious pressure. The other two nations had recently experienced revolutions leading to the establishment of very liberal, forward-thinking republican governments, and they began pressing Hihaythea for change. Our delegates to Hillea resisted, of course, but this pressure soon began to show itself in our people, and finally some citizens of Ilepya began to awaken and call for change.

But for the Poniubiresh brothers, things remained the same. We were scholars, not warriors, and we had no business attempting to overthrow a government. We cheered the others, of course, and offered private congratulations when underground rebels managed to embarrass the government or organize an anti-government tarbhasht, or strike. But aside from these words, we took very little part in these events.

Events might have continued along on this path, with us allowing a revolution to be carried out around us, had Yhako not brought home news one day that irrevocably changed it all. He had no idea, of course. None of us did. When he brought home word that one of his old friends had started a cabal of revolutionaries called the Ilepyan Brotherhood, he told of it innocently enough. He planned to offer them some modest financial support; a gesture to show our support for the revolution, but nothing large enough to be traced back to us.

Ansidrion and I supported the idea, of course. Our household had accumulated a substantial amount of money and the three of us had very little use for it. We settled the matter with very little discussion and then, as I was feeling slightly ill of the stomach, I excused myself and retired to bed early.

When I awoke the next morning, my condition had improved, and I went to the study to join my brothers as usual. To my surprise, however, neither of them was present. I checked their bedchambers but they were not therewithin either, so I assumed they had left on some errand and would return shortly. I thought very little of it, and so found myself a hunk of bread and sat down at my desk.

About an hour later, Yhako entered the home alone. “You are here, brother,” I smiled at him. “But now what have you done with Ansidrion?”

“That man,” he said, shaking his head. I could not say if he was upset, although I sensed conflict in him. “That man shall go his own way.”

“What way is this? Where is he?”

“I have taken him to see an old acquaintance of mine: Edoro Beinsar, the cobbler. He is, I suppose, at Beinsar’s house at present, deciding what to do with the rest of his life.”

“Do not tell me Ansidrion has chosen to forsake us for shoes!” I still could not read Yhako’s emotions, so I attempted to keep the mood light.

“He has decided to join the Ilepyan Brotherhood. Or, perhaps he has decided not to. Who is to say? But the idea so enchanted him that he could speak of nothing more than it last night, and refused even to sleep, pestering me as I took up the as’shelik books. He so wore me down that I had no choice but to agree to take him to see Beinsar this morning, to discuss membership in the group.”

This was quite a surprise to me, of course. I had known Ansidrion to believe very strongly in revolutionary activity, of course. And that he had made the decision and then immediately acted on it did not surprise me; Ansidrion had not a moment’s patience in him, and as soon as he set his mind to something he could not be led astray. But to join the Brotherhood? Yes, he had helped to consult on the tarbhasht a few months ago, and even offered his imposing physical presence as a means of protection for the workers in the tarbhasht. But these were small, uncoordinated activities, and as such, they brought very little attention to him. To participate in a revolutionary organization was uncharted territory for any member of our family, and it frightened me that we might become so deeply involved.

Yhako continued speaking, however. “Between you and me, and I suppose between him and me as well, I hope he decides against it. He is far too lacking in caution to be putting his life at risk so.”

I agreed. When placed in a dangerous situation, he was likely to press forward. Besides, not only did it bring great risks upon him, but it also endangered our family. If he were caught, what was to prevent those in power from coming after me or Yhako?

Of course, there was no putting Ansidrion off, and I knew it. When he returned home that afternoon, Yhako and I were sitting in the study, having pretended to labor all day. I, of course, thought of nothing but Ansidrion and the great risk he was taking. I knew Yhako well enough to know that he could not study in this state either, and I hoped that he had spent the time thinking on how to trick Ansidrion out of joining the Brotherhood. I knew that was our only chance; he could not be dissuaded directly, but Yhako, in all of his wisdom, might be able to fool him away.

So I sat back in expectation, hoping that every word in the conversation to come was part of a great game Yhako had planned. “And what will you have decided?” He asked casually.

“The Brotherhood meets one night each week. I shall attend my first meeting two nights hence,” he smiled, appearing very pleased with himself.

“Then you have decided to join them?”

“It is so. The Brotherhood will be the only way anything is accomplished in this city. With my membership and your financial support, we might actually manage a revolution.” Then he looked at me. “You might consider coming with me, Federan.”

Me? Why not Yhako? I was still new to this movement, far too innocent of it all to be taking such action. I still had studying to do, knowledge to acquire before becoming so involved. The idea seemed abrupt, and it terrified me.
But I needed not offer a response, because Yhako spoke first. “And your sleep? How will you rest on those nights, if you are to attend meetings?”

“These are exciting times, Yhako! A man does not need sleep; fighting for revolution is restive enough!”

Yhako frowned for a moment, and then merely shrugged. “I suppose it is so.”
Ansidrion glanced at both of us for a moment, but I avoided his gaze, wary that he might suggest my membership again. Then he left the room, allowing me a chance to interrogate Yhako.

“Will you do nothing about this? He puts himself, he puts us in danger!”

“Of course he does, Federan. But he cannot be put off. You cannot understand how deeply he is drawn to this.”

I hear a bit of desperate exhaustion in Yhako’s voice, but I would not give in so easily. “And what if he convinces me to attend meetings with him? Would you simply allow me to join the Ilepyan Brotherhood as well?”

“No, Federan. It is not for you, and you know it. I shall not have to convince you not to join because you will have already convinced yourself.”

“But for Ansidrion?”

“Ansidrion throws himself down paths, hastening toward an end. Once he has an end in mind one can only delay him, but there is no dissuasion.”

“Then delay him! Give him obstacles, prevent him from attending even if but for a week or two. Perhaps it will give him enough time between now and then to change his mind.”

“No, he wants this more than anything else. I saw in his eyes last night, this morning, this afternoon. He is already seeing himself in the Ilepyan Brotherhood, taking revolutionary action. There is no point in delaying it.”
I wanted to argue more, but I saw in Yhako what he saw in Ansidrion. He was an immovable force, unwilling to alter events from the motion into which they had now been set.

Yhako reflects on his introversion

“I was never much of a brother to Ansidrion, I am sure you know,” Yhako shrugged.

“No, not at all. The two of you always seemed to be a united force, and I felt that if one of you held an opinion, the other would as well, although he might present it with more aggression, and you with more wile.”

“That is true, of course. Ansidrion and I are in almost constant agreement at all times. But I was never quite able to give him what he needed from me. When Sirlay was in the home, the two of them were always close, and Ansidrion saw him as a hero. I might have felt the same way, but that I resented it; Ansidrion and I were so close in age that I expected to be his mentor. But instead, I was like Father, always full of ideas, always lost in thought. When he became old enough to think for himself, Ansidrion would love to passionately debate with Sirlay, sometimes becoming so fiery in his convictions. Sirlay always won the debates, of course, and although Ansidrion would never concede, he could be seen to hold the reverse position several days later. I, meanwhile, listened to it all, but said very little.

“After Sirlay left, Ansidrion was devastated, and this was accelerated, of course, by Father’s death and Mother’s sudden change. He and I both felt we had no one, but while this meant very little to me, Ansidrion was lost, and needed someone upon which to depend. So I had to step in and become his mentor, but I was fumbling at it, and often preferred to withdraw from him than to help him grow. I loved that he looked to me for ideas, but I hated that he challenged me, and that he demanded my attention so frequently.

“When we left Mother and you in Kapabaj, the relationship became more strained than ever, because we had no common enemy, no one against whom we were united. I loved him, of course, and I admired him and on my best days I loved laboring and studying at his side, but other times I felt that there was no reason for the two of us to even so much as live together.”

“I had never suspected as much,” I interjected. “I never sensed that the two of you might feel anything but love toward one another.”

“I am glad for that, because I hoped that neither he nor you would ever notice. This was my struggle, and although it involved others, I felt that it was purely external. I knew that I had a responsibility to him as my brother, but I also felt that a common belief system and bloodline alone are not enough to keep two men together. I grew miserable; exhausted in both body and mind, because of the great toll this conflict took upon me. I still slept at night in those days, but I was never fully rested with Ansidrion around, for I was forced to spend every waking moment with him, and devote all of my conscious energy to his well-being. Ansidrion, as you know, lives outside of his head, and relies on validation from those around him to thrive. He demanded it from me constantly, and I never had time to myself.”

“It is odd for you to say such a thing, for I felt the opposite. When Ansidrion came to visit me in Kapabaj in those days, I felt joy, for unlike with Mother, I always knew his mind exactly, and had a constant source of interaction. He doted upon me, spent his every minute talking to me or seeking to entertain me.”

“That is precisely what saved us. You needed attention from someone more stable than Mother, especially after Qhema left, and he was just the man to give it to you. I convinced him that he should visit you on occasion, but this was due to my own selfish motives, as I merely wanted a week or two apart from him. He would return to find me refreshed, emotionally equipped to handle his codependence. He never acknowledged it, but I think some part of him realized that, whenever he returned home from Kapabaj, I was always more pleasant to him, and for that reason he enjoyed it all the more.

“Eventually, though, even these small respites were not enough. I would grow accustomed to his presence once again, and become exhausted. My time spent studying or toiling at the business became less productive again, and I despaired of ever being able to labor successfully again. Knowing that I had to spend time away from him, but that I could never say it, I devised a plan. I knew that Ansidrion had never taken much interest in the as’shelik, but that he thoroughly enjoyed his studies. I needed to be able to undertake both, and enjoyed both besides, so I proposed to him that I should take on all of the business responsibilities. I had to find a way to spend this time alone, so in return, Ansidrion would take on all of the sleeping responsibilities.”

“Now the story! I have always been so curious as to this arrangement. Now that I know the details, please tell why Ansidrion never questioned such a thing.”

“You know how rash Ansidrion is. When he is offered favorable terms, he never thinks to question the motives. He was blinded by the offer of days half of sleep and half of study—the thing he wanted most in the world. And so, without a second thought, he took it. He took it with a great grin on his face as though he had won a great battle and, indeed, perhaps he did. It is entirely possible that such a thing was his plan all along, and were you to talk to him, he would tell you that he tricked me into this agreement.

“I had thought that adjusting to this new lifestyle would be gravely difficult. I had been sleeping all my life—or, a few hours of each night of my life—and to forego it entirely was a remarkable change. But the truth was that I had been living without rest for years. Being constantly at Ansidrion’s side had worn me down such that even sleep exhausted me. He found his way into my dreams, hassling me with his bold pronouncements and heavy arguments as I sought sleep. Now, as I had half of the day to myself, it was more restorative than any of that shallow sleep could ever have been. I felt more restored with the change. And, what was more, I found spending time with Ansidrion enjoyable. Studying at his side was a pleasure, and we no longer competed with one another, but rather complemented each other.”

“And your relationship has been ideal ever since?”

“As near as it can be, with a pair of men as different as the two of us. He does things that I would not, and I am sure he finds many of my actions confusing, but I have learned to accept him as I never had in our youth.”

“I had no idea that you were so intolerant of others!” I smiled at him, surprised at the depth of his revelations. I had never thought of Ansidrion as so dependent, or of Yhako as so grumpy. “Had you felt this way about me, as well?”

“Oh no, not you, Federan. You were much easier to manage. You were such a quiet child that if I were not careful, I would not have noticed you at all. I do not mean this as a slight, for this was a characteristic I enjoyed in a person. No, you were much more like me; quietly curious and thoughtful, saying much less than you could have. I enjoyed you, although I am sure it never seemed that way.”

“No, that is correct. You did not think much of me in those days. Although I
thought very little of you either.”

“And for that I apologize, but in my youth I was so concerned with my own thoughts that I had no time for others. I did not know how to converse with a child, as I had spent much of my youth with siblings my age, with Father or alone. Besides, Ansidrion required so much of my attention that I could not make much for you.”
I suddenly felt that Yhako and I were alike, much more than I had ever realized. He had always been an admirable but distant figure, but as a man of few words, a man who kept many hours to himself, we had never become particularly close. I had not had the chance to know him much as a person, and having this conversation with him now made me happy. It seemed right that I should tell him as much. “It would seem, then, that Mother, Sirlay and Ansidrion are cut from the same cloth, as are Father, you and I.” I smiled at him.

To my surprise, however, he did not smile back, but rather looked vulnerably nostalgic once again. “Yes, it was so,” he said. I felt as if he had intended to go on, but he stopped short. Yet, in a peculiar way, I knew exactly what he meant to say, and I, too, wanted him not to say it. This statement, completely unsaid and even unprecedented in the current conversation, loomed over us. It demanded to be uttered, so Yhako and I both knew we could say nothing, less the statement take control and transform our words into itself.

Mother, Sirlay and Ansidrion were alike. Those three had made sacrifices, taken daring decisions for their beliefs, risking everything to do what they thought was right. For Mother, it had cost her her sanity. For Sirlay, his life. And yet, here sat Yhako and I, doing nothing for our beliefs, simply spouting our truths from the comforts of our city home. Yhako had already lost hope of doing anything. He had already accepted that he would die like Father, having accumulated an impressive wealth of knowledge, but having used none of it to make a difference in the world around him.

It was at that moment that I vowed not to be like Yhako. We might have been born with some of the same characteristics, but I could not allow myself to give in to this apathy. Father had imparted his wisdom unto Yhako, and Yhako his unto me, but now I would do something with it. I did not quite know what yet, only that it had to be something important, and it had to be soon.

Yhako's take on his brothers and himself

    “I am surprised that Ansidrion would take such bold action these days,” I admitted.

    “Oh?  I suppose I am as well.”  Yhako shrugged.  “But what causes your surprise?”

    “Because I had always thought of him as slothful!”  I chuckled.  “He has never to me seemed the sort of man who might take direct action to solve a problem, even when he so fully believes in the solution.”

    “Slothful?”  Yhako pursed his lips.  “I do not suppose I had ever thought of him in such terms.”

    “Not ever?  But how about the way that the man sleeps half of his days away?  Look at how he lives his life:  either sleeping or in his studies.  I understand that the two of you have arranged it as such, but a man who spends half his time in his bed and the other half at his desk is the kind that will have many hours for thought but narry a minute for action.”

    “No, Fe’n.  It is not this way at all.  Ansidrion has not behaved this way out of sloth, but rather from pride.  He sees himself as a prophet who has yet to reveal his prophecy. He believes that he shall one day discover a great truth unto which many men will be drawn.  He believes he is capable of everything that bespeaks glory.  I cannot even begin to explain how intensely he was drawn to Maddith’s Miracles when he first read of them.  Every day it was a new revelation from him; ‘Yhako, I will recreate this miracle,’ or ‘I believe I know of several miracles that Maddith has forgotten entirely.’”  He donned a distant smile, thinking fondly of his youth with his brother.  “Recall how doubtfully he responded when you spoke of your Pelatt.”

    “He absolutely refused to consider that P’att might be the Noble Laborer." I agreed. "But then how can he take such interest in The Miracles?”

    “He does not doubt The Miracles, or the Noble Laborer, or you.  He could not consider that you had revealed this miracle, for if your P’att had been the Noble Laborer, that would mean that he might never find his own.  You did not intend it, of course, and I doubt Ansidrion even realized it immediately, but you alienated that miracle from him.”

    Ansidrion had had a rigid determination to be correct at the cost of everything else, but I had always thought it had been because of conviction in his education.  I did not consider that it was deeper, that it got to what he saw as his life’s purpose.  But if he were so determined to be a revealer of truth, it seemed very contrary to the concept of reform, for how could he be open to anything other than his own ideas?  But I declined to say this at this moment.  Instead, I returned to the original topic.  “Then how has this led him to the Ilepyan Brotherhood?”

    Yhako did not respond to this query directly, but instead went far astray.  “Federan, I wish you could have known Sirlay.  He was truly a great man, and you might understand our history and cause with much greater significance had he been able to lead you.”

    “But I have known of Sirlay through his words.  He has sent me many letters, and although I neglected to read them at the time, I have since reviewed many of them, and gleaned great knowledge from them.”

    “But Sirlay is words least of all.  He was a man of action, a man of leadership.  I am not surprised that he would have been seen as a leader of the revolution in Yafia, as a man even worthy of assassination by that evil bishop.  I have met no man as adept as he at finding the proper solution, and bringing it about without hesitation or flaw.”

    “Then we need a man like him here in Ilepya now, do we not?”

    “Indeed, precisely.  Sirlay is exactly what we need in this time and place.  Ansidrion has realized it, as well, and he now seeks to be Sirlay.  He has been a man of letters long enough; now he feels that his prophecy will come in the form of deed.”

    “And do you believe it?  Can Ansidrion become Sirlay?”

    “I do not know, Federan.  Ansidrion has never been a man of deed.  He has never truly sought to put his learning to use.  I suppose that the Ilepyan Brotherhood will be the first test thereof.  His likeliest downfall, of course, is that he will probably feel entitled to leadership, and I worry that this might prevent him from doing the most good he possibly can.”

    “But that is the way with us all, I suppose.  When we first try anything, we must have our way at it, and must learn through our failures along the way.”  Yhako nodded and we were silent for a moment.  “But if Sirlay was a man of action whom Ansidrion seeks to emulate, and Qhema has clearly taken her own action, then what of you and me?  Should we not take action as well?”

    Yhako smiled.  “There is still the priesthood for you, is there not?  Or has that since changed?”  I smiled and shook my head to acknowledge the jest.  But then Yhako sighed.  “It has never quite seemed right.  I am not a leader like Sirlay; Grontinion is not for me.  I am not adventurous like Qhema; Vendi Alisia is not for me.  I am not bold like Ansidrion; the Ilepyan Brotherhood is not for me.  None of it seems to fit me very well.  But you shall find yours yet.”

    Yhako seemed wistful, vulnerable for the first time ever I had seen.  It made me uncomfortable, and I immediately sought to argue.  “As shall you, Yhako!  None of those things are right for me, either.  Each of us shall find his path.”

    “No, I am becoming an old man now, and the time for me to make my way in this world has come and passed.  I shall be a scholar; a man who studies letters and shares his insights with others.”

    “Old man?  Nonsense!  You are but a year older than Ansidrion, who is only now making his way with the Ilepyan Brotherhood.  You still have many years ahead of you, and besides, you might be able to achieve amazing things in very little time.”

    “Unless this is enough for me.  Perhaps to be a man of letters is all I want.  I am quite accomplished at it, after all.”

    “Indeed, you are the wisest man I have ever met, Yhako, and I doubt there is a scholar as talented as you in this entire country.  But this talent is one that you should share with the world; one through which you can bring about great things.”

    “And I have already begun to, for if you will permit me, I would like to claim a bit of work for you.  You shall do remarkable things, I know, and I suppose one must credit your elder brothers who, in your youth, constantly harassed you until you changed your course.”

    He smiled and I met his, but I did not feel joy.  He spoke almost as a man on his deathbed might speak to his son, and it seemed to lack hope entirely.  I had always thought of Yhako as a man concerned with the future where Ansidrion was far too contained in the present, but if an eye to the future produced such a melancholy outlook, perhaps there was no reason for optimism.  “I will grant you claim for me, of course, but you must know that you will do greater things than change my feeble mind, brother.”

    “I see no such thing as greater than that.”  And then he stood and left the room, patting my shoulder as he passed by.  He had given me a fresh perspective on Ansidrion, but I now worried for him, Yhako, as he seemed to be a man without hope entirely.  I knew he was capable of more if he could alter his path just as Ansidrion just had, but at the very least, I could give him hope by achieving the greatness he had come to expect in me.