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.”
No comments:
Post a Comment