Ansidrion on Yhako

            The next morning, Yhako required to meet with merchants for the as’shelik business, so he was out of the house as soon as the sun had risen.  It was rare, in those days, for me to have a moment alone with Ansidrion, as Yhako was in the home at nearly all times.  We took breakfast together, and I started right in on satisfying my curiosity.  “What does your Brotherhood plan?”  I asked.  “When you give them your night, what comes of it?”

            Ansidrion seemed to glowed at the mere mention of the Brotherhood.  “Well, dofit, just this night previous we found ourselves planning the evatarr.”  He paused, waiting for me to ask what this term meant.  I merely shrugged, so he continued.  “The evatarr comes from the Gringellic ewitterada, which, along with the tarbhasht, was perhaps the most important weapon of their revolution.  It is a commercial action, in which a person avoids giving his business to those who oppose him.”

            “Oppose him?”  I asked.  “Oppose him how?”

            “By holding opposing political views, of course.  The supporters of the Yiffen revolution avoided buying products from known supporters of the existing tyrannical government.”

            “I suppose this provides more resources for revolutionaries, while preventing them from falling into the hands of the oppressors?”

            “Precisely that,” Ansidrion said, nodding.  “And when the guilds of Rakka held all of the governing power in their hands, at the height of the revolution, the financial incentives of siding with the revolutionaries proved decisive.  The larger guilds supported the revolution, while those that did not faced an ewitterada so harsh that they failed, and were eventually overran by pro-revolutionary guild members.”

            “But our guilds are nowhere near as strong.  Most businesses in Ilepya are not even organized into guilds; how can an evatarr accomplish anything here?”

            “We do not need guilds, Federan.  We will merely compile a list of the families who have acted against us, and instruct our allies to avoid their businesses.  This list will even reach our allies abroad, and the people of Hillea and Rakka will not trade with them either.”

            “It does sound like quite a burden for our opponents.  Perhaps some of their businesses might be ruined, while others might be convinced to withdraw their support for the government.”  We were silent for a moment, as Ansidrion nodded with pride.  “But what if we can find no alternative to our opponents?”

            Ansidrion frowned at me.  “What is this?  What do you mean?”

            “What is every known family in a certain business opposes us?  The Doliths are an example—they produce all of the red beans in this part of the country.  Shall we no longer eat them?”

            “Of course we shall not!”

            “And what if we were to discover that every tailor from here to Pondital supported the government against us?”

            “Then we would learn to sew our own clothes.”

            I shook my head.  “I am not sure if you will convince many people to abandon their accustomed trades.”

            “It is not unreasonable to ask that people temporarily surrender a few luxuries for a cause as important as this,” Ansidrion scoffed.  “It is but a small sacrifice.  Perhaps you shall buy your bread from the enemy, but I know not where you will find your cash, as not a dorvdiyar from Father’s business will fall into their hands.”

            “Ansidrion, this is not what I intend.  Of course I will comply with it.  It is merely that—”

            “That you do not believe in it.”

            “But if you say it has worked before, so I shall trust you that it will work again, and I wish you the best of luck in it,” I said, attempting to recover his good will.”

            “Good,” he said brusquely, ripping a loaf of bread in two.

            The morning had only just begun and I had already alienated Ansidrion.  We had another hour or two alone, and I wanted to make the best of them.  We had not been particularly close since I first moved Ilepya, but I wanted to rectify that, and I had seen this morning as the perfect opportunity.  “I had not meant to challenge you, I merely wanted to understand.  There are many things that you understand better than I, after all.”  Flattery did not seem to have its desired effect; he gnawed on his bread, but his forehead remained furrowed.  “Yhako, for one, is a subject I should leave up to you to explain.  Do you believe he is content with his studies alone?”

            Ansidrion continued chewing.  Then, after a moment, he swallowed and raised his eyebrows.  “You mean to say his studies and his business?”

            “Yes, I suppose I do.  Is he content with this, what he has, forever?  I know that I desire to do greater things in my life, and you have already begun to undertake them by way of the Brotherhood.  Shall Yhako accomplish nothing more than reading and writing?”

            Ansidrion sighed.  “I believe he wants nothing more.  Yhako has always seen himself as a prophet.”  At this I smiled, recalling Yhako’s words about Ansidrion’s desired prophecy just the week before.  “He believes that he will achieve his most important accomplishments through his letters.  He is full of wisdom, as you know, and he believes that all he must do to change the world is to find the proper way of letting it out.  Let actions for others, he feels, for everyone is capable of action, but only few are capable of word.”

            “Do you believe as much?  Will he be satisfied in the end?  Will he accomplish anything?”

            “Federan, I wish you could have known Sirlay.”  Was I dreaming?  This seemed to be the exact conversation I had had the previous week, merely with my brothers switched.  “Yes, you know him through his letters, but he was much more than that.  He was a brilliant man; a man who could form an argument faster than you could pose your question.  Yhako and I were in awe of him in our youth, and now look at the shadow he casts over us.  He is a hero in a foreign land, and will probably soon be thought of as a hero here.  He has already accomplished all he ever can in life, and yet he has done more than I think I might ever do.”

            “Should that not inspire Yhako to do more with himself?  If Sirlay is his hero, should he not attempt to accomplish all Sirlay has?”

            “But firstly, Sirlay was always a student.  Sirlay loved reading, and as you have seen, he was quite a prolific writer.  Sirlay’s singular quest in life was the search of knowledge, and so Yhako has decided to pursue the same.”

Who is responsible?

            Yhako and I decided to spend the afternoon walking along Maidia Street, as we had many years before, with Ansidrion.  We invited Qhema along, but she declined, perhaps astutely recognizing that we needed this moment to ourselves.

            We merely exchanged our fare further, and I told him a few words more about my experience while he had been away.  I mentioned that I had reconnected with P’att and that he had stayed at our home for a time, but that a dispute had caused him to leave, offering no details as to this dispute.  There would be time for those stories later.  Instead, I mostly spoke of protests, and pointed out spots to him along Maidia Street where certain momentous occasions had happened.

            When we approached the Apgha, however, we fell silent.  Yhako studied the fallen gate, the broken windows, the tattered standards.  He said nothing, but merely sighed at the magnitude of it.

            “Life certainly has changed in the months since you left,” I said at length.

            “It has,” he whispered.  Then I saw a satisfied smile cross his face.  “And you have done this, Federan.”

            “No,” I argued back quickly.  “I have not done this at all.  When brave Ilepyans took to the streets, I was in my bed.  I failed to sacrifice as Ansidrion had.”

            “If we all gave Ansidrion’s sacrifice there would be no one left to enjoy the fruits thereof.  But you have worked for this.  You spent many nights in the street, and each one of those nights was a risk on your life.  Federan, you are as much a revolutionary as any one of the others.”

            I thought about my first protest, and the nights with P’att in the streets.  I had passed many nights in my bed, yes, cowardly hoping others would carry out the revolution on my behalf.  But I had also protested, I had also taken part in the Parebhur, I had shouted my guilty name at the Apgha, and I had helped tear down those awful gates.  I was not the single hero, a leading revolutionary, as I had fancied myself, but I was one of many who had done his part to bring about profound change.  I smiled.  “Yes, Yhako, I suppose you are correct.  I have done this.  And so have you.”

            “No, I am but a stuffy old academic, kept in his study when the revolution began, fled abroad as it ended.”

            “Yhako, do not decline this praise again, for you have done many things in your own way.  You have risked your life and livelihood to seek help in Grontinion, you have trained and supported your brothers in their activity.  You must take your own credit for it.”

            But Yhako merely shrugged, unconvinced.

            “No single man brings about a revolution, Yhako,” I continued.  “No one deed wins a war.  It takes many individual and collective actions by thousands of people.  I have been one of those, Ansidrion has been one of those, and you have been one of those.  We are no greater than the grocer who simply complies with the Parebhur and the Evatarr, but otherwise goes about his daily life.  But we are no lesser than the martyrs who have given everything.  Everyone has his part to play, and we all must take pride therein.”

            Again, Yhako said nothing, but where before he had appeared full of doubts, now he seemed lost in thought.  There was no way for me to know what he was thinking just then—pressing Yhako never yielded much result—but for now I contented myself that he was at least considering my argument.

            After a few minutes’ silence, Yhako placed his hand on my shoulder to indicate he was ready to continue walking, so we ambled forward, away from that terrible form, that symbol of crushing oppression that had, itself, been crushed.

Guilty Names at the Apgha

            I heard men shouting up by the gates. Then the words grew closer and closer. "Jordeh Maqheba," one man said. Then a woman called "Yhari Edlar." There were many people calling out names at once, and I could not hear all of them. There was only one pattern I noticed; a person only shouted one name once, and was silent thereafter.

            After some consideration, I decided that these were names of people who had been killed by the Kapbaji. Whose name would I say? Of course, Ansidrion was the obvious choice, but what about Sirlay? He had been a martyr of the revolution. He had been partially vindicated by successes in Yafia, yes, but this was his fight too, and he had given his life for it. I wondered how many other men around me had more than one name to say.

            After careful observation, I discovered that men cried their selected name, and then tapped a different man on the shoulder with each of their hands. Being touched upon your shoulder indicated that it was your time to speak your martyr's name. In this way, the number of names uttered doubled every moment. I braced myself for my touch.

            Then, suddenly, I heard a familiar name. "Bires Fidra." I remembered Fidra well; not only did he have a name similar to mine, but he had lived in the house that adjoined to ours until a year ago. Had he been killed as well? I glanced over toward the direction from which I had heard the name. There, looking as healthy and proud as ever, stood Bires Fidra. Then, in the exact same moment as my eyes took hold of him, I felt the man next to me touch my shoulder.

            I paused a moment and took a breath. Then I said "Federan Poniubires." I shouted my name as loudly as I could. Let all the crowds hear it, let Yhako hear it, let the Kapbaji in the Apgha hear it—I had returned to the streets and I was not afraid. Yes, this must have been the intention. Men shouted their names at the conservatives within the Apgha, as a way to say "I am not afraid." At that moment it seemed a more powerful phrase than yahram alu. It captured the same message—a declaration of personal enlightenment via the reform. But it did more:  it proclaimed to those in power that they could no longer rely on their subjects’ fear in order to govern.

            After I said my name, I grabbed two shoulders. Then, without waiting for the expected response, I began to walk through the crowds, directly toward the Apgha. I had spent enough time in the back, enough time using others to shield me. A few men glared at me, as no one else seemed to be pushing forward. But I was not to be put off. Let now be the moment that I am part of the action, rather than merely the one who stands back and observes, questions and records.

            It was not until I came to within about thirty feet of the gates of the building that I noticed that something different was happening here. These men in the front had already uttered their own names, and now they began to press forward. The iron gates were closed firmly against them, so they grabbed hold and began shaking them wildly. These gates were perhaps a hundred years old or more, and they made a terribly loud, clanging sound when this happened. They all began to shout things at once, and their many messages were lost in the clamor, and they used their strength against one another. They had demonstrated such discipline only a few minutes ago, but now they had lost it when the time of action came.

            "Men of Ilepya," I called out to them. "Let you speak one message together! Let you use your force at once, in but one direction!" But the many sounds that they made all made my voice inaudible.

            What had happened? Had nothing by now replaced the Ilepyan Brotherhood? In whose care was the planning of these events now? These were wild men, in desperate need of direction. I watched as a man used both the iron rods and the arms and shoulders of men around him to scramble up over the gates. He seemed to be motioning for others to climb, to follow him over, but none of them did. I could not see him once beyond the gates, and I did not witness what became of him. I only judged that his idea did not meet positive results, as no one did as he had done.

            Perhaps there were a Kapbaji militia waiting on the other side of that gate. If we crossed one by one, we were doomed to our slaughter. But I knew--as I am sure many of my fellows did as well--that if we could all enter through the gates at once, we would overwhelm whatever was within. I pushed as close to the gate as I could and listened closely to a hearty-looking man on my left. "Death to the Kapbaji!" He cried. A man on my right was saying "blood finds blood!" No, none of these would do. Then I heard a man chanting "yahram alu." Yes, this was good enough, and what was more, it was easy. I began to chant along with him, being careful that my tone and speed matched his, in order that our voices might best carry. He noticed this and became louder as well. We continued like this for a minute, with no result.

            I did not become frustrated or lose patience. Instead, I altered my tactic. Continuing to chant, I tapped another man and motioned for him to join in. Then I found a fourth to say it, and he brought with him a few more friends. Now our voices began to dominate, and one by one I heard other voices join ours.  Soon the chant was one, and I knew that whoever was inside of the Apgha could hear our message, rather than our anger.  This was the priority.  Then, as our voices became one, our force became one.  As if by design, we began to pull at once, concentrating all of our strength.  At once, the gate was torn from its hinges.  We collectively paused a moment to marvel at what we had done, but then we threw it forward, and it fell with such great force that it briefly bounced up again, before landing flat upon the stones behind it.

            Now there was a great rush, as men scrambled past one another to enter the Apgha.  I briefly considered charging forward, but then I hatched a different plan, and took a few steps within the gate and out of the way.  I watched as dozens of men flowed in toward the door.  They brought it down easily and then began to push inside of the building.  They continued on and on, and it seemed as if the whole world was entering through the broken-down gate, past the battered door and into the Apgha at that moment.  “It is like the ocean,” I found myself saying aloud.  A drop of water can do little on its own, but when united with hundreds of other drops, it becomes a wave, and has an irresistible force.  The men were acting as one body now, and none of them appeared to be in control of his own motions, but instead each one gave into the will of the crowd.  I felt, at that moment, that this great ocean was bringing ashore our salvation; the thing we needed most in the world.  But what else did it bring?  For although water is infinitely powerful and useful, it is also infinitely dangerous.  The men would overthrow the Kapbaji within, but there was no telling what violence, destruction or oppression that this overwhelming crowd might bring about.

            For now, I could not be concerned with such things, for I had a different task ahead of me.  I am sure it seemed trivial to those around, but to me it was the most important of all.  “Let us take down the other gate, as well,” I called out.  The crowds either did not hear me or did not care.  They were focused on the Apgha, the glorious moment within and perhaps the looting to follow.  But I needed these gates gone.  I tried to stir a few men toward my cause, as I had done with their chanting, but it was of no avail.  No one was willing to halt the wave long enough to listen to the words of a sickly, underfed young stranger.

            But then I looked down at my arms.  They were stronger than ever!  I was underfed, yes, but over the course of two hours, I had ceased to be sickly.  How easily I had forgotten!  It is the streets that regenerate the men of Ilepya!  It is in the roads, speaking against evil and oppression, that good Hihaytheans find their rest!  I had not slept but for a few hours during the course of my alliance with P’att, for we spent our days organizing our parebhurs and evatarrs, and our nights protesting amongst the other citizens.  What is there more rejuvenating than finding common cause with your fellow man and speaking out for what is right?  Yes, on this day, I had become healthier with every step I took, stronger with every man I encouraged, sharper with every yahram alu I had uttered.  How could I doubt my strength?