The Higher Price, Part III

The Enforcer glanced around the crowd. His contemptuous gaze met only blank acknowledgement, a subtle defiance that was beyond his immediate comprehension. He opened his mouth to say something more, but lost his stern composure for a moment; he wasn't sure, anymore, who to address. He moved again to speak, but nothing came out. It was as the Zeare had feared, then, he realized with a sudden shock; these were not just rebels. He understood, now, why he had been sent by the Zeare; this island required cleansing.

"People!", Soderini exclaimed. He spread his arms above his head and made motions at the crowd. His eyes defied the majesty and power of the Enforcer's voice as he cast them about, drawing attention away from the imposing enforcer, his voice tremulous with nervous doubt.

"Look at this man, I tell you, this Emissary, nay, Enforcer, from Terin. He entreats us to surrender. To surrender to the Zeare's justice. To respect the Charter. Gaze at him there, with his regal bearing. His is a noble face, surely. A man of a distinguished Clan, no doubt..."

"What is your answer, criminal?"

Soderini took no notice of the interruption. "...He comes to Kaladon, a name I can still speak, for I speak yet as a free man of a free people. He commands us in the name of the Great Zeare. She bids for our service, or servitude, from her lofty citadel."

He paused for a moment to catch his breath, but not long enough for the Enforcer to intervene.

"Yet I have never seen the Zeare. Nor have I visited Terin, the mighty home of the noble Tilarium. So I can't presume to judge this man, who I've never before met and with whose family I've never had the pleasure of business.

"His justice and judgement are noble of spirit. Certainly his speech rings with the words nobles and Great Clans are wont use. See how his noble face winces in the presence of so many free people, as such a great, privileged man should. This noble man, this man of state, this regal figure who stands here before you-- his is a voice whose honesty and justice we can respect, certainly.

"Wait. What's that he says?" Soderini raised a mocking hand to his ear. "Listen close, it's another's justice of which he speaks, not his own. He bids us pay homage not to himself, not even to the great and powerful armies descending on our free city; no, he bids us pay homage to his master! Whether this be the Charter, a document hallowed in history and truly the source of all wisdom in our modern age, though I've never read it, or the Great and Mighty Zeare, I don't know. But he speaks for either a great Law, or a great Zeare.

"So then, it may be truly said, that we, we Kaladonians, a free people of a free association, are being entreatied by no more than a slave!"

"Foul liar!", the enforcer shouted, his voice menacing, hoarse, "There is no slavery in the League! See how the Charter protects all clans and citizens! You spout poisononous filth, treacherous fiend! Demagogue!"

"Yes", Soderini continued, waving the invective away with a casual shake of his head and a wave of his hand, "Yes, yes. The great Charter protects us. So, then, Not-Slave, I ask you to accept this...", and he motioned to the smashed kiribali fruit, "as a token of our peaceful spirit. Let us now put our differences behind us, as warm winds after a winter storm, and be seated. Let's partake of the sacred fruit, as negotiators and free men..."

The enforcer scowled. "I have no authority to negotiate", he said in a low voice.

"And you're no slave, to be sure."

Several people giggled; a glare from the Enforcer silenced the crowd again. Perimon stepped forward, standing between Soderini and the Enforcer's party.

"Surely, we can come to a mutually satisfying settlement, if we can only agree to consider each other's positions", she begged, reaching out with one arm to the enforcer.

"The Zeare does not wish to accomodate criminals and savages, you who tolerate anarchy. She commands you to surrender to the Charter. Order your foolish followers to lower their weapons and open the city gates."

"Ah. Yes, and would I if I could, noble non-slave. Alas, but you see, as for myself, I have no authority to command these free people."

The assembled rebels laughed, but without great humour.

"We do not recognize such authority."

"You are a trickster and a scoundrel, Soderini. You will answer for these heinous crimes! As will all those who ally with you!"

"Surely, Man of the Zeare. I'll answer, of my own accord and without reserve, for the crimes that I've committed. As will each and every one of the people assembled here. We are all judged."

The enforcer pointed to the boy who'd spoken earlier. He could have been no more than 13 years old. "Look at you, boy. Ridiculous, such a young pup, with your regal bearing. On whose authority were you made a 'leader'?"

The boy scratched the bare earth with his foot, unsure how to answer the Enforcer. But he was obviously unaffected by the Enforcer's magisterial air, too young yet to respond to the man's commanding authority. "We don't have leaders, like."

"Then what are you?"

The boy seemed unsure of himself for a moment, but nods from several people around him motioned that he wouldn't be betraying crucial state secrets. "I'm the delegate for junior weavers. We made a Association, so the weavers can't beat us any more. I hurt my hand, see", holding up a bandaged hand, "and I can't do weaving for a few weeks. So we've got a seat in the Co-ordinating council. An' I'm the seat-er."

Several other children giggled, and the adults smiled at him. The boy smiled a big, toothless grin, and stuck his tongue out at the Enforcer.

"So, now that you've had your revolt, are you still a simple weaver, boy?"

"Um. I guess so."

"Look at you in your dirty rags. Are you rich yet?"

"No." Soderini moved to speak, but the boy continued. "But, pardon, I wasn't going to get rich before."

"And you're still hungry?"

"Um. I went hungry lots before. Old trader used to beat me when I was tired, too. Now I don't have Contracts," and he made a theatrical gesture of spitting at the word, "and we make our own trades. I like it more." His eyes grew fierce. "You're just a foreign devil, Zeareman. Why can't you just go home?". He stuck out his tongue again and made waving motions with his hands.

A dusty silence settled over the crowd. Soderini was studying his sandals, trying to hide a smile, trying to prevent it from turning into a frown. This wasn't going well.

Another bird cawed, this time a carrion peck-bird, and landed on the top of the three-storey Exchange Tower. The Exchange was the tallest building in the city, and the bird seemed to be watching the crowd from that dizzying height, waiting for something to die or rest just a little too long, spying for any advantage it could find. The bird folded its vast wings. An arrow loosed by a perimeter guard narrowly missed the long-necked bird. With a casual motion, all flowing grace and arching curves, it swooped back up into the sky and resumed its endless circling. You could never hit peck-birds, no matter how hard you tried. They always hovered just on the edge of range, waiting for you to tire of the chase.

Soderini thought the people would take it as a bad omen. Only the Enforcer seemed disturbed by the bird's presence; he frowned and made a gesture, a warding motion known only to bird-scryers. From Terin, this enforcer would know much about the science of bird-scrying. So what did the bird signify? No matter. There was no changing course now.

Soderini raised his head, and a fire seemed to come into his eyes. Those near him took a step back. "Don't you see, people? Look at what we've done here, look at the work we've just begun! This man stands here only because the great Zeare's army is on the march to murder us! She's terrified of what you've accomplished! He comes here with her army and makes demands-- demands, mind you-- of free people!"