8

The Chronicler

            I wonder if Leila knew what world she was taking me to when she decided to save my life. Her stay on Earth probably prepared her, sharpened her perception. Still, people tend to remember the world of their childhood with childhood eyes.

Her world was in the midst of a transformation, a transformation for the better in most people’s opinion. The Alnese, though, considered this better, warmer, more desirable world a mixed blessing. They were used to their igloo. They were not used to visitors beating down their doors and staying through more than two winters.

From what I can gather, visitors started to turn into settlers about sixty years before I showed up. Frictions between hosts and settlers soon followed. More recently, the frictions had flared into conflicts. And as it happened, my hosts the Pallases and my O’bonne scholar guide got right into the thick of it all. Here’s an informative sample of the communiques flowing between my new boss Lady Alnos Ciani and Pallas Eden, whom I was just about to meet:

From  Pallas Thor Eden, Twelfth Justiciar of the Order of Arthmis in Zyss to Lady Alnos Ciani, 26th Regent of Alnos:

Report on the status of the Island Heshti murders

            The situation in the islands is rapidly becoming critical, so much so, in fact, that I now hesitate to press for my own earlier recommendation. I know I asked for your ladyship’s assistance when we spoke last. Yet now I have a massacre on my hands, a terrified group of refugees begging me to help them move back to the mainland, and a heshti militia ready to take matters into their own hands if nothing happens soon. While your ladyship may be the only one who can persuade the island clans of the need for justice, I cannot guarantee your personal safety and now must caution against such a visit.  

            The manner in which these murders have been carried out indicates that the murderers think themselves justified. Unfortunately, the clans are breaking with tradition and not only shielding the responsible parties, but keeping mum about the events that led them to take nine lives. I have not made much headway in my investigation. Apparently, three Chanticos and a number of clan allies carried out pre-arranged executions of nine immigrants. No one will explain the alleged heshti acts that have led to such a vengeance, and how these nine people supposedly brought their misfortune on themselves. I am used to the wildest rumors, with immigrants usually accused of everything from rape to child stealing, but no such rumors are circulating in this case. 

            As you know, I am not well known for diplomatic skills. I would have to call on Pallas Alexander for that talent, and he has not returned from his retreat. For now I can only recommend granting safe passage to the heshtis that wish to leave. I feel that in the long run, there is no question of any immigrants remaining in the islands. They must go! Meanwhile, I have deployed my four companies and requested several more companies from other Justiciar units to keep everyone on opposite islands. I am regularly taking people into custody for loitering about in the wrong place at the wrong time. As a matter of fact, I could use still more reinforcements, but Arthmis cannot focus all its resources on one case. 

            Outside mediation might inspire the heshtis with a bit more confidence in our investigation. Perhaps you could discuss the situation with Ashewe Dragon or Ambassador Periasamy and lure them into the brew. They may be gracious enough to help. Considering the fact that heshtis hate everybody equally, I have my doubts about the idea, but it’s worth a try.

Dragon and I barely had time to settle into a training schedule when Alnese history intervened. Unannounced, she rushed into my quarters early one morning dragging a long, multi-layered garment that looked like a stuffed jumpsuit. “Ray, we have been called into action. I know we have not had a chance to do much more than talk about Alnese customs, but sometimes this kind of crash course turns out for the best. I have brought you something to try, to check out the fit.”

Not yet awake, nor up to regular information processing, I stared at her like an uncomprehending idiot.

“Try it on.” She encouraged. When she realized I was uncomfortable with her presence, she stepped back into my living area until I had slipped the garment on, whereupon she stuck her head back into my room for a split-second before proclaiming, “Perfect! I’ve got a whole suit of work and snow clothes picked out in the same size, so you don’t need to pack. Let’s go.”

We swept out onto the compound roof and Dragon had me bundled into the box-like Alnese glider. Before I could gather my full wits, we were already taking off. A collection of compounds littered a high plain beneath us. Then a ring of mountains formed around the city. Finally, the Alnese pilot turned the glider westward and we took off in a burst of speed. We crossed the first mountain crest only to find a second, then a third range blocking our progress. Each time, the pilot boosted both speed and height. I was beginning to feel like Icarus.

Dragon looked sick during our entire time in transit, despite the fact that our pilot coaxed a reasonably smooth ride out of his boxy vehicle. We flew southwest, leaving behind the planet’s dark green belt of growing forests, crossed the subarctic swamp area beyond it and ended up over a forbidding white landscape. Just like on Earth, the shortest distance to the other side of the planet was over one of the poles. I wondered if the Alnese, like the Eskimo, had come up with over twenty terms for ice and snow. The ice soon broke up into icebergs and I realized we were flying over an ocean, then we turned north and the transitions in vegetation between arctic ice, swamp, and forest occurred in reverse, but over hundreds of islands.

After we landed, Dragon first recovered in a plane pitbar with a collection of hostile-looking Alnese. She began to explain that the area where we had landed was called simply the Islands (surprise! surprise!), essentially a holding dock for non-conformists.

“Non-conformists? You mean they don’t all go traveling when they can’t stand to be around each other?” was the first question that popped into my mind.

Dragon laughed, “It is true that island clans were started by returning travelers. Alnese always return at some point, no matter how far they go, Goddess knows why.”

For a long time, only the most northern islands had even been habitable. As the planet had warmed, the two dozen or so clans in this area had all quadrupled their land holdings, and they were still realizing a bonanza. This unexpected land rush had catapulted them from relative obscurity in matters Alnese to a position of some note.  They had gotten so influential, in fact, that the next regent of the planet would most likely be chosen from among them.

Dragon took advantage of this wrinkle in the story to explain the complications of Alnese rule and its succession. Future regents were selected at birth by what Dragon called a “spiritual” order founded by the great Pallas herself. A successor regent was usually chosen when the current one turned 64, mid-way through a term of 8 times 8 years. Once successor regents turned sixteen, they had eight years’ training, and another eight years of apprenticeship as a leader of the planet’s Council of Eight to ponder whether they wanted the title. Accepting the title meant forfeiting all clan-ties, as well as agreeing never to have children. Dragon concluded with, “You see, a lady or lord of Alnos can only have loyalty to Alnos.”

“And have some actually declined the job?”

“A few.” She gave me a benevolent smile, as if to say she knew where I was leading.

“So the new successor will be an islander?”

She nodded, added, “Of the House of Kuan. Lady Ciani has only been regent for sixteen years, so it is still too early to plan for her succession. She’s gone through the customary process, moved into Lord Leif’s household at sixteen to see firsthand what will be asked her, led the Council of Eight for eight years … She came from one of the border clans, a cluster of clans that like to live in the arctic parts of the planet.”

After Dragon’s recovery, we were ushered into something that looked like a modest lodge ringed with many miniature cottages. The cottages lacked the ubiquitous floor-heating of Zyss-compounds, but made up for it with a roaring fireplace large enough for people to sit inside. Dragon and I wasted no time starting a fire there after nightfall, when the fall chill began to seep into our cottage. And there, soaking up the warmth with me, Dragon continued her orientation. Starting with, “Actually, Ray, this doesn’t concern you at all,” she proceeded to tell me that she had been observing Alnese conflict-resolution since her arrival on Alnos. Recently, a disagreement had flared up between the Alnese and a group of immigrant settlers. In recent decades, sizable groups of people were arriving from other planets and staying. The Alnese hadn’t even noticed at first, or they’d figured the settlers would freeze to death in their first winter, not a far-fetched idea considering the climate. But some of the crazy settlers hadn’t frozen to death, and were now making demands that didn’t gel with the natives.

“You must understand,” Dragon added almost apologetically, “the Alnese have no experience with this kind of group-migration. In the past, newcomers were always promptly allied or adopted into a clan. And since they are used to integrating new individuals without any problems, they simply don’t know what to do about newcomers who don’t want to integrate. They’ve never had to deal with a whole group that didn’t want to be like them.”

She fell silent, and we both stared into the flames of our fire for a little bit. I wondered how on Earth—so to speak—anybody could possibly fail to assimilate in this interstellar melting pot where ethnic identity didn’t figure. Among the Alnese, everybody looked different from everybody else, and not just racially. It was almost a matter of pride with them to distinguish themselves somehow. “So tell me about your case. What brought you out here?” I asked finally.

She revealed in bits and starts, “About four months ago nine immigrants were murdered here.” Pause. “They were from a settler group involved in a fight over some recently transformed islands.” She got up and left the walk-in fireplace, then turned around to face me again. “Pallas Eden,” pause, “feels that there is no other solution than to move the immigrants out of harm’s way.” She began to pace back and fourth in front of the fireplace.

“Pallas Eden, as in Goal’s father?”

Dragon nodded absentmindedly.

“He’s some kind of governor?”

“He is a Justiciar, the head of a martial order traditionally in charge of keeping the peace, the Order of Arthmis.” She misunderstood the expression on my face and started to explain: “An Order is something like a professional group. When your training is complete, you can join the Order of the chroniclers.”

“He’s a cop?” I broke in.

She pondered that for a moment, turned around again, then rocked her head and one hand simultaneously as if to say “sort of,” adding, “I suppose one could put it that way, but he has a lot more power.”

I commented dryly, “I’ve never thought of a cop as powerless.”

“Eden is also,” she continued almost without interrupting herself, “quite good at what he does. He is very young to be a Justiciar, and he spent some time in ice, too. He has, however, managed to avert or solve quite a few problems since he was offered the title, so the Order’s confidence in him appears justified. But anyhow, he has decided to move the immigrants, and he hopes to persuade some of the more recalcitrant ones on this trip.”

I could tell she wasn’t entirely happy with the idea. I didn’t press her, though.

The next morning we were summoned by the man himself. He was housed in a suite in the main lodge, a short walk from our cottage. After we had been announced and seated, he served us each a very hot cup of coffee. Dragon showed obvious delight in hers. They launched into an Alnese conversation that obviously didn’t involve me, and I spent my time sipping my coffee, a rather close match to my particular preferences, and examined the man at my leisure. His chestnut hair and short-cropped beard were speckled with gray, a color scheme reversed by freckles on very white skin. He was a tall man, and even under the customary layers of warm Alnese finery, I could trace the outline of a powerful torso. The man was so obviously healthy, strong, and handsome next to me that I really couldn’t fathom Leila’s preference.

After a good twenty minutes Eden and Dragon reached some kind of agreement. Apparently feeling obligated to acknowledge my presence, he asked me in English, “Did I get the coffee right?” Seeing me nod, he added, “I know you probably would have preferred to stay close to the children for a while longer.” He hesitated, then concluded with, “I do hope this matter is resolved quickly.” I noticed his eyes were dark gray, like a cloudy sky. There didn’t seem to be a trace of Alnese in him (and what would that be?), and not a trace of him in his daughter, come to think of it (wishful thinking, no doubt). Not really knowing how to reply, I mumbled, “I suppose this is how I get to see the planet.”

This completed our interview.

The next few days, we flew further south to another island every morning and landed in what looked like a fort next to a natural harbor. Eden had apparently agreed to meet the immigrant leaders on what could be called their turf. According to Alnese tradition, the immigrants had no legal claim to the island, which was noticeably chillier and more arctic than ours. But it was theirs nonetheless. Dragon was always immediately whisked into a large, crowded hall where the Alnese were meeting with a group of men and settled right into long and sometimes agitated talks.

At first, I couldn’t figure out why the immigrant group looked strange to me. Then it struck me, and I began to understand how the settlers managed to stick out in this world: They were all men, and the men all looked the same! They all had dark brownish hair, olive skin, and light eyes, and most of them had beards. Except for their darker hair, they reminded me of the overly bronzed Vikings I found in Goal’s European comic books.

Since I had nothing to do during these sessions, Eden soon sent one or another of his lieutenants around to whisk me about. We weren’t exactly welcome, but people generally stayed out of our way, and we had free reign of the island. We exhausted the possibilities of the fort the first day and looked into the immediate surroundings. On the third day, my guide found two tough-looking ponies that turned out surprisingly gentle, and we started on a wider circle. The ever-present island wind blew right through us as we rode about in a monotony of gray skies, gray rock, and gray sea broken only by green bogs and fields. A few gnarled trees fought against the wind in one or two protected hollows. I couldn’t imagine what kind of living the settlers scraped out of this landscape.

On the fifth day of my meanderings, the peace shattered. While I was out exploring the coast south of the harbor, someone blew the meeting hall sky-high.

*

Even though the blast of the explosion had alerted my companion and we had started back immediately, two hours had passed before we actually made it back. Gaping holes in the buildings surrounding the pulverized meeting hall bore witness to the force of the explosion. The fort itself appeared subdued. Control reigned anew.

Dragon told me later that Eden—who had been called out of the hall just moments before the shell hit—had immediately taken over, performing a personal triage and shipping the wounded off to a regional medical center in record time. Her salvation had been her positive addiction to sunlight. She sought it out every chance she got. The sun had broken through the gray that morning, and she had taken advantage of Eden’s brief absence to lounge by the door of the hall and catch some rays. The blast had blown her clean out the door and several feet further, but her injuries were more painful than serious. Several of the fort residents, particularly the leaders inside the hall, were not so lucky.

My chaperone rejoined her boss, who looked ready to level a building of his own with his bare hands. Dragon, who looked worn despite her luck, kept shaking her head, and murmuring to herself in a language I had never heard before. Eventually, we were both led without further ado to a waiting aircraft and taken back to our accommodations. Once there, Dragon burst out in English, “I have been a fool! Anyone with eyes could have seen it coming, and instead, I have let my brains rot in the lovely summer sun of Eden Hamlet! Goddess almighty, do you have any idea what this means?”

Agitated, she swayed before our unlit fireplace, her hands pressing together. I stepped in her way to make her stop, and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, “Look, if someone had just tried to blow me into Kingdom Come, I’d be upset too, but what’s with this self-blaming? What are you talking about?”

She sighed deeply.

“What is it?”

She leaned her head against my shoulder, and instinctively my hand crept upwards until it rested on her tight curls. They felt like little sponges, soft yet sprightly. She confessed finally, “We may have been used to set them up.”

“Really?” After some reflection of my own, I asked, “Eden is that kind of cop?”

She lifted her head, considered my reaction.

She thought about it for several minutes.

Then she shook her head, “No. He isn’t. And that means,” she paused again, then completed slowly, articulating every word, “He was set up.”

The expression on Eden’s face flashed back, “Didn’t like it much, I’d say.” And to myself: I’d say the man looked ready to kick some ass.

That brought a bitter little smile to Dragon’s lips. “Not at all,” she echoed. And as if she had guessed my unspoken thought, she continued, “It won’t take him long to find them, and he is not known for hesitation.”

*

We were awakened in the earliest hour of dawn four days later by an insistent knocking. When Dragon opened the door, my chaperone with the ponies stepped in and announced, “The Justiciar has made ready.” Dragon invited her in and the lieutenant nodded in my direction, obviously weighing words to find the right combination.

“Well?” Dragon encouraged

“The presence of a chronicler is customary in such matters. Perhaps Lady Ciani’s new man is up to the task.”

Dragon’s lips came together in a tight line as a somber mood set in. She fairly radiated disapproval. Eden’s lieutenant picked up on it immediately, proposed, “I can guide him in this matter. You need not inconvenience yourself.”

Dragon snapped back, “And so it has come to this: The Pallas Arthmin tries to tell me I am not involved!”

“Both of you will come, then?” The young woman replied evenly.

She retired outside while we pulled ourselves together and Dragon explained, “My training was to approach the cultures I study without prejudice, to seek understanding, and to stay as objective and detached as I can. But in spite of my training, Ray, I am troubled by the escalation I am witnessing here, and wonder how much further it will go. I’m finding it hard to maintain detachment.” She was uneasy, retreated into silence.

The entire operation was over in less than an hour. Eden’s troupe used about a half dozen gliders to surprise their quarry in a structure that looked like an Alnese summer cabin on one of the relatively lush northern islands. The cabin was at the center of a loose circle of mostly sleeping people guarded by four woefully inadequate sentries. Eden’s company first took out the sentries with barely a sound, then moved in on the sleepers with the same silent skill. One by one they were overpowered. Finally, three figures slipped into the cabin itself, and only then did something like a short scuffle ensue. Our lieutenant-chaperone leapt into it, abandoning us briefly to sock it to some of the captured rebels who sought to take advantage of the intensified struggle indoors to make a run for it.

I had to admire the Arthmis fighters. Stripped down to an elastic, body-hugging jump-suit, they moved with a fluid grace I associate with Asian martial arts, with little wasted motion and almost no sound, barely a hint of increased breathing. Every move seemed to anticipate and take advantage of the reactions of their foes, as if designed to draw from the energy of opponent parries and attacks. The fighting style funneled both offense and defense into a paralyzing defeat.

Soon, the dozen rebels crouched in a subdued circle before the cabin. Most hid their faces from us and from each other, but I could tell they were Alnese. Our chaperone came back to us and waited at our side as two of her commandos dragged a woman out of the cabin. Two others pulled something heavy and metallic out behind them, while a number of Eden’s soldiers assembled a collection of bags and cases in a second circle by the prisoners. A hush fell when the man himself emerged from the cabin and stepped over to the nexus of activity surrounding the prisoners. Another lieutenant jumped up and offered him a coat, a formal affair with wide sleeves and a stylized white hunting bird swooping down one side. A crest of some kind, a hawk or maybe an eagle. He made a small hand signal and surveyed the two circles silently as two of his troupe scrambled back to one of the gliders. They came back with two settlers and a third man I did not recognize, who looked to be a prisoner. My chaperone signaled me to step forward also, and soon the settlers, the unknown prisoner, their escorts, and the two of us formed a third loose circle around Eden and the captive woman from the cabin, who had been brought to face him. The settlers and their companions were to my left, while the captive and her escort stood to my right.

Eden examined the woman. She made every effort to ignore him in return. With her black hair and bluish-white skin, she reminded me of Leila, but she had much darker eyes and was more heavy-set. Eden picked up the metal object brought from the cabin and held it up. It looked like a rocket-launcher. He threw it to the unknown man with one powerful thrust and spoke to the captive. My chaperone leaned forward and whispered a translation into my ear, “You have much to learn about guerilla warfare, Kuan Kim. Perhaps you should stick to murder in the dead of night.”

The unknown man looked down to the launcher at his feet and sighed, then murmured something to one of his guards, who relayed the information with a look and yet another hand signal.

“What should I do with your weapons-supplier, now that he has betrayed you?” Eden asked the woman-prisoner.

She glowered at both him and the unknown man, then shrugged, “Would you kill him if I asked you to?”

“You can take him on if you wish it.” From his sleeve he took out a long, thin blade and offered it to her.

“Arthmin I am not, Pallas-Justiciar,” she shot back.

“That is obvious.”

She hesitated, then held out her hand. Eden gave her the knife. She turned to face her former ally, hesitated again, then stepped up to him and stared at him without moving. He was doing his best to control himself, but I caught a sharp intake of breath. She wrapped both of her hands around the handle of the knife and struggled with herself, then we all heard a suppressed sob from her. Eden, who had stood still as the woman was making her approach, turned around and walked up to them. He placed both of his hands over hers and, with the kind of fluid, economical movement I had been admiring all through the assault, buried the knife deep inside the man’s chest. The man and the woman crumpled to the ground. I heard Dragon cry out behind us and turned to find her staring in shocked surprise.

I turned back to the knot of people to my left. With one hand, Eden jerked the captive back up to her feet as he pulled out his knife with the other. “Do you think war is a game to be played long-distance, without contact, without flesh nor blood? Think again, Kuan Kim. Bury your hands in this blood to feel the blood you spilled with clean hands.”

The woman choked back a second, louder sob. Eden forced her to kneel, and she stretched out her free hand as if to stem the blood gushing from the man’s wound. When he let go of her, she stood back up. Her breathing ragged, she had to lean with one hand against one of her guards to steady herself.

Eden stepped up to her and placed the knife at her throat, said quietly, “You I will give a choice.”

She whispered something back which neither I nor my chaperone heard.

Eden stepped back and intoned loudly, for all to hear, “Face me.”

The woman did as he asked.

Once again he placed the knife at her throat, and proclaimed in the same loud voice, “Kuan Kim, you have killed six people and two children. They did not injure you. Your actions are an abomination. Now you choose: The justiciar or the ice.”

The woman looked over to her companions and back to Eden. With a more steady voice, she announced, “I choose the ice.”

Eden removed his knife and continued in the same voice, “You can choose four of your companions to go with you.”

A wave of emotion washed over Kuan Kim’s face and she whispered something to her judge.

He replied more quietly, “They all knew the risks, did they not?”

She did not respond. A look of horror spread over her features as she covered her mouth with her free hand.

Eden shook his head, “What kind of fool do you take me for? I cannot allow a rebel band on Alnos, not even in ice. I have offered their work as reparation. It has been accepted. If they refuse, I’ll send Mythras after them and they won’t have a choice.” After watching her sigh with relief, he added, “I offered your children, too. The only reason your clan keeps them is because they were not wanted.” He turned to the circle of prisoners to his right and sized them up one by one. Like their leader, they looked young and thoroughly chastened. Still examining his quarry, Eden advised over his left shoulder, “Choose wisely, Kuan Kim. They are your life and you are theirs.” Then he turned around to face her one last time, motioned for his deputies to carry out instructions, and started to move away. Passing the spot where I stood with my chaperone, he said curtly, “Answer all his questions.” He said it in English.

He walked to where Dragon stood and he extended an arm for her, making it clear that she was to accompany him. She agreed wordlessly, and from my left, I saw the two Heshti observers led in the same direction. I looked back at Kuan Kim just as someone motioned for her to join her troop, and she went over to them. She had a forlorn look about her. Sympathy tugged against my memory of the carnage wrought by her actions.

I followed my chaperone back to our assigned seats in the glider. She turned to me and managed to signal acquiescence while making it clear that her attention was still focused on the field in front of us. In the distance, I could see two deputies dragging the collection of rebel arms and materials they had gathered back towards the cabin.

“What am I supposed to do? As a chronicler, I mean.”

“A chronicler bears witness.”

Not the most helpful answer.

I persisted, “How?”

She shrugged, “That’s up to you.”

My irritation must have shown, because she continued unprompted, “If you wish to talk to any of the involved parties for your records, now may be the best time. The rebels will be taken to ice and to their construction site soon, and the Justiciar has concluded his business here for now. We will be leaving the islands shortly.”

“The construction site?”

“They will help build a heshti settlement on the Eastern shore.”

“That’s their sentence?”

“For now. The Justiciar will decide what to do with them once they complete that task. He may assign them a term as servants but the heshtis won’t ask it. Would you want a servant who tried to kill you?”

I followed her watchful eye to the circle of rebels. They had their heads together in a quiet discussion. The body of the slain arms-dealer had been taken away, and I could see one deputy set fire to the cabin.

“What is Mythras?”

“The second wave. If Arthmis judgements are not followed, the matter goes to Mythras.”

“Say, if this Kuan Kim decides to trudge back from the ice?”

“Mythras will meet her.”

So there were other police corps on this little planet. Considering the skill I had just observed, I doubted that defiance was a good bet.

“Do you people generally . . . survive in … what was it? ice?”

“An Arthmin survives. These . . .,”  she lifted a hand and waved it as if to say: So-so, about a fifty-fifty chance. I saw some of them embracing now. It looked as if their leader had made her choices.

“I will need names.”

“I’ll make a list for you. Mostly Kuan and Chantico, and one Minguard.”

“And you?”

Her lips quivered up for the briefest time, “Minguard Lauran.”

“You’re an islander?”

She nodded.

Compelled to take a better look, I tried to keep my examination discreet. She reminded me of a group of highland Mexicans I had met while cruising through Zacatecas and Jalisco with my cousins once. Same unsettling combination of light and dark. In her case, cinnamon skin and chestnut hair with the most unsettling moss-green eyes. She averted them when my gaze became too obvious.

“What about the dead man?”

“The arms dealer? He was a traveler.”

I cast another sidelong glance at her, “Did he know?”

“If he didn’t, he was a fool.”

I wondered how Eden had got him to talk. He hadn’t looked worked over, but I couldn’t fathom him just volunteering information about where to find his customers. Maybe he had thought to save himself with that information, not knowing that his death was pre-ordained. That would make him the fool my chaperone pronounced him to be.

“So I can ask the Justiciar questions if I want?”

A hint of nervousness punctured her studied cool. “I hope to answer satisfactorily so the imposition will not be required,” she offered.

Whose imposition?

Quite the diplomat, weren’t we. I decided not to push that button, “Mostly, you have. Please prepare the list. Later, I’d like you to tell me more about the founding of the order of Arthmis.”

It was an unspoken agreement between us. I would steer clear of her boss in return for more information as I was learning my new trade.