Quibble, 63. Alliance

As war comes, the Adroit, the Zeros, and a surprisingly capable Far must unite or perish.

63. Alliance @Definition

The resurrectionist Concordance saw the need to fight utter control almost at once. Imay, the Far, was eager to prove himself valuable to the Adroit, and I believe he would have volunteered for any fight. For all of Bibliography’s skepticism about our chances, he joined us when given a reason to fight he couldn’t reject – hope of reunion with his son. Winning over the other Adroit wasn’t so easy, as we discovered when we convened them in the largest building of the consensus – a hay barn – to propose an alliance with the cult of kindness.

Standing on a hay bale beside the silence, Imay tried appealing to im: “Ayzhed-nah-nish suffered greatly to come Without. Djer-ri-gienah cared for her the suhl-nay through it. The Qeht Qihbel told me about this. The ri gave the nah her life. The kind Djer gave all of you new lives. Give freely to them. This is im, equality. I am amazed any of you believe you can live without it.”

“We’re not equal!” Footnote objected.

A chorus of voices rose in agreement: “They’re Zeros! They wield the power of glasses over us! Don’t you know what they’ve done to your people?!”

Once again, I lit my kindness. The crowd stood mesmerized.

“They did wield the power of glasses over us, but now they’re sharing it!” I said. “They can only spare a few kindnesses for us, but I’ll teach you how to use them.”

When I ended the glass-dream, both Footnote and Annotation stepped forward, eager to receive glasses of their own, but I turned them down.

“I’m sorry, but you’re too valuable as craftsmen for us to risk you in battle. If we fail, your skills will be needed here to defend the consensus. For that matter—” I turned to Graph and Cord. “—our blacksmith and resurrectionist can’t go to war, either. We all have our work to do. Some must fight. Others must arm and feed the fighters. Perhaps you’ll fight later. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

The Notes grumbled but accepted their lot. Fortunately, they were popular in the consensus, and once they volunteered, a few others stepped forward. Vega gave each of them a blue glass. And thus we recruited a vanguard of Adroit to fight with dagger and glass. Still, most of the consensus hadn’t joined us.

Then Aladfar rose from the bale. Not stood, rose. He’d been sitting on the bale; now he levitated, still sitting, into the air above it. In his left hand was a dreamless, large blue glass, lit. All heads lifted to look. Many Adroit pointed. Suddenly the glass died and with a resounding metallic crack the silence flashed out of existence.

Then he laughed. I looked down to see him sitting on the hay bale again. Some of the Adroit gasped at the trick, others laughed along with the silence. As the crowd drew closer, Aladfar stood up and looked over their heads.

“You’re a lot of cowards,” he said.

Now even more voices rose in objection: “Cowards?! We’re Adroit! The Dazed are the cowards! That’s right – the Dazed! They’re too scared to look people in the eyes! Did you hear what he called us? The very nerve!”

But stinging the Adroit’s pride worked. People began to volunteer in droves, and soon the scales tipped in our favor. In the end, three Adroit hung back. Imay regarded the three holdouts a while, then turned to Graph and loudly asked the blacksmith for a Sen sword.

“What in kindness is a Sen sword?” said Graph.

“A curved sword that cuts the air so fast it whispers. Only one side of the blade is sharp, but with the correct technique, it is deadly at a single stroke. I can give you the secret of making a Sen sword, and I can train others to wield it. If those three will train with me and join us in battle, make Sen swords for them, too.”

“But can I spare the steel? And the time?” Graph objected.

“Believe me, nah, you can account the steel and the time well spent!”

So those four – Imay and the cowards – became an array of swordsmen.

Having trained Far sah on his nah’s behalf, Imay knew the three Adroit carrying Sen swords needed the most instruction, so he went to work with them first. The array trained with curved swords he fashioned from lengths of wood he selected from Cord’s stock, working the wood quickly but deftly.

I skanced Imay’s work with his array as I trained the vanguard. Once, passing to consult with Graph in the smithy, I stopped to watch.

“The Sen sword cuts, so do not thrust,” Imay instructed. “Your enemy will thrust his dagger at you. When he does, you must take advantage of his weakness by stepping towards his attack, not away from it.” The Far pointed at an Adroit. “Thrust your sword at me. Hold nothing back.”

As the Adroit obeyed, Imay leapt towards him, sidestepping the thrust, pivoted, and slashed at the Adroit’s abdomen with his wooden sword. The Adroit dropped his sword, clutched his ribs, and doubled over in pain. The other two Adroit stood aghast as he began to sob aloud.

“Imay,” I called out, “a word, please?”

He waved the wooden sword vaguely at the array and trotted towards me.

“Please do not strike the Adroit like that,” I implored him.

The Far frowned. “Are we not training sah for battle? They must control their fear and ignore their pain.”

“You must control yourself! I know the Adroit mistreated you, but if you have grudges, this isn’t the time for them. Those Adroit didn’t grow up fighting. As Ones, they lived under a strict confession against it. They know nothing about it. You can’t imagine how they feel getting a blow like that.”

Imay turned and looked at the Adroit. The one he’d struck was afoot now, trying to stand erect but flinching, still whimpering a bit. Amazed, Imay turned back to me.

“I am sorry,” he said. “I will not strike them again.”

Now that he knew what not to do, Imay proved he could build fighters’ confidence and make warriors out of cowards. He knew swordsmanship and taught it well, and those Adroit grew to respect him for it.

Graph put his protégés to work on the daggers while he fashioned the four Sen swords. Imay read him precise specifications from a scroll, moving weights in scales as he did. Testing the first, half-finished sword, Imay said its center of balance was in the wrong place, and he showed Graph where that should be. Graph reshaped the sword, tempered it, ground its edge, polished it, and presented it to Imay.

Whisper.

“Ayzhed-nah-graph,” said Imay as he admired the blade, “I must confess a thing to you. I was not simply nahli. I was a nahli-sah, then uhn-say, banished. I became uhn-say because I stole something.”

“What did you steal?”

Imay held up the scroll. When Far were made uhn-say for thievery, he explained, im allowed them to keep what they had stolen as if they had traded tribe for thing.

“My nah taught me the use of the Sen sword. But I wanted my own sword – real, not wooden. Our blacksmith would not trouble himself over such a thing for me. So I stole this scroll and took it to another blacksmith for the work, but he knew whence the scroll came, so I was caught. My nah took pity and sold me to you so that I would not live as uhn-say in the Waste, for I would have died.”

“I know,” said Graph.

“You knew?”

“Why do you think the Adroit won’t let you into their homes? I told them. We live in consensus, and I couldn’t keep your thievery a secret. I’m sorry. I should’ve told you this was common knowledge. But you’ve stolen nothing from us, and now I know you won’t. I’ll arrange quarters for you.”

The two gave each other im.