A Discourse On The Relationship Between The Warning And The Danger Itself

Relaxed at the busiest times, Koshat Dreivis after the festival slumped in its chair, tilted its hat over its eyes, and mumbled that it preferred not to be bothered unless somebody died and left it an inheritance. Tea with Poiskops Bodan-Tin involved less ambling than on previous days. Helsodenk Nifkleskir's voice had more exhaustion than annoyance in it when he responded to a question from Loigwin Nein-Cadops-Bain about whether he had ever thought about traveling beyond Egillen (he had not until that very moment but now wished for nothing else). The popcorn popped in as lively a fashion as ever, of course.

“If this is popular in the GE too, tell me,” Takki remarked later to Dirant as they moseyed through town on a route which happened to give them views of the gates, the temple, and the houses of the oligarch and several of his guests. “There's a theory that festivals aren't really about celebrating anything. They exist to siphon off excess excitement before stabbings and arsons go up again.”

The relative silence spurred Dirant to loquacity, as if he might refresh Koshat Dreivis's tired spirit by talking at it. That never worked on people, but towns might be different. “A similar theory comes up at times, though more influential I believe is the interpretation which emphasizes the community-sorting element. That is, it holds the attendee understands by the behavior of other participants who among them is most likely to help him in a fight, that being the ones who comport themselves as one believes appropriate for the occasion, and who ought not be considered reliable on account of improper conduct. Many follow the reasoning to one of two conclusions, either that the states of Greater Enloffenkir must adopt a universal set of customs in order to strengthen the confederation, or that each state must guard its distinct traditions and so not be deceived into believing the bonds among GE members to be stronger than they are. Is that the clamor of repair work which the wind carries from the temple?”

Takki was already listening with an ear cleared of scarf and hair for best results. “I think they're actually fixing it up. That's probably easier than pretending to. What other social theories are circulating?”

“I wonder if they are paid for their cover job. Ah, there is this proposal concerning cultural categorization. An academic named Obentad Etimalpir divides civilizations into the Beaver Dam Type and the Ant Hill Type. Most of our states, and Pavvu Omme Os also, are obvious results of immense coordination like beaver dams. Drastlif by contrast appears rude, and the forces which create it are hidden underground as it were. It must be said before you deliver the objection you now contemplate, the first of many no doubt, that the framework is not taken seriously. Instead the affection for the idea among the general populace has inspired similar conceptions in countless advice columns and personality questionnaires.”

“That's good to know, Ressi. I'd better get started. First, ants are often used as a symbolic representation of organization. An entire class that specializes in teamwork is named after them. Second, how sure would you be that a dam isn't just a logjam if you don't see beavers around it?”

“A good start.”

Under Dirant's encouragement, Takki's tirade grew in intensity until she was gesticulating like the Yosribdi. She may have been crying a little too, but Drastlifars thought nothing odd about that. If Dirant had known to inquire, he would have learned some questions were being asked about him for not making others cry more often. It showed a lack of energy in an unattached young man.

Takki eventually ran out of complaints. “So in the end, I do think it's a provocative thesis. Adabans are more inventive than we credit them for being.” She reconsidered that statement, though not because of the insult. “Ressi, is Obentad Etimalpir an Adaban?”

“A Mabonn, I believe.”

“I don't mean to be difficult, but are you sure those are all different tribes?”

“Ah, there is controversy over that also.”

“That's magnificent to hear. Will you explain a little more?”

With Takki's encouragement, Dirant recalled as precisely as he could the dates when the Rikan, Mabonnish, and Ottkiran languages were last observed in anyone's status and went on to describe the resulting claim that the tribes ought to be considered extinct along with their particular speech. “The legend states that an accusation that those tribes will consent to their dissolution and subsequent integration into the Adabans the same day Heweks is confirmed to have died out always results in a sales boost for the publication which prints it,” he concluded.

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“You have a lot going on down there, don't you, Ressi? We don't hear much about that kind of thing. Neighbors are better liked the less seen, after all.”

“Is that a saying?”

“Yes, but I don't think it will catch on here.” Takki tapped her novice fan on Dirant's wrist and rested it on his arm in such a position that it pointed toward a house where a woman was passing through the curtain drawn across the entrance while the people who actually lived there offered no invitation, objection, or the least amount of attention, a circumstance unthinkable to the northerners. The practice of drawing a curtain during the day and closing the door at night made sense, however. Monsters and bugs called for different precautions.

Following dinner, curiosity about the repairs, inconsequential as they were, led Dirant inside the temple where he attended an evening ceremony. The liturgy made use of forms of Drastlimez far too archaic and theologically resonant for him to understand. At least he recognized a few of the gods in their niches, or thought he did. Mitistiggefokand had a healthy beard never seen in depictions back home, but he looked as grave as Holzd never did.

Loigwin Nein-Cadops-Bain was also there to show his devotion to the heads above the heads, the highest councilors, the dwellers in lunar palaces far from the troubles of the world. It behooved armigers to put in an appearance, not at every service, but weekly at the least frequent, he informed Dirant while walking outside with him. “Respect oft is more demanded than given for all the flowers we place on the deed,” he elaborated. “When we demanders submit ourselves to the captains eternal, the flowers bloom brighter with the assurance that we do not despise those who kneel. In Redrin, I comprehend not in the least how they manage resentment between high and low with a nobility that pretends to be the sky never-yielding.” He stopped to show his respect to Millim Takki Atsa, who had stayed outside in order to find out what the security team did during pauses in the repair work. A lot of scratching, it turned out.

“They manage through mutual incomprehensibility so far as I have seen,” Dirant said.

“Have you then traveled through that country long troubled from above and every side, not least the ugly sea?”

“That's the perfect description,” Takki said. “Of the sea, I mean.”

Naturally the Drastlifan gentleman's opinion on the subject of ant hills was desired, though the beaver dams took some explaining. His own view was that Drastlif resembled more a series of bee hives.

During that discussion, the group wandered the town and incorporated Petarun Bavan-Ston, who had completed for the day his efforts to tear down obstacles to blessed health. The doctor expressed his regret over missing the evening service because of his duties and further opined that if Drastlif was a land of hives as Eizesl Nein-Cadops-Bain suggested, it was the gods who owned and operated the honey-rich enterprise.

Increasingly elaborate metaphors engrossed the lively conversation's participants, so much so that Takki had to work to shush them. “Do you hear that? The marsh monsters aren't usually that loud, are they? Or is this a seasonal phenomenon?”

The others admitted they had not heard the cry which so disturbed her and therefore were unable to deliver an opinion on its strangeness. Aside from that, only Petarun Bavan-Ston had the local experience required to form a meaningful judgment, a fact which in no way prevented Takki from soliciting their thoughts. While she was herding the group nearer the marsh-facing gate for better listening, however, she froze. Everything did. A chilling mist blew in, and what it touched lost warmth and visibility.

“Muibarais's mercy!” exclaimed Petarun Bavan-Ston. The northerners rushed to consult Loigwin's expression for information on whether a gentleman ought to say such a thing in public. Evidently nothing scandalous had occurred, at least in the opinion of one young man. One knew how those could be, even if they happened to be Nein-Cadops-Bains.

Loigwin of that very family asked, “Is this an attempt on the temple's fortunes, the people's own rather?” Though he had no weapon on him, he loosened up Acrobatically. It would be no surprise if he possessed some rank in Boxing or a similar ability which contributed to his doubt over whether he ought to be included among the combat classes.

“The matter may be more serious than that,” Dirant said. Then he reconsidered. The Bodan-Tins had no shortage of candidates for the position of their head, after all, and the funeral fees would be manageable after the family accountants finished their work. Certainly assassinations ought not to be countenanced, but their importance might well be exaggerated, for all that he prayed for the long life of his host. “That is, the potential crime is greater in severity though affecting fewer people. Eizesl Bavan-Ston, this Eizesl is an armiger, and what is your opinion?”

Petarun nodded, Dirant believed. The icy fog obscured even that. No people beyond the small group were visible in the slightest, though the usual shouts and screams proved they were out there. The doctor kept his voice low for that reason. “I concur, Sajaitin. Eizesl, before your arrival honored this Koshat Dreivis, an attempt was made on Stanops Bodan-Tin's life.”

“******!” Whatever Loigwin said then, nobody had ever mentioned its meaning to Dirant or Takki, which supplied clear evidence of its character. Those young men and their undignified yet expressive language.

Dirant agreed entirely despite not understanding the specific word. “Takki, are you able to guide us to the house in this?”

“Yes, but I won't. The guards will kill us.” Her straightforward assertion dispersed, not the mist, but any reluctance to embrace her position on the proposal.