Discussing the nature of coincidences, especially with a Maker-level sensum? I suppose many people would relish such a conversation, but in that moment, a chat laced with philosophical tones didn't particularly appeal to me. I had long accepted this world for what it was, though it did surprise me now and then, as was the case in the recent turn of events.
Surely, I was aware that state heads also convened here. Politics, a beast with its own set of rules, seemed to operate similarly in this world. The difference being, while the G-20 meetings were widely publicized in my home world, they tended to occur in relative "secrecy" here. No, nobody hid the fact that state heads were gathering. Yet, there wasn't the familiar fuss surrounding the event, the media uproar, or demonstrations by disgruntled citizens. A terse summary of the meeting's outcomes in the press was perhaps the most an average Joe on the street would hear about.
Another significant disparity was that meetings of this sort here were overseen by clerics, not secular authorities. This was evidently a prudent move, considering the society remained feudal in many respects, beset by age-old animosity between some ruling clans. Overall, politics in this world was far less public than I was accustomed to. This was likely because democracy was absent, even in a sham sense, hence no need to hinge on or shape majority opinion.
"I haven't kept up with the papers or the news in recent weeks," I admitted, realizing my statement sounded more like an unnecessary self-defense.
Thankfully, Zanh Kiem seemed to understand my state and remained silent. Instead, he retrieved an alcohol burner from the bottom shelf of the table, emptied the remaining cold tea onto the flower bed, and filled the kettle with water and tea leaves. He lit the burner and set the kettle to boil.
How I've changed... A corpse, that of one of the world's most powerful individuals, lay just five steps away from me... a life I had ended with my own hands... I felt the weight of the world on my shoulders, like Atlas... And yet, I found myself wondering whether such a small burner could adequately heat the kettle. There was a psychological term for my situation, but I couldn't remember it.
"How's your head?" I asked my friend as the kettle began to boil.
"Not as bad as it could be," the sensum shrugged. "Remember, I am a Maker and I can take care of myself."
"How can someone like me be a king..." I murmured, revealing my inner turmoil. Zanh Kiem merely looked up at me, a silent invitation for me to continue. "Kings, rulers - they're supposed to think about the future. They need to understand the consequences of their actions, or lack thereof. They can't be afraid to make tough decisions. They can't keep putting things off until 'later' or 'tomorrow.' I'm... I'm just a man. An ordinary man. Abel was right. If he hadn't spurred me into action at the cost of his own life, I wouldn't have made a decision about the Treaty. Because my mindset: 'Why make a decision now, when the world is on the brink of collapse?' seemed completely justified to me." My gaze fell on the lifeless body of the Inquisitor. "If I were a true king, I wouldn't have shoved difficult decisions aside. If only... Then he would still be alive. The legate's blood is on my hands... Not because I was the one who killed him, but because I created the situation that led to his death. And... maybe Crixus would still be alive."
"You give too much credit to kings," the Maker's lips curled into a smile. "They are no different from anyone else, except for their unshakeable belief in their infallibility and absolute righteousness. This righteousness isn't borne out of intelligence or an exceptional personality, but simply the right of inheritance." The sensum poured himself some freshly brewed tea. "As for Crixus, he chose his principles over duty and honor, leading him to commit outright betrayal. That was his choice, not yours or anyone else's. Given the nature of raig swords, he essentially killed himself."
"The most infuriating part is..." My gaze drifted back to the lifeless inquisitor, prompting me to correct myself. "Or rather, the most absurd part is, I’ve been contemplating the idea of not just renewing the old Treaty but establishing a new one to accommodate the appearance of raigs for quite a while. I entertained the thought and then dismissed it. I dismissed it because I didn't know... I couldn't comprehend... how to choose someone who could represent the Break Knights, considering that electing a raig leader is impossible due to our clandestine nature. Moreover, gathering the shapeshifter kings and compelling them to listen seemed an impossible task. And somehow, I had to convince these kings to discard the old Treaty and adopt a new one. After all, no matter how you look at it, the First Treaty is undoubtedly advantageous to them. As far as I understand, a new agreement can only be established if all parties consent to it." A heavy sigh escaped me. "Unable to find even a hint of a solution to these dilemmas, I discarded the idea of a New Treaty as unfeasible."
"The issue of assembling everyone - we'll solve it," Zanh Kiem took a sip of his fresh tea, grimacing in distaste but not spitting out the drink. "But as for compelling the kings to accept the New Treaty, I'm afraid I can't be of much help there."
"I believe I can find the right words."
"Are they compelling enough to persuade the rulers of our world to agree to new terms?" The Maker asked, seemingly teasing me.
"Yes," I replied. I might not have had Enlightenment on this matter, but I had read extensively in my past life and had already formulated the main arguments.
"And yet, someone had just recently been expressing self-doubt," the sensum shook his head, unable to hide his smile.
Once upon a time, what felt like an eternity ago, I had watched a group of fighters squabble over the last chocolate bar while standing next to a terrorist vehicle they had set ablaze just five minutes earlier, the charred corpses still hanging from its shattered windows. I had watched, unable to comprehend how they could be so callous. Time had passed, and I found myself nonchalantly sipping juice and carrying on a conversation after having killed someone with my own hands - not a stranger, but someone I had known for a relatively long time. It was a testament to the malleability of the human psyche, and a validation of the saying that one can eventually get used to anything.
"Professional deformation," I said. "It seems to have affected me to some extent."
Given that the Maker clearly saw where I was looking, he quickly understood my train of thought and commented:
"Our souls do become jaded; unfortunately, that's the truth. It's necessary for survival. Those who couldn't cultivate the ability to adapt to everything eventually burn out. They don't burn in the literal sense; they consume themselves in the attempt to change the unchangeable. I've known such people; few of them even lived to see twenty-seven. So your calmness now isn't a result of indifference but the evolution of the human psyche."
"Thank you, that's reassuring," I replied, a faint smile gracing my lips.
"I tried," Zanh Kiem responded with a brief bow.
"He planned everything..." I muttered my thoughts aloud, my gaze still fixed on Abel de Diaz. "His statement about being ready to die today wasn't just bluster. And the guns pointed at your head were a display, not blackmail as I initially thought. If not, my mistake would have cost you your life."
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The Maker didn't react to my words, which I appreciated. He simply continued sipping his tea as if he hadn't heard me.
"He understood me better than I understand myself," I continued to speak my thoughts aloud. "The legate realized that if he forced me to kill him, I'd be unable to postpone a decision about the Treaty. The guilt I'd feel for my actions wouldn't let me sit back and let things simply play out." I thumped my knee with my fist. "Am I really so dense that it took this drastic measure to compel me to address a long-standing issue instead of continuing to delay?!"
"Perhaps," the sensum shrugged. "Perhaps not. The legate has lived in this world for over a quarter of a millennium! As I mentioned, neither of us can fully grasp his motives due to the significant difference in our lived experiences and ages. Just as a fifteen-year-old fails to comprehend and accept the motives of a seventy-year-old, we can't fully understand his thought process." Zanh Kiem sighed and looked intently into my eyes. "I've long accepted this and advise you to do the same."
"I'll try."
Observing the sun, the Maker finished his tea and got up.
"Let's head back to the house. We shouldn't disturb the cleaning crew. It's better if we don't see their faces."
Rising from the sun lounger, I offered to help my friend, but he dismissed it, assuring me that he felt reasonably well.
On the veranda, Ketsu was still fast asleep, blissfully unaware of the events unfolding nearby. I wanted to adjust the shapeshifter's hand, which was lying in an uncomfortable position, but Zanh Kiem advised me not to touch it.
Stepping into the house, we found ourselves in a large, brightly lit kitchen replete with modern amenities. Or more accurately, we were in a spacious dining area that seamlessly blended a kitchen, bar, living area, and an open dining room. The sensum approached the refrigerator, opened it, and froze for about half a minute, seemingly entranced. Just as I was about to call out to him, he turned to me and asked:
"Would you like a salad?"
"What?" I was taken aback; his question was a stark contrast to the recent events on the beach.
"I just feel like having a salad," the sensum shrugged. "Should I make one for you too?"
"No."
"Well, you're missing out."
This nonsensical exchange of words grounded me back to reality, like flipping a switch. Rather than continuing to torment myself over Abel's death, I took a seat at the table. Right before me lay a blank notepad and a few pencils, which came in handy. This set was just sitting in the center of the table next to the napkins, as though it had been waiting for me for a long time.
I pulled the notepad closer, opened it, picked up a pencil, and started drawing diagrams to visually represent my thoughts. I was so engrossed that I didn't notice Zanh Kiem preparing his salad and quietly sitting next to me. I crossed out and tore out a few pages, but ultimately, I came up with a diagram that satisfied me.
To an outsider, it probably looked ridiculous and incomprehensible, but to me, it was crystal clear. Three multicolored rectangles labeled 'raigs,' 'humans,' and 'shapeshifters.' Arrows between them and equal signs. And all of this enclosed in a larger circle, encapsulating the three concepts. The circle was labeled with one word, "Dune."
"You don't need to explain anything to me!" The Maker held up his hands when I finished my diagram and looked up at him. "As long as you understand it, that's good enough! I don't need to know too much."
"Are you sure?"
"It's better this way."
"Then, the main question remains," I mimicked Zanh Kiem's favorite gesture and rubbed the bridge of my nose with my fingers. "How to infiltrate the summit and get the kings to listen."
"Don't worry about that, I'll handle it," said the Maker, seemingly unfazed by the enormity of the task.
"Are you a magician?!"
"I'm the abbot of a far from insignificant Abode in the world," Zanh Kiem shrugged, as though that explained everything.
I was about to press him for more details when the shrill ring of a phone interrupted us. And I recognized the ringtone. Rising from his chair, the sensum moved to the windowsill and pulled out a ringing mobile phone from a large bag. My phone.
"Mom?" he asked, puzzled, looking at the screen.
I silently rolled my eyes and shook my head. The last thing I wanted right now was to talk to Melanie!
"I think you'd better answer," he said, ignoring my clearly expressed refusal, and shoved the phone into my hand. "You can step outside if you want," the sensum pointed to a second door leading to the other side of the house from where we had entered.
It was a relief - I really didn't want to converse with Melanie in Zanh Kiem's presence. I stepped out onto the porch of the house and answered the call.
"Where have you been gallivanting off to? Why can't you answer your mother's call?!" came from the speaker instead of “hello.” "I don't call you often enough for you to wait until it suits you to pick up the phone."
"Sorry. I was occupied."
"Occupied?" I distinctly heard a snort from the other end. "You?! Don't make me laugh! Probably immersing yourself in your anime again!"
"I'm a student, Mom; I'm actually studying." Mundane responses were my saving grace from "Word's" punishment.
"Are you? And how's the progress?"
"It's normal," I replied succinctly, hoping to wrap up this conversation soon. I was fortunate that she asked about my progress and not, for instance, "How are you?" Answering that with "I'm normal" would be impossible.
"Normal…" Melanie retorted, sounding quite displeased and somewhat irate. "That's all you are! Normal! You can't even aspire to more! Normal!.. Life doesn't end at 'normal'!" She grew increasingly heated with each word. "How long have I been painting? How many years have my art pieces been rejected everywhere?"
"A while…" I replied curtly. In truth, Izao knew the exact number of years, but I thought it inappropriate to mention it, fearing it might upset her even more.
"Eleven!" She herself declared. "Eleven years of failure! But did I give up? Why are you silent? I'm asking you, did I give up?!"
"No." I actually felt a twinge of sympathy for her relentless yet fruitless efforts. "You didn't."
"So-o-o! And?!! My new painting will be showcased in a modern futurism exhibition tomorrow! And it's not some shoddy show in Nantes, but one of the halls of the Louvre! The Louvre, son! Do you understand what that signifies? It's recognition! Yes, recognition, nothing less!"
I was at a loss for words. I was absolutely sure no one would ever accept her "paintings" anywhere, let alone the Louvre!!
"Your 'normal' has never been enough for me! Home, work, status. Understand, son, it's not enough! We must strive for more!"
"I..."
She cut me off, continuing her diatribe:
"'Normal' - it's not normal! Use your beloved comics as an example! Do you know what the most popular comic book in France is right now?"
"How would I know?!"
"You should have known! By the way, it was drawn by someone sharing your last name! And I'm convinced! I'm convinced he's not much older than you! See! See, he clearly wasn't satisfied with your 'normal'!" A heavy sigh came through the speaker. "Son, one must live, not merely exist, aspire, not vegetate!"
"Mom..."
"What do you mean 'Mom'?! I..."
"Mom..."
"What?!" She responded angrily, irritated that I had interrupted her for a second time.
"I'm happy."
"What?"
"I'm happy for you and your painting." I wasn't sure why, but what I said was true. I was genuinely pleased for Melanie.
"I..." She was clearly taken aback by my words and seemed confused.
"And you're right, being 'normal' and 'like everyone else' isn't enough."
"I'm glad you understand." My admission that I was happy for her seemed to leave her speechless, and when she finally spoke, her voice was quiet. "Goodbye. I'll call again next week."
Listening to the short beeps, I carefully put the device down as if it were not a mobile phone but a highly sensitive anti-personnel mine.
This call had taken me completely by surprise. I had grown accustomed to Melanie showing little interest in her son's life. This became especially apparent after she moved to Paris. Irregular calls every two weeks with a perfunctory "How are you?" was the extent of her maternal care. And now, unexpectedly, she had given me something akin to a pep talk. Of course, it was awkward and clumsily executed, but it was the best she could do. I wondered why today of all days?
As soon as the question crossed my mind, I understood. There was nothing unusual about it. Melanie hadn't called to chastise her son - she had called to boast! That's right. And all that talk about "striving for more" was merely an excuse to dial her son's number. For eleven years, she had been knocking on closed doors, facing rejection at every turn, and then her work had finally been recognized. So much so, they had decided to exhibit her painting in the Louvre. Naturally, Melanie was bursting with this news. She wanted to shout it from the rooftops. But the problem was that she led a rather secluded life and essentially had no friends. She quietly despised her old colleagues because they had referred to her as a "loser" behind her back. As to her current communication dynamics at her new job, that remained unknown to me. She probably chanced upon my comic book and saw the author's name. This, in turn, reminded her of her son.
I believe that was exactly the case. Yet, even with this understanding, I found myself grateful for Melanie's call. Her words, surprisingly, had struck a chord. It was at that moment I realized I would see the matter of the Treaty through to the end. Whatever that end would be.