2 Dignity, Trust, and Fraternity

At first the boat trip was terrible. Half the Xalyas were seasick, including Dashvara, and he spent the first three days nauseous and pale as snow, convinced that the Xalya clan would eventually die at the bottom of the sea. On the third day, it was pouring rain outside, and he was huddled in his hammock, trying in vain to sleep, when suddenly Rokuish appeared in the cabin shouting:

“Tsu! Tsu! Zaadma is about to… Zaadma is about to… Tsu!”

The poor Shalussi was scared to death, and Dashvara smiled as he saw the drow take his kit and run out to another cabin. As Dashvara later learned, they moved the Republican into Atasiag’s cabin. Her screams could be heard throughout the ship. Shkarah and Dwin went to help her, and the Xalyas remained tense and anxious. The wait was interminable, but when a newborn cry was heard, everyone began to smile. After a while of hearing cries, they began to snort. Orafe croaked:

“We are going to have the most peaceful trip…”

They had already had more than enough of hearing the newborn when Rokuish reappeared in the cabin, red with joy.

“Three foals!” he cried. “For my mother’s sake, three! They are girls. Girls!”

The unbelievable news drew loud laughter. Striving to ignore the seasickness, Dashvara stepped out of his hammock and gave the Shalussi a strong brotherly hug, bellowing:

“Triplets, demons, Rok. Now you’re really going to have a problem with names! There wouldn’t happen to be two bald ones and a hairy one, would there?”

Rokuish shook his head.

“Not at all. They’re beautiful…”

“How is Zaadma?”

“She is outraged. Matswad’s doctor said there was only one baby. And that it would be born in several weeks. But she’s happy. I think she is. I, at least, am,” he laughed. “Hell yes, I’m happy. I’m going back to her.”

Dashvara nodded with a broad smile as the young Shalussi ran back to Atasiag’s cabin. It was a joy to see his old friend so happy. When he turned and noticed the smiling faces of Raxifar and Zefrek, he concluded that there were certain events that any clan could understand.

“Well,” he exhaled good-humoredly. “This has all been more exhausting than chasing a bunch of orclings.”

“We still have a lot left to endure,” Ged threw in with a slight smile. “These newborns aren’t going to let us sleep for the whole trip.”

The master weaponsmith knew what he was talking about: he had been the father of four children. Of these, only the young Dwin was still alive. As he returned to his hammock, Dashvara remembered the image of the other three sons fighting with Lord Vifkan. He had seen them die. He also remembered that years earlier, after his own son had died on patrol, Zorvun had chosen the eldest of the three to train as captain. So many dreams had died that day…

Why don’t you stop thinking about the past, Dash, he chided himself patiently. It’s no use.

Ged’s prediction was fulfilled: the three newborns did not stop bawling for the next few days, and Rokuish came by once to apologize and complain, saying that the real foals did not make as much noise.

“Looks like they’re going to get as chatty as my wife,” he huffed before walking away to the three rowdies.

It took them days to agree on the names, and finally, to the amazement of the Xalyas, they decided to ask them for their opinion. It was clear that Rokuish had had more than enough of the subject. Alta’s cousins immediately got inspired and proposed to name them after three former princesses of the Ancient Kings. The parents liked the idea, and the triplets were finally named Rahilma, Aodorma, and Sizinma, which in Oy’vat meant “Dignity”, “Trust”, and “Fraternity” respectively. Having three little Republican Shalussis with the Xalya Dahars motto as their name gave many pause. In the afternoon, as all the Xalyas sat on the prow to enjoy the sunshine, they began to comment on the affair, and the Great Sage Shokr Is Set pronounced:

“Myhrain and Sinta had a good idea. Perhaps this is a symbolic step towards steppe peace. I’ve been watching this young Shalussi. He is a good and upright man. He is not a savage or a zok,” he said, glancing eloquently at Sirk Is Rhad. “I think you should invite him into our clan, Dashvara.”

The Lord of the Xalyas let out a breath of air, as stunned as the others.

“What?”

The Honyr smiled, and his face rippled even more.

“It’s just a suggestion. You all, what do you think?”

Dashvara watched the faces of his brothers with curiosity and gradually understood the Honyr’s strategy. The main objective was not to bring Rokuish into the clan but to make the Xalyas accept that a Shalussi could be worthy of the Dahars. Surely, in some matters, the new shaard was more skilled than the previous one. The captain spoke first in a quiet voice:

“He’s a man I’d call a brother without hesitation.”

Dashvara saw several Xalyas nodding their heads. Maef, who was always sharp in his decisions, nodded:

“I’m for it.”

“Me too,” Lumon pressed.

“Demons, so I am,” Zamoy smiled, “I would be very happy to have triplets sisters.”

They smiled, and soon all agreed. Finally, they turned to Dashvara, expectantly.

“And you, sîzan?” Atsan Is Fadul asked.

Dashvara raised his hands, smiling.

“I’ve been calling him brother for a long time now. I am ready to ask him,” he declared. “But I sincerely doubt he will accept. I don’t think Zaadma wants to go back to the steppe.”

“Ask him anyway,” Zorvun replied. “Maybe one day he’ll change his mind.”

Suddenly, the Xalyas looked anxious to know what Rokuish would say. Dashvara barely concealed a smile and stood up. He bowed respectfully to his naâsga, who had been watching the scene with curiosity, and walked away, crossing the deck. Atasiag’s cabin was open, and he found the Shalussi sitting on the floor, cradling two of his daughters while Zaadma nursed the third. Sitting at his desk, Atasiag was writing in a notebook, absorbed. Dashvara smiled slightly when he saw him look up. The poor Titiaka’s face was weary and dark.

“Good morning, Eminence. Good morning, Zaadma. Good morning, Rokuish. I hope Rahilma, Aodorma, and Sizinma are well.”

Zaadma huffed without answering, showing her fatigue.

“At least now they’re quiet,” Rokuish whispered.

Dashvara watched the little newborns for a few seconds before saying:

“Can I talk to you for a moment?”

The Shalussi arched an eyebrow, but nodded and stood up. They stepped out onto the deck and approached a rail so as not to disturb the sailors. Dashvara opened his mouth, hesitated, and when he saw that Rokuish was looking at him, increasingly puzzled, he decided to get straight to the point.

“Well, here’s the thing, Rok. We’ve been thinking about it and, my brothers and I, we’d like it if… well, I mean, it would be an honor for us if… demons, I mean I’d be very happy if you agreed to be part of our clan.”

Rokuish’s mouth opened little by little until it was gaping.

“Me?” he pronounced. As Dashvara nodded, the Shalussi huffed and scratched his head, dumbfounded. “Wow. Are you serious? For my mother’s sake,” he muttered. “I don’t know what to say. I feel… very honored.”

Dashvara saw the refusal coming and tried to soften things up:

“You can perfectly well say no without offending anyone, Rok. I would understand that. Zaadma is a Republican. You are a Shalussi. It may seem strange, under these circumstances, that we Xalyas want to adopt you. We simply… consider your Eternal Birds to be brothers to our own. And whether you accept or refuse, it will not change. But… I would be very happy if you accepted… We all would.”

Rokuish looked down, silent. Finally, he broke the silence.

“Zaadma wants to open another herbal shop in Dazbon. Since her father died a few months ago… she no longer fears that he will make her life difficult.”

Dashvara nodded, and although the answer did not surprise him, he could not avoid feeling some disappointment. He concealed it.

“Then I wish you and your family all the luck in the world.”

“Thank you,” the Shalussi murmured. “Don’t misinterpret me. Your brothers are very nice. Well, some more than others,” he smiled. “But I respect them all. I wouldn’t want them to take it the wrong way—”

“They won’t take it badly,” Dashvara assured. “Really, don’t worry about it.” He patted his arm lightly. “I’ll miss you when we leave for the steppe, brother.”

Rokuish became confused.

“If it hadn’t been for Zaadma and my foals… I would have gone with you,” he asserted. “I would have tried to help Zefrek and free my mother and brothers. But… I am not even a warrior.”

“We’ll set them free,” Dashvara said in a sudden rush. He smiled at the stunned face of the Shalussi. “It’s true that I’d rather fight the red nadres than the sajits, but… having the Essimeans enslave their neighbors doesn’t appeal to me any more than it does to you. I promise you that, if they are still alive, Menara, Andrek, your mother, and your other brothers will be freed. I don’t know when, but they will be.”

Rokuish grabbed him by the sleeve, his brow furrowed.

“Listen to me, Dash, don’t make any heroic promises. You’re not going to go into Essimean territory to free them, are you?”

“I’ll have no choice but to enter their territory anyway,” Dashvara replied. “If it is true that the Essimean have enslaved the Shalussi villages, the whole southern part of the steppe is now Essimean territory.”

Rokuish turned pale.

“True. Truthfully, I don’t know why you want to go back there, Dash. Why not stay in Dazbon? Maltagwa could help Zaadma with gathering herbs. She says he’s a good herbalist. And Alta and I could work in the stables. And you could start a carpentry shop or—”

“Rok,” Dashvara laughed, interrupting him. “Do you really see us Xalyas living in a city like Dazbon? We are steppe people. We know how to ride on the steppe. We know how to kill monsters. But we don’t know anything about money, nor about republican laws, and we don’t want to know about them. We are ignorant of civilization and proud of it,” he joked.

The Shalussi sighed and seemed resigned.

“North of the steppe, you won’t have much wood to carve,” he commented. “They say it’s all plains and meadows.”

Dashvara smiled with all his teeth.

“True enough. Then I’ll carve the bones of the Essimeans.”

Rokuish looked disgusted. At that moment, a bellowing sound came from Atasiag’s cabin, followed by another. And another. Soon there was a chorus of weeping, and Zaadma despaired:

“May the White Dragon gag you three!”

“For my mother’s sake,” Rokuish moaned.

Dashvara saw him run off towards the cabin and laughed out loud. He was making his way to the prow when a sailor’s voice drowned out the bellowing of Dignity, Trust, and Fraternity:

“Land ho!”

All of the Xalyas rose and crowded around the rail to try to see what was slowly turning into cliffs. Dashvara leaned over with Yira, squinting. In the distance, he saw two white lines shining in the sun. One must have been the Great Cascade of Dazbon. And the other the Stairs. Land, Dashvara smiled. Finally. And the best part was that this time he had the happy feeling that he would never leave it again.

“He turned it down, didn’t he?” Zamoy asked suddenly, to his left.

Dashvara observed the watchful eyes of his brothers before answering:

“Well. He’s already got his little clan that’s on track to be louder than ours…” He smiled, mockingly. “I’m afraid he’s already got enough on his plate with his Dignity, Trust, and Fraternity. If we added the Triplets, Makarva’s makarvaries, and my philosophies, he’d go mad. Let’s accept his decision with understanding, brothers, and wish him well.”

He felt the approval of the Xalyas, and he relaxed, Eventually, at this rate, they’ll come to accept Zefrek and Raxifar, and even, who knows, ask that they become Xalyas as well. He smiled and a wave of affection for his people washed over him.

They disembarked along the dock of the Dazbon harbor amidst a hubbub of voices from sailors, fishermen, and Republican passersby. The Xalyas waited on deck impatiently for the sailors to set up the gangplank, and they began to make their way ashore. Most had their bags almost empty. But all had hearts full of hope, Dashvara smiled.

“Philosopher.”

Dashvara had just stepped onto the dock, and a little dazed, he turned toward the ship to see Atasiag crossing the gangplank just behind him. He was dressed as a Titiaka citizen, with a baton in his hand. From what he had explained to him, he would be acting as a simple Titiaka merchant, since, all things considered, that was what he was, and he would be staying with all of his servants at the inn of The White Pearl in the Autumn District. Since his term as magistrate had ended, and he had not attended any elections in Titiaka, he had insisted since the beginning of the trip that Dashvara should get used to calling him something other than “Eminence”. Dashvara had finally admitted to him that once he got into a habit, he had a hard time correcting it… Atasiag’s venomous look had made him reconsider.

“Wait here with the others,” Atasiag said at last after glancing around the busy harbor. “I’m going to go pay the harbormaster. Serl, will you come with me? Then, Philosopher, you will unload the wine barrels at the warehouse.”

“What warehouse?” Dashvara gasped.

“The warehouse I’m going to rent for the wine,” Atasiag explained calmly. “And don’t shake the barrels too much—they’re delicate.”

Dashvara raised an eyebrow and watched him and Uncle Serl walk away to a small building from which a huge caitian in extravagant clothes emerged at that very moment. He saw him raise his hands in an exaggerated manner and give Atasiag a vigorous handshake. Clearly they knew each other.

They waited for perhaps half an hour, sitting between fishing nets and barrels, before Uncle Serl returned alone and gave them instructions to go and unload the fifty barrels in the boat. They were all devilishly heavy, but some of them did not seem to contain any wine, and Dashvara, seeing no trace of the twelve Dream Brothers who had travelled with them, eventually figured out where they had gone. The trick amused more than one Xalya, and Dafys, the sibilian guardian, sternly asked them to restrain themselves a bit. They rolled the barrels down the street as gently as they could and put them in a small warehouse. Uncle Serl told them exactly where to put them, and when they were all placed, he locked the warehouse, smiled broadly at the Xalyas and pointed to the ship.

“Now all you have to do is to take out His Eminence’s—I mean, Atasiag Peykat’s and the others’ possessions: carriages will carry them to the inn. I will stay here. The port inspectorate must come by to check the goods.”

Dashvara exchanged an alarmed look with the captain. Hopefully, the port inspector wouldn’t be as picky as Inspector Persnickety from the Border… Unless, of course, he was also a member of the Dream Brotherhood. He shrugged and walked back with the others near Atasiag’s ship where the Xalya women were waiting with little Shivara, Sedrios, and Sashava. He was about to join them, when suddenly a mass stood in his way and a deep voice uttered:

“Dashvara of Xalya.”

The Xalya looked up at Raxifar with a questioning pout. The Akinoa looked embarrassed.

“I’m leaving.”

Dashvara looked at him, dumbfounded.

“What?”

“I’m off to the steppe.”

“I, too, am leaving,” Zefrek threw in as he approached. “I don’t have to put up with this Titiaka citizen’s nonsense any longer. I am not his slave.”

Dashvara huffed and looked at the Akinoa and the Shalussi, annoyed.

“You don’t even have money to buy weapons,” he objected. “Please don’t go. He’ll buy us horses. You don’t have to work for him. We will. I owe you a huge favor, Raxifar. And you, Zefrek, do you pretend to enter the steppe on foot so that the Essimeans can catch you and enslave you like the others? Do not go,” he insisted. “I beg of you.”

Raxifar arched his eyebrows. Zefrek furrowed his brow.

“Your people don’t want us to stay,” the latter said. “And I don’t want to stay either.”

Dashvara grunted and turned to the Xalyas, who were listening to the conversation at a cautious distance. He declared:

“Xalyas. I wish Raxifar and Zefrek to stay with us. We will help them as our brothers. Does anyone have an objection?”

Only the loud rumour of the harbor could be heard. Dashvara sighed.

“Good. Well, problem solved. I promise you, Raxifar and Zefrek, that you will return to the steppe to your people with horses and weapons.”

“To what is so much generosity due?” Zefrek inquired with a mixture of mockery and distrust.

Dashvara looked at young Shalussi’s face. Now he was better dressed than when he had rushed to murder him at Matswad, and even without the gold necklaces that Nanda wore, he looked disturbingly like his father.

“This is not about generosity,” he said at last, “but about justice. You, too, deserve to return to the steppe alive after all we have been through. And, on your own, you won’t make it. So will you stay?”

After a hesitation, Zefrek nodded.

“I’ll stay,” he agreed, as if making a concession. “For now.”

Raxifar’s eyes were locked on Dashvara’s as he nodded affirmatively. Dashvara smiled at them both.

“You don’t know how happy I am about that. Good.” He caught the Xalyas’ eye, “We’re going back aboard, brothers. We need to get the chests out of the cabins.”

He walked up the gangway, hoping that the problem with Raxifar and Zefrek was more or less settled… for now.