"It's not fair!" he shouted abruptly at the blood-red sunset. "Do you hear me? It's not fair!"
There was no answer, and after a moment Turek turned his back on Akkad and continued on into the growing darkness.
Afterword
It's been obvious since at least the Industrial Revolution that advances benefiting society as a whole can be pretty hard on segments of that same society. But unemployment aside, I think Turek's reaction illustrates a good part of the psychological resistance to change: the fear that doing things the hard way when an easier way exists somehow makes one a fool. The fact that that conclusion simply isn't true doesn't really matter—emotional reactions by definition lack logic.
If we could somehow eliminate this fear of looking foolish, would some of our resistance to change also disappear? And, given that not all change is beneficial, would losing that resistance be good or bad in the long run?
Not Always To The Strong
The flat stone jutted up out of the log-and-thong vise like the gray tooth of some giant predator. Squinting along its surface, Turek set his cutter carefully against a small protrusion and hit it a sharp blow. A chip of the stone fell away, and for the hundredth time Turek ran his fingertips along the cutting edge. Almost done, he decided; by noon he should have a functioning hoe again. He spotted another flaw, and had just set his cutter again when the knock came at his door.
He paused, listening, wondering if he'd imagined it. Visitors these days were few and far between, especially since one of Javan's spanking new Mindlight Masters had taken up residence in Keilberg, eliminating the villages last real need for a Shadow Warriors services. It was conceivable that someone from one of the farms to the west had come to ask his help, but even they seemed to prefer to walk the two extra miles into Keilberg. That it might be someone merely interested in Turek's company was unlikely in the extreme.
The knock came a second time, too loudly to be imagination. Putting down his tools, Turek got up and went to answer the door.
There were two of them; big men, both, dressed in gray cloaks and the dust of a long journey. The man in front was perhaps twenty-five, his companion a couple of years younger. "Master Turek, the Shadow Warrior?" the first man asked politely. Turek studied him a moment before answering. From his coloring and accent Turek would guess him to be a northman, possibly from the Lazuli region... Javan's home territory, where his Mindlight school was centered. The old feelings, long buried, began to churn again within him. "I am Turek," he acknowledged coldly. "And you?"
The other didn't so much as move a single muscle—but Turek suddenly felt as if he'd tried to push over an eighty-year-old plains oak. The young man's aura of authority remained untouched by Turek's mild hostility; his eyes held a pride the Shadow Warrior had seen only rarely in his fifty years. Here was a man whose internal power bent to no one, and Turek's first suspicion vanished like dew under that steady gaze. Whoever he might be, he was emphatically no Mindlight Master.
"I am Krain," the man identified himself, "ruler of Masard, to the north. My aide, Pakstin. We'd like to talk with you, if you're free."
Something about his attitude suggested that he expected Turek to say no. But Turek had no interest in a battle of wills. Stepping to one side, he gestured them in.
The meeting area of the house was small and modestly furnished; Turek never entertained much. "Please sit down," he said, indicating the room's two chairs.
"Pakstin will stand," Krain said as he sank into one of the straw-filled contour chairs, his aide taking up position beside him.
Shrugging, Turek took the other seat. "What can I do for you?" he asked.
"Ask rather what we can do for each other," Krain answered. "I've come here to offer you a permanent position in Masard."
"I see," Turek managed. It wasn't exactly the sort of response he'd been expecting. "To what do I owe this offer?"
"To my regret at seeing the noble brotherhood of Shadow Warriors in decline," the other said. "At Masard we are dedicated to improving the lives of our people by expanding the number and quality of tools available. Naturally, such attempts multiply the growth of Shadows in the region."
"Naturally." What the Shadows were and where they had come from was unknown, but the one absolute truth on Vesper was that everything made by man sooner or later grew a thick coating of Shadow. Invisible, intangible—but unpleasantly real. "And so naturally you need to hire more Shadow Warriors to deal with it. Right?"
"Of course."
Turek leaned back a bit more in his chair and favored the other with his most sardonic smile. "Sure you do. I don't know what kind of fool you take me for, Krain, but you're on the wrong road. In the first place, anything a Shadow Warrior can do for you one of Javan's swarm of eager young Mindlight Masters can do faster and easier—and Masard is practically next door to his Lazuli school. And in the second place, there must be dozens of Shadow Warriors closer to you than I am. Are you really going to try and persuade me that you had to come all the way down here—personally—to find one to hire?" He shook his head. "Try again."
"Very good." Krain's expression showed a pleased sort of satisfaction. "Very good indeed. You're quicker than most I've talked to. I'd begun to wonder if fighting Shadow diminished the mental faculties after a time. Tell me, would you like to be revenged on Javan?"
Turek stiffened. Memories flooded back.... "What would I want vengeance for?" he asked carefully.
"For destroying your livelihood, for starters." Krain's eyes swept the room carefully, his gaze lingering for a moment on the new hoe blade clearly visible through the open workroom door. "Ten years ago you would have had someone else making your tools and growing your food in exchange for your services against Shadow. You would have been the most valuable man in the entire Keilberg region. Javan's Mindlight technique ruined all that, usurping five generations of Shadow Warrior authority on Vesper."
"We never had any real authority," Turek disagreed quietly. "Nor did we desire any. Our desire was to serve the people, to help limit the Shadows that would otherwise force them to live like animals. Javan simply found a better and faster way to do that. Why shouldn't it replace our method?"
Krain shrugged, his eyes on Turek's face. "Yet I understand that your method eliminated Shadow at a high cost to your personal comfort and even, shall we say, to your long-term mental health. Why would you endure that if not for the prestige the blue cloak gave you?"
Turek shook his head; there was no answer he could give that would satisfy the other. "You spoke of revenge?"
"Yes." Krain leaned forward slightly. "As you stated, the power to destroy Shadow has shifted to Javan and his people, and with it has gone control over Vespers technological growth. I submit that Javan is not qualified to make the decisions that such control will require."
The young northman stopped, but the message underlying his words was clear enough. "Passing up for the moment the question of whether or not your qualifications are better than his, what makes you think you can gain the influence you want anyway? Javan's probably got a couple of hundred students at any given time, and with all of them running around Lazuli destroying Shadows the village can probably support a population of over a thousand by now. Few of them are going to take kindly to interference or pressure from Masard."
"I won't be going to Lazuli alone," Krain said. "My army numbers nearly three hundred, and is well trained."
"So what? Fighting sticks are fighting sticks, no matter how expert your men are."
"True—but we have something a bit better than fighting sticks." He gestured to Pakstin, still standing by his seat. In a single smooth motion the aide threw back his cloak, reached across to his left hip, and pulled out—