“Yes, Councillor. The mensch either move off the Chalice, move off our lands which they usurped by force, or they agree to swear fealty to us, to permit themselves to be governed by us.”
“And what is their answer to these terms?”
“They will not leave the lands they have taken, Councillor. To be quite fair, they have nowhere else to go. Their former homelands, the seamoons, are now locked in ice.”
“They could climb in those boats of theirs and sail after the sun, go search for new homelands.”
“They see no need for such a traumatic upheaval in their lives, Councillor. There is land enough for all here on the Chalice. They cannot understand why they cannot settle it.”
The Sartan’s tone implied that he could not quite understand it, either. Ramu frowned, but at that moment, another Council member rose, asked leave to speak.
“To be fair to the mensch, Councillor,” she said deferentially, “they are ashamed of their past actions and are quite willing to ask our forgiveness and be friends. They have made improvements to the land, begun to build homes, establish businesses. I’ve seen these myself.”
“Indeed, Sister?” Ramu’s face darkened. “You have traveled among them?”
“Yes, Councillor. It was at their invitation. I saw no harm and the other members agreed with me. You were not available—”
“What’s done is done, Sister.” Ramu coldly ended the discussion. “Please continue. What have the mensch done to our land?”
No one missed the emphasis on the pronoun.
The Sartan nervously cleared her throat. “The elves have settled near the seashore. Their cities are going to be extraordinarily beautiful, Councillor, with dwellings made of coral. The humans have settled farther inland, in the forests which they love, but with access to the sea, granted them by the elves. The dwarves have moved into caverns in the mountains in the interior. They are mining the minerals, raising goats and sheep. They have set up forges—”
“Enough!” Ramu’s face was livid with anger. “I’ve heard enough. They have set up forges, you say. Forges to make weapons of steel which they will use to attack either us or their neighbors. The peace of our lives will be shattered, just as it was long ago. The mensch are quarrelsome, violent children who need our direction and control.”
The Council member was inclined to argue. “But they appear to be living quite peacefully—”
Ramu waved his hand, brushed her words away. “The mensch may get along for a time, particularly if they have some new toy to keep them occupied. But their own history shows that they cannot be trusted. They will either agree to live by our rules, under our laws, or they can depart.”
The Sartan glanced uncertainly around the Council. The other members indicated with nods that she was to continue. “Then ... uh ... the mensch have given me their terms for peace, Councillor.”
“Their terms!” Ramu was amazed. “Why should we bother to listen to their terms?”
“They consider that they won a victory over us, Councillor,” said the Sartan. She flushed beneath Ramu’s baleful gaze. “And it must be admitted that they could do the very same thing to us again. They control the floodgates. They could open them at any time, flood us out. The seawater is devastating to our magic. Some of us have only just recently regained complete use of our power. Without our magic, we are more helpless than the mensch—”
“Mind what you say, Sister!” Ramu warned.
“I speak the truth, Councillor,” the Sartan returned quietly. “You cannot deny it.”
Ramu did not argue. His hands, lying flat on the table, drew inward; the fingers curled over nothing. The stone table was cold, smelled wet and musty. “What about my father’s suggestion? Have we made any attempt to destroy these floodgates, seal them shut?”
“The floodgates are far below water level, Councillor. We cannot reach them, and even if we could, our magic would be rendered powerless by the water itself. Besides”—her voice lowered—“who knows but that the evil dragon-snakes are down there still, lying in wait.”
“Perhaps,” Ramu said, but would add nothing further. He knew, because his father had told him before he left, that the dragon-snakes had entered Death’s Gate, had left Chelestra, taken their evil to other worlds . . .
. . . “This is my fault, my son,” Samah said. “One reason I travel to Abarrach is in hopes of making reparation, of finding the means to destroy the dread serpents. I begin to think”—he hesitated, glanced at his son from beneath lowered eyelids—“I begin to think that Alfred was right all along. The true evil is here. We created it.”
His father placed his hand over his own heart.
Ramu did not understand. “Father, how can you say that? Look at what you created! It is not evil.”
Ramu gestured, a broad and sweeping motion that included not only the buildings and ground and trees and gardens of the Chalice, but the world of water itself, and beyond that, the worlds of air and fire and stone.
Samah looked where his son had pointed. “I see only what we destroyed,” he said.
Those were his last words, before he walked through Death’s Gate.
“Farewell, my father,” Ramu called after him. “When you return triumphant, with legions marching behind you, your spirits will lift.” . . .
But Samah had not returned. And there had been no word of him.
And now, though Ramu was loath to admit it, the mensch had—to all intents and purposes—conquered the gods. Conquered us! Their superiors! Ramu could see no way out of the present difficulty. Since the floodgates were under the magic-nullifying water, the Sartan could not destroy the floodgates with magic. We might resort to mechanical means. In the Sartan library are books which tell how, in ancient days, men manufactured powerful explosive devices.
But Ramu could not fool himself. He lifted his hands, turned them palm up, stared at them. The palms were soft and smooth, the fingers long and shapely. A conjurer’s hands, taught to handle the insubstantial. Not a craftsman’s. The clumsiest dwarf could manufacture in an eyeblink what it would take Ramu long hours of toil to produce with nothing but his hands.
“We might, after cycles and cycles, produce something mechanical capable of closing or blocking off the floodgates. But at that point we have become mensch,” Ramu said to himself. “Better to just open the floodgates and let the water rush in!”
It was then that the thought occurred to him. Perhaps we should leave. Let the mensch have this world. Let them look after themselves. Let them destroy each other, as—so Alfred had reported—the mensch were doing on other worlds.
Let the unruly and ungrateful children come home to find that their long-suffering parents have gone.
He was suddenly conscious of the other Council members exchanging glances, their expressions anxious, worried. He realized, too late, that his dark thoughts had been reflected on his face. His expression hardened. To leave now was to give up, surrender, admit defeat. He would sooner drown in that blue-green water.
“Either the mensch abandon the Chalice or agree to place themselves under our control. Those are their only two options. I assume the rest of the Council agrees with me?” Ramu glanced around.
The rest of the Council did agree, at least by voice. Any disagreement or dissent was not spoken aloud. This was no time for disunity.
“If the mensch refuse to meet these terms,” Ramu continued, frowning, speaking slowly and distinctly, his gaze fixing in turn on each person in the room, “there will be consequences. Dire consequences. You may tell them that.”
The Council members appeared more hopeful, relieved. Obviously, their Councillor had a plan. They delegated one of their number to speak to the mensch, then moved on to other business, such as cleaning up damage left by the floodwaters. When there were no other matters left to consider, the Council voted to adjourn. Most of them went about their business, but a few lingered behind, talking with Ramu, hoping to discover some hint of what the Councillor had in mind.