The doors swung back easily and soundlessly. éltoth, the Mayor, Moon’sheen, and élysia rose from their seats when they saw Chárlotte and élberteeth. The ambassadors turned to see who had entered that deserved such recognition. Silence immediately fell until only the rustle of clothing could be heard as the two women reached the center of the room. After curtsying, they stood, silently waiting to be addressed, as was customary. One by one, and then together, the ambassadors rose till everyone was standing quietly.
The Mayor extended his right arm towards them, saying, “Chárlotte Ch’lant, you are here. Come and sit beside me. élberteeth, you shall sit in the first row on my right. Greet the ladies, ambassadors.”
Everyone bowed and curtsied. Some clapped for a few moments before being hushed by the overbearing silence. All the ambassadors’ eyes followed Chárlotte, some keenly, some friendly, and others distrustfully, as if they doubted her validity or ability.
Chárlotte turned toward the ambassadors and curtsied again. Turning back, she walked over and sat down in the empty chair that had been placed to the right of the Mayor’s on the dais. As soon as she sat down, everyone else in the room followed suit.
Facing the ambassadors, Chárlotte scanned the faces of the ambassadors seated before her and blushed when she saw they were observing her as well. Their faces showed surprise and disappointment, for they had expected that Ch’lant would be a man and not a mere girl. Knowing this, Chárlotte lowered her eyes and stared at the ground before her, half-wishing that she was someone else and not herself. She wished she could be at home. Then a thought came to her, and she raised her head and looked about: if they were disappointed, then they were disappointed. Their opinion of her would not change who she was or what she had to do. No longer could she hide from what was before her.
Now that everyone was gathered in the Chamber, the Mayor ordered the doors to be shut again so that they could hold their discussions in private. Then he rose to his feet and welcomed the ambassadors from the various tribes’ representatives and thanked them for coming speedily to the Council.
“For too long, we have ignored the calls for aid from the South, and we hope we will not rue our delay until now. We, as representatives of our particular tribes, are gathered here for a council, wisdom, and war. It has been said that from this chamber, good counsel will always come. May we witness this today and the days that follow. May Lightness bless our decisions and protect our tribes in these dark times that have beset us.”
The Mayor paused for breath before continuing. “Before we discuss how we are to work together to end this war, we must know the state of each tribe so that we can make informed decisions. If a representative from each of the tribes would rise and speak on behalf of their people, we can begin. We will start with the Schi’leon tribe.” With those words, the Mayor sat down.
Among the Schi’leons, there was some whispering before one of their elders rose, leaning heavily on the gnarled oak staff in his hand. His robes were crimson and orange, and his black hair was tied back into a long braid. Reddish wings were folded against his back, and a long scar ran across his left cheek. “Fair ladies and kind gentlemen, attend to my words, if you will. I am afraid that I will only speak of sorrow, death, and destruction. The menace that rose again from Nimph’s Vale has been attacking our tribe for the past five years. Unaided and alone, we have withstood him so far. Yet in such a short time, we have suffered the loss of many lives that can not be replaced easily. We have come to this Council in the hope our tribe will receive aid and that the tribes can work together as they did once before and bring about the doom of this tyrant—as should have been ages ago.
“Lársh’s men are composed of the O’acians, the Southern Plainsmen, and even our own. Some of them enlisted out of their own volition, but many have been enchanted and forced to fight for him. Thus, Lársh—may he be cursed!—has pushed us out of the forest and mountains and back into our peninsula, taking our lands on the mainland for himself. Those whom we were unable to evacuate are suffering greatly under his rule. They are sent as slaves to Nimph’s Vale and the Plains of Pullceri, working in camps and making weapons and supplies for his armies. The knowledge of all this oppression has broken our hearts and only strengthened our desire for vengeance! We seek your aid in this task so that we can free ourselves and our brethren from this threat!” The elder finished speaking and lowered himself into his chair.
“Thank you for sharing this with us. After this day, you will no longer be fighting alone!” The Mayor motioned for the next ambassador to rise.
A young man rose from among the ambassadors of the Dawning Mountains. He was dressed in a yellow robe and wore a saber close to his side. “I am Lightwing,” he addressed the chamber, “from one of the tribes that live along the tributaries of the Lóngeena River. My people have been at peace until the last few months. After the Dark Lord moved his troops out of the Great Forest, he sent them to Timberwood, our homelands. Our towns have seen raids and pillaging. We believe these have merely been done to frighten us into submission, for he does not seem interested in conquering us, only intimidating us so that we do not attack him.
“During one of these raids, I was captured with several others and forced to labor in one of their camps. Words fail me to describe the horrors that we witnessed there and the pain we endured. What we experienced was similar to what was committed during the Great War—although it seemed to have grown much darker than what I remembered from the tales my parents and grandparents told of that time. Two of my companions died: one at the hand of our captors and the other took her own life to escape being violated. It was only several months later that we escaped with our lives. When we returned to our tribes, we told them everything. My tribe may seem insignificant to Lársh, but we want to do everything in our power to end this war.”
The Natálians who lived near the mouth of Tear Drop Bay spoke next. Their ambassador spoke of his people’s growing unease at the sight of ships flying Lársh’s colors entering and leaving the Bay. “There is not much we can do to prevent their passage, for their ships are well-armored and vigilant. We have seen them entering the ports of the Bayers.” The Natálian continued, “We have reason to suspect that the Bayers are not to be trusted. That they are even present in this council is a grave mistake, for they are nothing more than the puppets and allies of Lársh!”
“Not all of us have stooped so low!” interrupted a young man from among the ambassadors. He sprang to his feet and repeated: “Not all the Bayers have stooped so low as to become the pawns of the Dark Lord! The Eastern Bayers have not welcomed his vessels or permitted his merchants to trade in our ports! We have not become Lársh's dogs!”
“You must be mistaken or lying! We have seen Lársh’s ships docking at the ports of the Eastern Bayers many times,” returned the Natalian Helkeel smoothly. “How can the Eastern Bayers claim to be on our side when they are seen giving aid to the enemy? Have we brought into our midst a spy and a traitor who will sell us into the enemy's hands for a moment’s respite?!”
The Bayer glared at Helkeel. His eyes seemed to glow with the passion and anger within them. “You accuse us that our loyalties are to Lársh. You claim I am a spy, a traitor!” He spat on the ground. “We know we are none of these things that you accuse us of! Have your people seen goods exchanged between our ports and those ships? Have they witnessed the threats our harbor masters face when they refuse to let the ships unload their cargo? Those ships are turned away from our ports and go to others that welcome them.
“Are there some among us who would betray our cause and supply the enemy with information? Yes, there are those in our land for whom the right price would buy their heart, but all the Bayers who are present in this room are true and loyal to Lightness and Ch’lant! I vouch for them with my life! Can you stand here in confidence and say the same as yours?”
Helkeel sneered at the Bayer. “Mine are loyal. Only time can tell whether your words are true or false. I do suggest, though, that our first order of business be to vote on whether we keep the Bayers present at this council, for if they are indeed traitors, we cannot risk any leaks of our doings.” With those words, Helkeel sat down and rested his chin on his hand, observing to see how the young Bayer reacted to his proposal.
The Bayer who had interrupted Helkeel’s accusation remained standing. He managed to keep his seething rage under control, even though his face was flushed with emotion and his voice was strained. The young man wore a deep blue shirt, embroidered with white around the sleeves and neck. His blonde hair was cut close to his head, and his wings were an azure blue that graduated to cream at the tips. “The love of my tribe makes me quite passionate in its defense, especially when the accusations made against it are false. Some of our tribe have indeed become pawns of Lársh, but that does not mean that all of us are traitors. We are loyal, passionate, and willing to risk our lives and our fortunes to stop Lársh. We Bayers fight a battle from within and without. If I can be so presumptuous to say our battle is the most destructive because the division weakens us from the inside. Eventually, any pressure from within breaks the entire structure apart, if given enough time.
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“I cannot deny the fact that there are some who see the Dark Lord as our salvation. That is not so for all of us. We have resisted, and. We are here to seek aid! If you doubt us, know that even as we speak, Lársh is threatening to blockade our ports because we refuse to trade with him. If he does that, we will have little choice but to surrender and become his servants for our livelihood depends on our ports. We may lose our towns, our ships, our goods, and our use of the seaways if he succeeds. We seek your aid so that we can remain free. Please hear my plea and help us!”
An elder rose from among the Natálians and raised his hand to speak. “I am well aware one of my tribe does not trust the Bayers’ intentions, but if the matter that this young man brought to our attention is true, then we have a grave problem. The Bayers are shipbuilders, traders, and excellent seafarers. If we lose their aid, even though it is only half of it, we will have lost a great asset. It was their prowess at the sea and their recklessness for their cause that aid was delivered timely during the Great War. Without the Eastern Bayers, we will be unable to transport goods easily by sea and more pressure will be placed upon the Sunset Islanders and Schi’leons. By losing them, we will lose an advantage.”
Helkeel rose and was recognized by the Mayor. “The Bayer’s talents were necessary then and perhaps still are at this present time. However, I still believe that we should cast a vote on whether to allow them to remain in the council or to send them back to their land. How do we know these men are not deceived, even though they claim otherwise? I move, we vote on this matter.” Helkeel returned to his seat. His face showed a smug yet satisfied expression.
There was a murmur of voices in the chamber as the ambassadors talked to one another. Helkeel’s accusation seemed to have caused concern among the ambassadors. After some time had passed, the Mayor rose and raised his hands for silence, a silence that fell almost instantaneously.
“Ambassador Helkeel has moved that we vote on whether to allow the Eastern Bayers to remain in the council or not. Does anyone wish to second this motion?”
Chárlotte watched the ambassadors and the Mayor. Already, she could tell that things were getting out of hand. élberteeth had expected the trouble to come from the Schi’leons, but they were aware of the council’s purpose and wished to aid it. She felt some satisfaction out of that knowledge, but this new source of disagreement was dangerous.
Reaching over, she touched the Mayor’s arm and whispered, “This will not end well. Did you send the letters to specific people or were they sent to the heads of the tribes?”
The Mayor replied, “I sent them to trusted allies and friends. They were sent in good faith, but many things can happen that can change a person’s heart in the span of years and with a distance between friends.”
“Do you believe that might have happened with the Bayers you knew?” asked Chárlotte.
“I do not believe so, for the man I sent it to has been a close friend of mine from boyhood and one whose views are akin to my own,” answered the Mayor.
One of the ambassadors rose and seconded the motion. Before they began, the Mayor addressed the assembly: “Before we proceed with voting, I advise caution as we cast our votes. The letters I sent through the couriers were delivered to close friends and acquaintances of myself and éltoth. Both of us vouch for the loyalties of not only the recipients, but also those whom they delegated to be present at this council. The Bayers are important allies, but their people are vulnerable and divided. Consider carefully before you vote. If we vote for them to leave when they are innocent, then we will have alienated an ally and created a feud. If they are already against us, then they already have the most crucial information needed to aid Lársh.”
He gestured to Chárlotte as he spoke. “Nothing we say or do in their presence afterward would be able to save us. With these things in mind, let us commence.”
The Mayor ran through a list of names, and each person called out his vote when his name was spoken. He tallied the votes of each member on a writing tablet and announced them when everyone had been called upon. The Eastern Bayers would remain in the Council, and Helkeel and a few others showed their disapproval with scowls.
After settling that matter, the ambassador from the Dawn Islands spoke next. The Dawners were an isolated tribe, living on islands just west of the mainland. The other tribes knew very little of the Dawners because they rarely set foot on the mainland and traveled very little at sea. Some disturbing rumors about their past existed, and it caused the other tribes to be wary of them. Many of the ambassadors were surprised by their presence at the Council, for they thought the Dawners would have declined the Mayor’s invitation. Their ambassador explained they had been shocked to learn that Lársh had never been slain during the Great War and that they wished to fight in whatever way they could to stop him so that he would be gone for good.
Next, a rich musical voice spoke from among the ambassadors and drew Chárlotte’s attention. The speaker was a woman, seated near the lower right of the semicircle of desks. Chárlotte was surprised that she had not noticed the woman, for she had never seen a feyn like her! On her neck were several odd slits that opened and closed, and these reminded Chárlotte of fish’s gills. Unlike a normal feyn, her forehead was slanted further backward, and her chin was more pointed and smaller. Her fingers were also unusually long, and when she gestured, they were webbed between. Featherless were her wings, and they were shaped more like a fish’s fins than a feyn’s wings. Her skin was a grey color, almost like a dark silver but without the metallic sheen. Her hair was a drab green, similar in color to wet seaweed, and it hung over her shoulders in long smooth waves. She wore a deep blue-green dress and had a pale gold crown resting on her head. Chárlotte realized that this woman was none other than the queen of the Cy’rens, the sea-dwelling feyns.
“What do I need to say about my people’s affairs when there are others in worse states than our own?” began the queen. The cadence of her voice was like the rhythmic rise and fall of the waves, somehow mesmerizing and peaceful to the ears. “We have been little affected by the affairs of those on the land since we are little thought of. Because of this, our affairs and your own have been rather independent of one another, yet in times like these, our interests collide with yours. We fought together in the Great War and will fight in this one. However, unlike then, we will keep our war on the oceans, seas, and rivers. The last time my people joined yours on land, I found it did more harm than good, for we are not meant for the land.
“We will only attack the enemies who dare to cross our domains and will escort your ships. We will also give you aid from the rivers in your fight. Yet we will not go beyond the water’s edge. Do not expect us to do much more than this. In only these ways will my people aid you against the Dark Lord. Nothing else. We are allies because we are Lársh’s enemies as well, but I must draw a line when it comes to what is best for my people.” With a final tilt of her head, in thanks, she signaled she was finished speaking. Leaning back, her eyes flitted over the faces of the other ambassadors, studying their reactions.
The queen’s declaration seemed to disappoint the tribes who had hoped that the Cy’rens would aid them on land. However, many remembered what had happened to the Cy’rens in the Great War and understood why the queen desired to have her people fight in the water. During the Great War, the Cy’rens had left their homeland and fought on land alongside the rest of the feyns, but in doing so, they lost their powers and were unable to return to their homes when the war was over. Those who had fought lived permanently exiled from their homelands and families, making new lives for themselves on dry land.. The Cy’rens did not want an event like that to be repeated. None of the ambassadors said anything in response, some out of sympathy and others out of resentment.
A dark-haired, fair-skinned feyn rose from among the Obwánians. “We have had peace, ambassadors and Ch’lant,” the young man began. “My name is Dáveed. My people have not been attacked yet, but we fear he will do so soon. Our desire—the desire of my tribe — is to see that this Council is successful: that it unites the tribes so that we can face Lársh as one and that it figures out how to defeat Lársh without putting this lady in peril.” He bowed respectfully in Chárlotte’s direction, and Chárlotte inclined her head back in thanks for his courtesy. “I would like to suggest to the Council that we plan our campaign here because the island is a peaceful land and unlikely to be attacked soon.”
“We will see to that proposal in its proper time, Dáveed,” replied the Mayor. “Do you have anything else that you wish to add to your statement?”
“Nothing else, sir.” Dáveed returned to his seat.
Firewings rose and, after bowing, told the ambassadors what Chárlotte remembered him saying in the fire room at the Leafton’s party. He told them of the Darklings’ uneasiness at the rumors from the South, what he had seen when he traveled to investigate them, and what horrors were being done to those under Lársh’s rule. “When I returned to Forest of the Shadows,” Firewings continued, “I told my tribesmen what I had seen and was told to accompany éltoth to Sunset Island and help in whatever happened there. Now, I am here to tell you we wish for unity, cooperation, and friendliness among the other tribes so that ‘we can face Lársh as one,’ as Dáveed so aptly put it.
“Therefore, we should put aside our petty quarrels and disagreements and work together so that we do not give Lársh an easy victory. It would be like two children fighting over a toy until another comes and steals it from them because they were so distracted by their argument that they did not notice the theft. When they did...it was too late for them to do anything about it. That would be how Lársh would act. Therefore, let us choose to trust each other, join hands, and fight together! We are here to begin this war by uniting!”
Firewings sat down to applause from the rest of the ambassadors. His face beamed as he looked at the feyns around him, and he seemed satisfied with his speech.
“Now that each of the tribes’ representatives has shared their situations, let us rehearse what has happened in the past between us and Lársh—from the very beginning,” began the Mayor. “For this, I have asked élysia, whose delight is history, to remind us, for it has been said that those who forget what has happened before will walk in the same paths as their forefathers.”
