“Very clearly, yes.” Eraya narrows her eyes at me, evidently not understanding my angle. “It’s for theirsafety.”
“How patronizing,” I say. “And yet where do the priests come from, too, if not from people?”
“You are speaking of philosophy, while I speak of facts that even children know,” Eraya says. “Perhaps you have not studied how many people—priest and layperson alike—died in the revolution—”
“Yes, yes, if you give people weapons without a manual they will explode them.” I wave away her point. “That means you ought toteachthem, not hoard knowledge.”
“Or it means that they don’t need weapons,” Eraya says, pressing her pace. “The Order bears that burden for them, that they might live their lives untroubled from even more responsibilities.”
“If you believe you have the right to decide what responsibilities or knowledge a person can or should or need take up, that is still patronizing. A knife can stab a person, but it can also cut bread. Magic can do many things besides wounding—even if that’s howyouwield it, to break people apart. Is it compassion to teach people that they are fundamentally separate from each other?”
“Do you think it would be compassion to teach people a lie?” Eraya shoots back.
“I think it’s compassion to teach them to dream,” I tell her seriously.
“To long for the impossible? That would be cruel, Yora. Not every person can be a sage; that is a fact.”
“Impossible can move, with enough force behind the dream,” I say softly, but with a flick of my wrist I make sure the sound carries; hauntingly.
“And that is precisely what the Order under Consul Hakon is working toward,” the Sage of Compassion says fiercely, her light growing. “A dream where we can all be one,notseparate. Where we each have our own place to thrive. I’mproudto work for that.”
“A dream that requires any people to be sacrificed is not worthy of any of us.” And before she can proclaim that they are not sacrificing people I add, “Youare a person too, Eraya.”
I’m not sure if she understands me. In my time with the Order, I understood that I was a weapon only and not a person. I’m not sure if she realizes that she is in fact a person.
I don’t know if she understands how her aura of compassion is once again disintegrating under the power of my wrath carried only by my words; or if she does, but can’t acknowledge it.
But she does understand that her power works just fine against people who can’t defend against it, but with me opposing her directly, she can’t get a foothold again.
I see her take in the crowd, and whatever she sees there causes her to decide it’s time to quit the field.
“Do you think to speak for Crystal Hollow, then?” Eraya challenges me.
“Absolutely not,” I say vehemently, possibly a little comically given some of the sounds I hear from around us, but wow am I not cut out for that job. “But neither do you. Crystal Hollow will decide for itself what they value. Until then, please respect them enough to let them.”
Eraya turns sadly to the crowd, her showmanship back in full force. “You’re making a mistake,” she says. “I’m trying to save you.”
I don’t answer.
Neither does anyone else.
Eraya bows her head dramatically, and then strides away with her head high, the picture of the light leaving with her.
It’s only once she’s gone that people speak again.
“Now is it your turn to pitch us?” Romasa asks from the side.
Not behind me.
“Nope. I was just here to make sure she didn’t unduly influence you with magic. You make up your own minds.”
“And if it’s not whatyouwant?” Romasa challenges.
Because she feels safe to speak now that the real threat is gone, which is supremely ironic, given who I am.
Or perhaps because she is on the side of the status quo, and she only feels the need to speak out when she feels it’s in danger.
Either way, my answer is the same.
