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AR Chapter 285
🕑 Added 2024-12-21 04:58:03 +0000 UTC[Djallma POV]
Though he’d long been her personal mentor, Djallma felt the subtle emotion Salmar’s command carried. He was not happy. She schooled her face and posture, and though much of her wanted to fall in step and rush to the elderly man’s side, Djallma made sure to follow the usual ways. A quiet word here, a soft remonstration there, and a general sense of calm were instrumental for her in her position as the High Veran of Wavespeaking. That she was also the head of the progressive faction among the Synod dictated that beyond a tranquil, calming presence, she must lead those who called for change within the Veratocracy.
“If you cannot take a stronger stance before the traditionalists regarding drastic changes to national policy, I do not think that we can continue to fund your current campaign.” Ulaya Frammel, daughter and heir of the Frammel family, worried at Djallma. “My mother is facing suppression at the hands of the Lihl and Alniyh, but not so much that she is unwilling to throw in behind the independents once more, or even the traditionalists if the situation changes enough. She smelled profit, but if it comes at too high of a price, then she does not hesitate to cut her losses when necessary.”
“And that is how the Frammel family has risen to the position they now occupy as one of the Seven Families.” Djallma comforted the contradictingly unimposing woman. How such a strong, imposing body was occupied by a rodent’s soul escaped Djallma, yet she still was one of her foremost allies. “If your mother was here, she would recognize that I showed no weakness, but instead reminded the traditionalists and independents alike that we have a strong position and it is supported by the Gran Verat’s teachings. Since we have already established our fortress, we allow the traditionalists to break themselves on our walls.”
“She’s got the right of it.” Grumbled Brough Ulough. Since his early ascent to the position as the head of the Ulough family, the boy had grown into an impressive man, and if Djallma hadn’t risen to the celibate position of High Veran, she’d have long begun courting him. As it was, the swarthy man with a thick, dark chinstrap beard supported the progressive’s approach to international travel and immigration. “The traditionalist body outnumbers us, while the independents grow. We can’t alienate those who still carry traditionalist leanings in the pursuit of appearing strong. Thank you, High Veran. Continue your work, I will send word when I know of the Sharalhl’s plans.”
Djallma nodded and dismissed him. If only all her allies were so competent.
“My mother wonders if he should be trusted as the Ulough family’s head.” Ulaya whispered, long before Brough was completely out of earshot. Djallma composed herself and levelled a look up at the much taller woman.
“He is smart, quick to trust his allies, and strong in the face of adversity. Brough continued to prove himself.”
Ulaya merely shrugged. “Well, if that’s how the Godless are. I guess I’m glad he’s on our side. Now, could you come with me to explain everything to Mother? She prefers when you come to speak with her, since I’m not as… good at talking as you are.”
“No, I cannot.” Djallma smiled gently. “I’m afraid there is much I have to do as a High Veran, and I have a meeting with High Veran Salmar.”
“Oh, we can’t keep him waiting!” The immediate respect afforded to the eldest of the High Veran compared to the casual friendliness offered to her prickled Djallma’s pride, but she mentally repeated the comforting adage: “The greatest glory is found in obeisance to the Gran Verat. Self-effacement in the face of His plans is more glorious than respect and victory.” By the time she’d finished, Djallma’s smile was again genuine.
“Then I can trust you to speak with Family Head Kyarrah?”
“Oh, yes. Trust me, Djallma! I’ll make sure to… talk to Mother.” The brief spike of confidence granted by Djallma’s trust quickly died, and Djallma could feel the anxiety wash out from the uncontrolled woman. She considered Soulspeaking the girl to some modicum of bravery, but instead dismissed her and, with a couple more well-wishes and reassurances, finally made her way to a nearby hallway where she knew Salmar awaited her.
As was his way, the old man didn’t say anything as she joined him. Instead, he placed his hands behind his back and walked placidly forward. No hair covered his head, except for a white moustache that tickled his upper lip, and though his skin remained mostly without the drooping folds of advanced age, Djallma knew that he was at least 100 years old. Different from the various states of emotion she could feel from the amassed people outside, Salmar gave no indication of his tightly leashed emotions. She couldn’t say if this was because the man had learned how to school himself so tightly over his century of life, or because he had lost all emotion, or because of his status as the High Veran of Windspeaking, but whatever it was, she couldn’t help but feel unnerved.
“Your arguments are losing their barbs of hatred and superiority.” Salmar interrupted her train of thought. “That is for the best. You and Leiteli will always be of different schools and families and thoughts, and that is heightened by the opposing nature of your Callings and natures. Even so, you must find yourselves capable of working together for the good of our nation and of our Lord. True hatred does not become you.”
“I don’t hate him.” Djallma answered. “I find him distastefully arrogant and set in his ways, but there is no hatred in my heart for him.”
Salmar levelled a gaze at her but did not comment further. They walked in silence for several more minutes, the shadows cast by their passage dancing in the light cast by the torches that filled the stone hall. After one hundred and forty-six steps, as the echoes died, Salmar spoke once again.
“I worry that your progressive views are too secular.”
There. That was the point of this conversation. Djallma prepared herself to argue against her mentor. They were now equals in name, though not in experience, authority, nor power. She could stand her ground.
“Please explain, High Veran Salmar.” She acknowledged the test, and it began in earnest.
“The position of the High Veran is to effectuate the will of the Gran Verat. We are His voice and His soul made flesh, and we cannot concern ourselves with the worries of the mortal. Our focus is that of eternity and prosperity.”
“Eternity cannot only take place in the next life. The Ideals of Ardaliana say that ‘Contentment can only come through abnegation, submission, and obedience to the holy, to the ruler, and to our god.’ Among our many duties is that to bring contentment to the world at large, and that can only be done at this time, in this life.”
“The view of the traditionalists is that conquest can lead us to forcing the rest to that. Why would we step away from what we have practiced for centuries? We have built powerful armies, and have prepared them for a true march on the rest of this world, something that has never happened before.”
“We do grow in power, and our armies balloon in size, but I still suspect that we won’t be able to find true obedience through conquest. Beyond that, if we march beyond our borders with the ideal of stomping out all opposition, everyone from the Union to the Hordes, the Wilds to the Principality, all will unite against our march. High Speakers are the strongest soldiers, but outnumbered five, ten, or even twenty to one by the indlovu soldiers, the ursine beastkin, and Noonbrights and Bloodpriestesses? We could never hold our power or position, if we could ever establish it.
“Instead, if we allow the other countries to see that bowing the knee willingly to the Gran Verat and embracing his wisdom and guidance will lead to bountiful springs, mild winters, and healthy children, then we will find that we draw more and more under our banner.”
Salmar raised a hand. Djallma fought to master herself, halting her impassioned speech. The old man allowed her to gather herself before answering.
“You truly feel that which you say. There is merit to your argument, and I do not believe you will bring shame to our station by continuing to represent the progressives.” Then, hands once more behind his back, Salmar began to walk away.
“But do you agree?” Djallma couldn’t help but ask, regretting it as soon as the words left her mouth. How could she always be so impetuous around him when she was so self-contained elsewhere? Even so, she felt her heartbeat quicken at the thought of her mentor’s approval. The old man cocked his head as he looked back.
“Of course not.” Her heart dropped. “We cannot be stopped, and there is no reason to delay our progress for the feelings of the inferior.” He continued walking away, but before he’d walked completely out of sight, a windword tickled her ear.
“There is news of these ‘resources’ of yours. By all accounts, they have been quite busy, and I believe that there is twice the reason to accelerate our plans, and not to show them mercy.”
BTW: that weird name Brough Ulough is pronounced “Bruff you-LUFF”
Comments
Thundermike00
It sucks that Djallma and her mentor don’t see eye to eye. I can see over the long run that her plans could work. But it saddens that everyone else wants the short-term benefits
