cynicism.
“What other masses are there?” she replies, straight-faced. “Whether or not this boy is genuine, they can sell him as a saviour. Their civilisation needed a saviour.”
“But who are they to decide?”
“There are two inalienable truths when it comes to the masses. The first is that they consider their neighbours to be monsters. The second is that they must sanctify their own culture. As a leader, the king’s job is to aid them in that delusion. I wouldn’t be sharing this with you if I didn’t think you’d understand.”
To a boy like me, the pragmatism of this woman is as refreshing as the morning air. As cold as it all sounds, it makes sense. She seems to have insight beyond the guff that we are taught in school, and, indeed, the guff we are taught anywhere. The frozen mask that forms her face makes it almost impossible to detect any hint of age; she looks no older than twenty but her wisdom makes her seem at least triple that.
“How does this affect me?”
“I think you already know the answer to that.”
“I think I do. You are asking me, a boy with no experience, to travel to a place that may no longer exist? To fetch a false saviour? In order to help a king who is losing his grasp?”
“That is correct. The only thing better than a false saviour is a false saviour from another land.”
“What if I refuse?”
“Then I must find a less imaginative way to have you killed,” she replies sharply. There is not even a whisper of levity in her voice.
I have not known fear for a long time. When a boy sleeps on a hillside for five nights of seven, he learns to accept the darkness and what it hides. Yes, it hides danger but not as much as the boy first thinks. In fact, what that boy thinks hides in the darkness will cause him more trouble than anything that actually does. To begin with, he will cry and shiver and jump at every sound but, given time, he will accept that awareness is not the same as fear. He will relax. He will sleep. The hardness of this life, the uselessness of being afraid, has driven fear from me. This is just one of the many favours that my father has done me.
In this moment though, even with all my knowledge, I am still terrified of what lies beyond the snow. A fear of that place, with its coldness, its animals, its savages, is only logical. I shall not go there.
There is nowhere to move but forward. I leap over the desk to attack her without so much as a thought. It is the desperate move of a boy caught between long death and slow death, a boy whose only hope is to escape. I can take her; she is nothing but an advisor.
Before I am even out of my seat, she restrains me with a strength of which I have never felt the like. It is how I imagine it would feel to be bound in tight chains. She is too strong to even consider struggling against. I submit limply, almost ashamed at how quickly it has ended.
“I will release you now. Return to your seat. We are not quite finished,” she says mildly, not even slightly perturbed by the incident. I slide sheepishly from her arms, humbled by her strength.
“I will forgive you that indiscretion. If you had even the slightest chance of overcoming or escaping me, it would have been the wisest thing that you could have done. And I value your ingenuity.” I at once understand that my only real choice is between a fast, certain death here or a slow, lingering one out in the snow.
“For what it is worth, your death would be a loss to the kingdom. I have developed enough respect for you to be straight with you. As I am sure you know, the king wants you dead. Your inclusion on this quest is my suggestion to him. It is a compromise and, for you, it is the only path you may now take on which you are not guaranteed to die.”
Silence.
“I would make the best of it, if I were you. You will leave this island as a hero. The people will cheer you off. You are one of the twelve chosen, you are in esteemed
“What other masses are there?” she replies, straight-faced. “Whether or not this boy is genuine, they can sell him as a saviour. Their civilisation needed a saviour.”
“But who are they to decide?”
“There are two inalienable truths when it comes to the masses. The first is that they consider their neighbours to be monsters. The second is that they must sanctify their own culture. As a leader, the king’s job is to aid them in that delusion. I wouldn’t be sharing this with you if I didn’t think you’d understand.”
To a boy like me, the pragmatism of this woman is as refreshing as the morning air. As cold as it all sounds, it makes sense. She seems to have insight beyond the guff that we are taught in school, and, indeed, the guff we are taught anywhere. The frozen mask that forms her face makes it almost impossible to detect any hint of age; she looks no older than twenty but her wisdom makes her seem at least triple that.
“How does this affect me?”
“I think you already know the answer to that.”
“I think I do. You are asking me, a boy with no experience, to travel to a place that may no longer exist? To fetch a false saviour? In order to help a king who is losing his grasp?”
“That is correct. The only thing better than a false saviour is a false saviour from another land.”
“What if I refuse?”
“Then I must find a less imaginative way to have you killed,” she replies sharply. There is not even a whisper of levity in her voice.
I have not known fear for a long time. When a boy sleeps on a hillside for five nights of seven, he learns to accept the darkness and what it hides. Yes, it hides danger but not as much as the boy first thinks. In fact, what that boy thinks hides in the darkness will cause him more trouble than anything that actually does. To begin with, he will cry and shiver and jump at every sound but, given time, he will accept that awareness is not the same as fear. He will relax. He will sleep. The hardness of this life, the uselessness of being afraid, has driven fear from me. This is just one of the many favours that my father has done me.
In this moment though, even with all my knowledge, I am still terrified of what lies beyond the snow. A fear of that place, with its coldness, its animals, its savages, is only logical. I shall not go there.
There is nowhere to move but forward. I leap over the desk to attack her without so much as a thought. It is the desperate move of a boy caught between long death and slow death, a boy whose only hope is to escape. I can take her; she is nothing but an advisor.
Before I am even out of my seat, she restrains me with a strength of which I have never felt the like. It is how I imagine it would feel to be bound in tight chains. She is too strong to even consider struggling against. I submit limply, almost ashamed at how quickly it has ended.
“I will release you now. Return to your seat. We are not quite finished,” she says mildly, not even slightly perturbed by the incident. I slide sheepishly from her arms, humbled by her strength.
“I will forgive you that indiscretion. If you had even the slightest chance of overcoming or escaping me, it would have been the wisest thing that you could have done. And I value your ingenuity.” I at once understand that my only real choice is between a fast, certain death here or a slow, lingering one out in the snow.
“For what it is worth, your death would be a loss to the kingdom. I have developed enough respect for you to be straight with you. As I am sure you know, the king wants you dead. Your inclusion on this quest is my suggestion to him. It is a compromise and, for you, it is the only path you may now take on which you are not guaranteed to die.”
Silence.
“I would make the best of it, if I were you. You will leave this island as a hero. The people will cheer you off. You are one of the twelve chosen, you are in esteemed
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