Islana's Story
Islana and Kalin had been talking for over an hour when a knock on the door interrupted. "Enter," Kalin called. "Door's open."
A messenger let himself in to the room, wearing a satchel marked with the Kelanister family seal. Kalin raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. "A summons," he said. "For Miss Ylanna." He dug into the satchel and found a sealed envelope, and Islana rose to take it. He waited.
"What?" she finally asked.
"He asked me to bring a reply, Miss Ylanna."
She rolled her eyes and carefully opened the contents.
Miss Islana Ylanna,
You are hereby asked to join His Majesty, King Erra Kelanister, at your earliest convenience. Please send a written or spoken reply by messenger.
By the hand of Silan Alis
Steward to His Majesty Erra Kelanister
"Hm," she said, handing it to Kalin. "The last one said he'd arrest me."
"Interesting," was Kalin's only comment.
"Do you have a response, Miss Ylanna?" the messenger asked.
Islana shrugged. "Yeah. Tell him I can't make it—he can try and arrest me if he wants, but I'm already under house arrest here. If he wants to talk, he can come to me or go to hell."
"Uh..." The messenger paused. "Are you sure you want to, um, word it like that?"
"Yeah."
The messenger quoted the message back to her, to assure her he'd memorized it correctly.
"Very well. I'm, uh, sure he'll be interested to hear that." He let himself out.
Kalin turned to her. "You could have been more polite."
"I was being polite."
Kalin sighed. "Islana... What am I going to do with you?"
"That's up to you, sir Voice."
"Yeah..." he sighed. "All right, well, I'm going to head out and take care of some other business now. I'd be interested to know how he responds to your message, though."
"I'll keep you updated."
"Good." He paused, then, "Islana, I am going to have to do something about this—love it may be, but convincing Dysis Serathi of that will be no small matter. These negotiations will get nowhere if he doesn't believe you're being... Suitably dealt with."
"I know."
Kalin left her to her own devices, then, because there was nothing else to say. They both knew that Dysis' idea of 'suitably dealt with,' was not going to be pleasant.
[OPENING CREDITS]
Episode 16: Beginning To End
Erra listened to the reply and had the messenger recite it again. "House arrest," he mused, then sent the runner off for the day, but called in his steward to take a short letter.
"How's your day been, Silan?" he asked conversationally.
"Quite good, Majesty."
"Glad to hear it." He sighed. "All right, I need to send a message to the Voice and the Blade."
"Yes, Majesty."
Erra took a long moment to think, the said simply, "I want her back."
"Majesty?"
"You heard me, Silan. Keep it to yourself, if you don't mind."
"Is there anything else you want to say?"
Erra reflected. "Tell Jall to come have a drink with me if he's got time."
Silan nodded. "And the Voice?"
"Just tell him I want her back."
"Very well, Majesty."
"You know what he's going to ask. It's my fault, Cleran, I told him... I said if I could, I'd help him, but I never expected..." he trailed off. "Look, I... I don't know what to do. Our forces have been hurting for awhile, the past few years have been fairly..."
"Disastrous?" Cleran suggested bluntly.
"Yeah, that's about it." Dysis sighed. "Look, Cleran... They're going to ask you to surrender, and... I don't know what you should do. I don't want to see it happen. I mean, I want to see the war end, but I don't want... We'd be talking about everything we know... changing."
"Yeah." Cleran shrugged. "But the thing is, Dy, we're wrong. Everything we think is important, everything we think we're fighting for... It's all wrong. It was never supposed to be this way."
"What?"
"It was misinterpreted. The first Prophet never said anything about slavery, but he was writing in the Old Tongue and when it was found and translated... The word for 'masters,' and 'teachers,' were too close, it was translated incorrectly and a particularly ambitious priest suggested it be taken literally. Masters over other religions—it was supposed to be teachers to other religions. It was a big, bloody mistake and we were wrong."
He glanced over at Dysis and half-smiled. "But you knew that. You just didn't want to admit it."
"They're going to hate us for it at home, Cleran."
"Don't worry about it. I'll take care of the people. You just deal with the politics. I don't know what Jall is going to offer you, but... Well, you know politics better than I do. You'll know what to do."
"I think so." He paused. "You know, Cleran, I'm almost glad that you told me it's wrong. I never... I was never comfortable with it."
"I know," Cleran said. "I think the Alayrins had high hopes when you were selected. They hated Rallan, you know. But they could see that you had a lot of different ideas than he did. I think part of the reason they've been such a thorn in your side is that they were disappointed. You never said what you thought was right, even though they knew you thought it."
"How did they know that?"
"You wear your heart on your sleeve, Dy. You always have."
"Then how did I get selected to be the High Priest?"
"You were the only one the Alayrins would support."
Dysis stared at him. "The Alayrins supported me?"
The position of High Priest was selected by a group of ranking Priests, Warriors, and the Council, and after being selected, the High Priest was never informed of who voted for him. No one wanted him to start out feeling in debt of or prejudice against anyone. Dysis had always assumed that Lord and Lady Alayrin had stood against him, but thinking about it in retrospect it almost made sense. He was more sympathetic towards their unspoken cause than the other candidates had been, and even if they'd been horrible towards him since then, it made sense that they'd wanted him in power.
"Well. I mean, I don't know for sure... But who else would they have rallied behind? And whoever they wanted would have won; they control most of the Ranked Lords and the Warriors from their area, and even some of the priests... And most of the people they don't control directly owed them money, so..."
"I never realized," Dysis sighed. "I wonder how Lady Alayrin is doing... She must miss her husband terribly."
"Yeah, I guess." Cleran shrugged. He didn't know where the sudden political insights had come from, but he knew they were right. It wasn't as though he'd ever been close enough to the world of the Council to really judge...
A sudden thought stuck him. He shut his eyes gently, thinking to himself more than listening to Dysis. I was never part of their world, he told himself. I might have been, if I was born legitimate, but I wasn't... So... Instead, I got to see their world from the outside. I got to see how the Alayrins could buy other Lords, I got to see Dysis and his father used to work with politics. I got to see who the people I'm going to deal with are, and none of them really bothered to pay attention to me.
In the past twenty-four years, I think, only Lord Alayrin and his children bothered to so much as say 'hello,' to me in passing; them and maybe Erolis Dalasan, before he was disowned. Erolis did it because he was friends with Dy, and Lord Alayrin... I have no idea. But otherwise, not even my own father... or whatever the hell Lord Serathi is to me... not even he bothered with me. None of them know me or anything about me other than that I'm Ryel Serathi's bastard. And that gives me an advantage when I get home.
Once they get over the fact that I'm just a bastard, anyway.
"Cleran? Are you all right?"
"What?" Cleran asked, snapping back to the real world. "Yeah, sorry, I was just... Thinking."
"Oh." Dysis paused. "About what?"
"What to do when we get home. We're going to need people's support, Dy, if we're really going to surrender. And, um, are we really going to surrender?"
"That's up to you."
Cleran nodded. "I think—I mean, what choice do we have? Jall has made it a point of telling me exactly how outmatched our forces are. I don't want to see any more fighting than we have to. And..."
"And we're wrong," Dysis supplied, knowing it was what Cleran meant. "We could call it a truce, and hope that Jall lets us negotiate. But if we're really that far in the wrong..." he trailed off. "What I mean is, the wording will be important to both of us; we'd want to call it a truce, to try and get our people's support. When Jall asks, you suggest that, and not a surrender; he'll ask for terms, and—"
"And that's all up to you. I don't know what the hell I'm doing. Just that, truce or surrender, when we get home there'll be hell to pay. People won't want to admit that we're wrong; people will probably rebel when we tell them to give up their slaves. I know I can force people to listen to me, but I don't think I can force them to like me. And nothing can make them like the situation."
"So let's make a plan."
"How can we plan until Jall gives us a deal?" Cleran asked. "And if we're surrendering, why don't we get Jall's help making a plan? He'll have an interest too—him and the Voice, too, probably."
"Yeah, you're probably right. So now we just need Jall to ask for our surrender."
"We could always offer it."
Dysis grinned. "Hey, we're not that desperate. Maybe he won't even ask. Maybe we can just go home."
Cleran smiled and leant back against the wall. "Yeah. That would be nice."
"I can't wait to get home, to get this behind us..." Dysis sighed. "I can't wait to see our father, my mother... Sleep in my own bed, eat food I'm used to, go outside without four coats... I know being home will be no picnic, but, Sundancer, I just want to get there."
"Yeah." Cleran smiled. "I just want to sit out in the sunshine and watch the clouds."
"Why?"
"Well, that's what I usually do when you're talking to Lord and Lady Serathi."
"Please, Cleran, you'll be inside talking with them too. I know that in the past—"
"Dysis, your mother hates me without question. She hates me because I'm living proof that her perfect husband isn't so perfect and that he slept with someone else while they were married. And your father hates me because I'm his sign of human weakness."
"He doesn't hate you, Cleran. He's your father."
"Actually, he's not, really," Cleran sighed. "My father is Ocando; Ryel Serathi merely made it possible for me to be born. At least, that's what Analla said."
"Analla—Analla Sundancer?"
"Yeah, she's helping me learn to control everything."
"Oh. Well." Dysis stared at him. "Were you going to tell me?"
"I didn't want to startle you. It's not really important; Father kind of asked her to keep an eye on me so I don't accidentally burn any buildings down or mess up the course of history the way she did."
"The way she... What?"
"She was the one who provided everyone with the incorrect reading of the Holy Books," Cleran explained. "She'd feel worse about it, but Islan—apparently, the founder of the Kelanister family, giving us another reason to hate him—murdered her and she's a bit bitter."
"Why didn't—what—" he stopped. "Is she looking out for you well? Making sure no mistakes get made?"
"Yeah. She does feel a bit guilty about having brought this whole thing down on the world, wants to make sure it gets reversed."
"She thinks we should surrender, too?"
"Yeah."
"I don't suppose Ocando has told you anything?"
"No, but... Talking to Him is a bit different. But He hasn't told me otherwise, so..."
"So." Dysis tried to smile again, but it was harder. It was hard to hear his younger brother, the one no one had ever thought much of, talking offhandedly about religious figures that no one else knew were still watching the world. Dysis believed they were, of course, but he'd never seen real proof until Cleran had burst in to flame. "So we're really doing the right thing."
"We really are." Cleran paused. "And Dysis? It's ok, about Lord and Lady Serathi. I know you'd have liked it if we were closer, if I'd been accepted as a second son, but... I wasn't, and it's all right. It happened for a reason, and I know that. I don't mind."
"Really?"
"I'm going to have to deal with Lord Serathi, when we get back, after we settle this whole.... Thing. We'll make peace. We'll never be close; he'll never be my father. But it'll be all right." He sighed. "Don't worry, Dysis. Everything will be all right in the end."
A cold breeze swept through the room. The brothers shuddered as one. It'll be all right, Dysis told himself, crossing his arms over his chest, trying to conserve warmth. We just have to get through the hard part first.
[EYECATCH]
"You?" the Knight asked. "What are you doing here?"
"I was invited." Erra crossed his arms in annoyance. "If you'll excuse me, I'd like to speak with Miss Ylanna."
"You aren't welcome here, Your Highness," the Knight said with forced politeness.
"It's my Island, I'm welcome where ever I choose to go. Unless you plan to forcibly stop me—and of course, my guards—please step aside so I can speak with Miss Ylanna."
The Knight narrowed his eyes. "I don't think she wants to speak with you."
"I don't give a damn if she wants to speak with me, she's going to, and since some idiot put her under house arrest, I had to come here, which is not exactly something I wanted to do, and if you don't get out of my way in thirty seconds, I'll have the damned inn shut down and the Voice can deal with that if he doesn't like it!"
"This has nothing to do with the Voice. You betrayed us, Highness," the Knight spat. "And you aren't welcome—"
"It's all right."
Islana had stepped in to the hall way behind the landing where a retired Knight stood, arguing with the King. She listened for a moment, but wanted to get this over with. "Islana, he—"
"I know what he did. It's all right, he's going to come speak with me in my room; his guard will wait outside. He'll be down when we're done yelling at each other. I'm sure it won't take very long."
The Knight stepped aside. "Traitor," he hissed at Erra, as the King walked by. Erra gave him as nasty a look as he could manage and followed Islana upstairs to the room she'd been using.
"This place is... It's a dump."
"It's home."
"I thought Cresula was your home now, Islana."
"I don't think they're fond of me there right at the moment."
"I wonder why that is. All you did was deliver them the one man who could give them everything they've wanted." He smirked. "Well, that and sleep with his younger brother. That was probably a stupid idea."
"You came all this way to tell me that? You think I'm dumb enough that I didn't know that already?" she demanded.
"You were dumb enough to do it."
"Yeah. Have a seat."
"So you can leer down at me? I know the game of politics far better than you do, you won't intimidate me if I sit and you stand," Erra scoffed.
"Old man, I can leer down at you if we're both standing, I'm at least four inches taller than you are. I asked you to sit down so I can sit down; it's not polite to sit when the King stands, and seeing as how my knee was just broken pretty badly and I'm still recovering from it, I'd kind of like to sit down. So if you wouldn't mind...?"
Erra nodded. "You're good," he commented, taking the chair from her desk, the one Cleran had occupied only a few days ago. She sat down on her bed, far back enough to pull her leg up and keep it elevated.
"I know I am. Why did you want to talk to me?"
"Maybe I just wanted to yell. You seem to be convinced that's always my reason."
"It is always your reason, but have it your way. What's your excuse?"
"My excuse is that..." He trailed off, not wanting to talk about Ilyan. "My excuse, as you put it, is that Jall has decided to yell at me some more. He seems to think this game we play is ridiculous."
"It is. There's no reason for this," Islana said.
"I'm glad you understand. So—"
"There's no reason because you are a stubborn old man who doesn't give a damn about anyone but yourself, and there's no reason for the two of us to pretend to have anything but contempt for each other at best, though foaming hatred is more accurate, and I'm pretty damn sick of your ridiculous threats. So if we're finished—"
"We're not finished, Galiera. We're not finished, and we never will be."
"What did you call me?" she demanded. "What did you say?"
"I called you Galiera because it's your name, and—"
"It's not my name!" she snarled. "It is not my name. My name is Islana Ylanna. You saw to it that I'm not Galiera Kelanister, you changed it when my father died, and then you disowned me a few years later when I dared stand up to you. You have no right to call me that!"
Erra took a deep breath. He'd expected this. "Galiera," he said. "You can yell all you want; I'm just going to sit here and wait for you to run out of nasty things to say."
"Don't call me that!" she screamed. "It's not my name, no one calls me that, I was tortured and still said it wasn't my name and I don't give a damn why you're here, you will not call me that!"
"It was your name, Islana. It was the name your father gave you."
"Yeah, well, my father is dead, and my grandfather might as well be, too. You changed my name to Islana to make me safe, but when you threw me out of your home when I was thirteen, you said that I was not Galiera Kelanister, that I never would be again, and that if I ever tried to call myself that, you'd have me killed. And I never did try and be her again because I don't want to. I don't want anything to do with you, you arrogant bastard, I just want to be left alone."
Erra waited a moment, then, "Are you finished?"
"Yes. You're finished, too, old man. Get out."
"All right." Erra dug in to a pocket. "Catch," he offered. He'd brought Ilyan's necklace with him and now gently tossed it to her. She reached out for it instinctively and caught it with her good hand, then stared at the silver chain in her hand.
"Why?" she asked finally.
Erra shrugged. "Because you're Ilyan's daughter, and he'd have wanted you to have it. I'd offer you your own back, but you seem very emphatic about not being Galiera."
"I'm not," she repeated.
"I see that. But..." he hesitated. "Ilyan Kelanister. I.K... Islana Kelanister. It seems to me that it's the right necklace after all."
"Islana Ylanna," she said without thinking, then, "Why did you give me this?"
"Islana Kelanister. Think about it." He smiled. "I'll be off; send me a message after you've had a chance to think it through. I'll see what I can do about your house arrest." He stood and started to the door, nearly out when she called after him.
"Erra? Why?"
He glanced back over his shoulder, and she could swear he was smiling. "I'm an old man. I miss my family. I'm stubborn, but not stupid. Good evening." And with that, he left her to her thoughts.
Still not over the shock, Islana fastened the necklace where it belonged, and the slight weight felt reassuring.
It was nearly over. Well, not officially, not yet. Jall was talking with Cleran, while Dysis sat by and listened. It seemed odd to him that he was the one listening, not the one talking; he still wasn't used to thinking of Cleran as The Sun's True Son.
Jall had made a point of listing all of the ways he could end the war at almost a moment's notice, and said that asking for a surrender was an act of mercy. It would be giving Cleran a chance to save his people and his island from utter chaos and devastation. It was a chance to avoid total humiliation.
Cleran took his comments in stride. He and Dysis had already talked it through and agreed on what was necessary. Jall finished his speech and Cleran took a minute to reflect, as though he were only just considering.
"Well," he said finally, "I can't say I think a truce would be a bad idea."
"Truce?" Jall asked, raising an eyebrow. "I believe I said 'surrender.'"
Cleran shrugged. "You and Dysis can argue over the language. I'm not a politician."
"I think you became one several days ago," Jall commented.
"I suppose I did. You're still going to have to deal with Dysis. It's his country. I'm not going to undermine his authority."
Dysis smiled to himself, but didn't say anything. He knew that Cleran was leaving the negotiating to him, but hadn't expected that. Not given his own acknowledgement that Cleran outranked him.
"I see."
"And furthermore, if I offer a surrender," Cleran continued, the strength of his words proving he was a politician after all, "we aren't going to revise the whole thing each time we show it to someone whose support we need. We're going to get it over with quickly and carefully; Dysis would negotiate with you, the Voice and with Erra Kelanister at once, reach an agreement and return to Arpiar. The agreement would be looked at and possibly revised by the Council, then signed on the spot. Two negotiations. That's all."
"And where do you plan to be during all of this?"
"Arpiar, gathering the Council and preparing them for the truce."
"And consolidating your power, I'm sure. You did think about this."
"I haven't had much of a choice. Those are the only terms under which we'll negotiate a—"
"A truce," Jall interrupted, willing himself not to smile. "Or a surrender. We'll see which one. And I'll accept those terms, if only because I know the agreement itself will favor Kalatsu. If I wasn't sure of that, I wouldn't be asking for a surrender at all."
Jall reached across the table, offering his hand to Cleran. "Getting Erra and the Voice into the same room will be difficult," he warned. "Forcing them to agree with each other will be even harder."
"I have faith in you to manage the first, and in Dysis to manage the second," Cleran said, shaking Jall's hand. Jall shook Dysis', too, and resisted the urge to compliment him for having sat back and let Cleran make the deal. He rose and left the room for a moment, then came back with a bottle of wine and three glasses, and poured one for everyone.
"Here's to the beginning of the end of it, then," he said.
The three toasted politely, and as Dysis sipped his wine, for the first time he felt the weight of the war begin to slip off his back. He knew it would be a long and hard battle with the three men on Kalatsu, and an equally hard time with the Council at home, but now it was over. He knew for sure that it would end, one way or another.
"The beginning of the end," he murmured. "Thank God."
[CLOSING CREDITS]