A Tribute to Shallam, the Jewel of the East

By: Juree Posted on: December 31, 2014

The two men enter the room. Estariah, Lord of the Morning of the Striders, newly proclaimed Caliph of the Jewel, sways a little on his feet as he leans on the arm of his most trusted friend at his side. Though still master of his own body, he allows himself to rock to the rhythm of the spirits working strongly in his head.

Barkal on the other hand is perfectly sober. Afterall, a lowly servant, the role which he plays outside the room, does not join in with the feasting and drinking that marked tonight's celebrations. With a strong grip, Barkal leads his lord to settle upon an armchair in the middle of the room. He then walks to the other end of the small room, opens the folding panels, letting in fresh air from the balcony. This done, he takes for himself the other chair facing his lord.

"Well, congratulations again my lord," Barkal's voice was almost a whisper. Though his face is stoney as always, Estariah could see in his eyes, pride and excitement for the day's victory and that which promises to follow. In reply, he simply nods his head. There is no need for the new Caliph to put to words the other man's contribution.

Twenty years of plotting in this very room, with no few backstabs, both political and bloody, countless compromises made and broken. And now they are here. At the starting point of the real battle. Today's victory belong to them both, Estariah smiles to himself as he loosens his collar, letting the cool night air blowing in from the balcony soothe his heated skin. Inevitably, his mind begins to go through plans he has made for the future. Plans that can finally be put to action!

As always in their long friendship, Estariah would articulate his thoughts while Barkal plays the part of patient listener only interrupting to encourage his lord into covering more width and depth in his mental machinations.

"First order of business in the next executive meeting is to put up a ban on all public postings. It is a wonder how anyone could think that antagonizing the rest of the realms with pompous posts while our defences at home are being stomped to the ground daily by our enemies could do us any good. I swear everytime a post gets send out of the gates, the world hates us that much more." Estariah almost spat.

Barkal allows a slight upturn of his lips. "We do need someone to speak for the city as I am sure you know."

"Vizier Elys will be that. That woman has a humility that neither you nor I can imitate being genuine as it is. She is not incapable of admitting to defeat in her missives but with such dignity that one can't but help admire her. I think even a few of our enemies feel that way. More importantly, her words won't swell the ranks of our haters and may well do the opposite. The Gods know we have enough enemies."

Barkal chuckles, "Well, she's the Grandmistress of the Sentaari afterall. Benevolence and all that."

"Pssssh, I say she is what she is purely on her own merit. But we do need the Sentaari. Especially now when we can finally clean up our public image. Men and women who believe in Benevolence and Wisdom will be useful for that. We use them as ambassadors to those who can still tolerate us. We will also need their teachings as propaganda material, textbooks for the layperson to justify rallying to our cause beyond "defending creation" which by the way feeds no mouth, conjures no roof or even makes one's inside feel a little warmer."

"Propaganda, my lord? Do you not believe Benevolence has its place in our faith?" Barkal asks though he already knew the answer.

Laughingly, Esterah plays along as his right hand moves to caress the dirk sticking in his belt. "I am a snake, my friend. What do I know of Benevolence but that it resonates with hearts purer than mine. And the only Wisdom I know is putting a knife in the back of anyone who would wish the same for me. But to answer your question, I am very sure Benevolence has its place. Everything does. I do not remember clearly what the priests taught us at school but the thing about Creation that fascinates me is the ultimate diversity it carries. Everything is Creation. Diversity is never easy or simple but it makes life interesting. Look at where we are now. The North is overlord of the realms in all but name, we are like the bug beneath their heel and still the infighting within these walls goes on its usual business unaffected. A dismaying picture to most perhaps, but to the snake in me, it screamed of opportunity. Opportunity for a great Leader to emerge in this mess, one who will master the conflicting facets of Jewel to bring it to a blinding glitter, and .. well propel Creation onwards." The last bit muttered somewhat unconvincingly and obligatorily.

"What if you are not this great Leader?" Barkal remarks.

Rubbing his chin, Esterah speaks in a tone that is contrastingly softer and more sombre than his earlier speech, "If it is not me, my friend, then it can only be another. If I cannot master this most fascinating and complex of jewels, I am sure Creation will churn out one who can. I have that much faith in Creation at the very least." He continues, pensively, "I may be a vain man, Barkal, but I won't be so vain to think that if I cannot accomplish the task, no one else could. I would gladly relinquish what we have earned today if he appears." He continues, his voice breaking into a laugh, "And I will curse the long lives we've been given for I will be there to watch him succeed or fail. The earlier being an affront to my vanity, the latter, my judgement. Now let's get back to the business at hand."

Barkal smiles, "Vizier Torh will be trouble as you know it. What do you plan to do?"

"That walking bunch of muscles. How did he even make vizier. His idea of a plan forward is to appeal to the Gods to flush away all factions in the city other than his own into the Pash like mere sewage. Given his way, he will turn the city into a fortress. Turn all we have accomplished culturally as a city in the past thousand years into mortar for a new shiny citadel. Simple way out for simple minds I say. Look to the West, why do you think the isle has always suffered in terms of numbers. I tell you why, Mhaldor is more fortress than city. And I say it suits them well, their faith is bound to truths that hardly fits a page afterall. The nature of truths is that it excludes all else. It burns on its own selfish fuel. We on the otherhand stood for Creation. We cannot afford to imitate them even if doing so makes our lives simpler. How can Creation be anything else but inclusive and growing by its very nature? Cutting off branches, starving off possibilities just so we can have an easy straight path to tread. How is that compatible with Creation in all the ways you can intepretate our faith? When faceted Jewel is ground down to plain hard stone, won't east just become west reflected?"

"Very touching, my lord. You have not answered my question though."

A cruel smile appears on the new Caliph's face, "Well my friend, to tell the truth I am already working on Vizier Torh. Even now, my most trusted striders are keeping eyes and ears open to all his dealings. Soon we will find something we can use to displace him, that I have no doubt."

"Should you succeed in displacing him, won't you my lord be starving off that particular branch of Creation that is Torh and his ideas, if I understand your earlier philosophy correctly." Barkal asks dangerously.

After a few long seconds of silence, Estarah leans forward from his chair to look his friend in the eye, "If that was a serious question, I would answer that the particular branch of Creation that is Torh and his ideas is a cancerous branch that will bring down the entire tree and so deserves to be cut off." Leaning back against his chair, suddenly looking small and tired, Esterah continues, this time with eyes closed, "I am mortal, my friend. And being mortal is glorious. Though we live in an age where Gods do not dain themselves too high up to touch upon earthly matters, it still remains true that mortals of this age can shape their own destiny. The destiny of this realm. If that is denied us, then our lives will become worthless, and existence a sham. So yes, my friend, I can only act to the best of my judgement and that's all there is to it. Now I am tired and must retire."

Barkal stands. He bows slightly to his still seated lord. A small smile plays on his face. He knows his last question has disturbed his lord and accentuated the doubt that he knows existed in his lord's mind. Yet he had felt it necessary to do so - to make his lord more aware of the possibility that he may be wrong. Not that Barkal is not on the same page as his lord. He is entirely devoted to Estarah, his goals, regardless of his methods. But he has lived long enough to learn that a little doubt can open one's eyes wider. The truth is, to Barkal there is no right or wrong - whether Vizier Torh's exclusive ideas or his lord encompassing ones. There exist to Barkal only this moment from which leads to the unfolding of events onwards. That which happens is what's right - that is his philosophy.