At the same time, there are moments in life where there simply is no reasonable choice. You do something, or suffer the terrible consequences, or let others suffer them on your behalf. Some shine in those moments. Others fade, or are unable to accept the burden placed upon them.
After the fall of Tida, I refused to let my village down. In doing so, I took on a burden greater than I ever imagined.
Dawn seems to take forever to come the next morning, for I do not sleep. We did not move far from Tida, only a league or so, but in retrospect we should have moved further. The lack of light on the horizon, the absence of a crystal's glow… I have been to what seems the edge of the world before, yet have never felt as alone as I do tonight.
Kindryth also remains awake, though not for lack of trying. He cannot sleep, not when every few moments another jarring cough wracks his body. Though I pity him in his agony, each cough is a personal relief for me. He lives. He lives. His body is failing even as I write, but he lives.
At this point it is probably best that he does not sleep. I fear that without his focus on each lungful, he might cease to breathe.
-Zin Del
(Excerpted from the Crystal Chronicle in her sixth year)
Leadership and Responsibility
-The Third Lesson-
I'm afraid. No, that's not right. I'm downright terrified. This whole ordeal is a nightmare I can't seem to wake from. For years this fear has driven me, my four companions, and six other caravans to brave the world and all its dangers, but it has never been as real to me as it is now.
One mistake, one misstep, and everyone I have ever cared for could die. It never hit me until now just what that meant, and now the knowledge is crushing me. What do I do now?
Kin is finally asleep, practically unconscious really, Sinna anxiously monitoring him. The rest laze about the circle pretending to take care of various chores, but I feel their eyes on me as I stare at our map. The pretense doesn't bother me, because if I'm honest with myself I'm not really seeing the map. I'm seeing the possible outcomes of the decisions I have made and will be making.
Declaring myself leader in Kin's absence was, in retrospect, the worst mistake I could have made.
What's done is done, I remind myself. Maybe someday that phrase will make me feel better; today it only presents harder choices to make. A caravaner's life, or the lives of those we left behind The village for one man, or one man for the village?
The choice seems so evident when I phrase it that way. Mentally, logically, ethically I cannot put Kindryth's life ahead of theirs, but my heart tells a different story. Emotionally, pathologically, Kindryth is worth ten villages. He is the sort of man who changes the world just by being in it.
Priorities I spouted so determinedly the day before be damned. Is the life of my friend worth Tipa? There are no easy decisions. There never are.
Is this what Kindryth felt every single day?
With a sigh I set the map down, a weary "Attend," escaping my lips. The others drop their chores instantly, and I faintly hear Lian Cre whisper "Thank God."
Tension: the real killer. I would laugh if it weren't horribly inappropriate.
They gather near me, the better to not wake Kin, and I begin in a low voice.
"The way I see it, we've got three options. Option one, we head for Alfitaria. It's closest, Kin will get some medical attention though they'll probably ship him to Shella as soon as they can, and we can report the Tida… incident," I say, gritting my teeth on the last word. "Problems with this one include us being blamed for what happened there, which may result in us standing trial and serving time in the gaol. They also might tell us to take Kin to Shella ourselves. Either way we're looking at an indeterminable delay in our year."
Such good listeners, our merry little band. They have yet to speak a word in protest. Then again, they haven't heard Option Three yet.
"Second option we head straight for Shella. Best medical attention anywhere, no bureaucratic reports, and the Veo Lu Sluice myrrh tree is still fresh, even if it's not on our schedule this year. Downside to this is that it takes longer to get to Shella, we anger another caravan, and Kin might very well die while en route. And even if we do make it, they might not be able to do anything for him but make sure he's comfortable for his last days." The crease between Sinna's eyebrows deepens . I know it's a delicate subject, but they need to understand the risks we are taking. "Again, depending on his recovery time, we also face a huge delay here."
I have to swallow twice before starting in on the next one, because my mouth is suddenly very dry. "On the other hand, Kindryth could also die well before we reach Alfitaria. Having seen what happened to the villagers of Tida, we decide that no one life is above that of Tipa, and continue on our journey to gather myrrh. It doesn't matter where we go, only that there are no delays beyond that of the time it takes to dig a grave--"
The words are barely out of my mouth when Sinna lunges, hands wrapping around my throat as her momentum topples the both of us. I hit the ground hard, hands already at her wrists even as Patrick shouts and Lian Cre runs to the wagon.
I can't break her grip. This shouldn't surprise me, because she's a mean hand with a broadsword and I don't know where the pressure points are located on a Clavat's body anyway, yet it does. I was born for the melee, and it shows as despite the ferocity of her attack I lift with my hips and roll us both over. A dust cloud puffs into the air as I slam her into the rocky soil.
She's hissing something at me, but I'm only catching parts of it as her hands tighten. She doesn't know pressure points at all, at least not on a Selkie, thank the gods, or this fight would already be over and not in my favor. Finesse or not if I don't get more air soon she will win by default, and I have had enough of suffocating to last the rest of my life.
I slap her across the face. "Let go," I try to say, but no sound emerges and her grip keeps increasing and things are getting fuzzy as I pull back and punch her, hard, right in the stomach. Her hands loosen as her body curls beneath mine. I breathe like I've just emerged from the sea.
It suddenly occurs to me that the hands pulling at my back have been doing so for some time now, and I lever myself off of the Clavat, who appears almost as shocked by her outburst of violence as I feel.
Lian Cre helps me to my feet as Patrick kneels at his sister's side. She looks me over and I wonder at the racket she holds as she eyes my throat.
"You're going to have quite the bruise," she says after a brief examination. "Good luck explaining it."
I'm still so overwhelmed by the past moment's events that I only shake my head at her before turning to look Sinna over. She's fine, gotten off lightly with only a reddened cheek, some scrapes, and a bit of blood on her hands.
I pause. Blood? Gingerly I feel at my neck, encountering wetness that stings when I press my fingertips to it. The bitch left huge scratches all along the sides of my throat, and I have to fight the urge to slap her again. It was a horrid choice of words, I know, but that I feel far safer with Lian Cre suddenly only adds to the wrongness of this whole situation.
Finally I catch my breath (and temper) enough to speak. "What the hell was that?" I demand, unable to help the slight cough that punctuates my sentence. Sinna flinches as if I'd whipped her with that tiny expulsion of air, and predictably does not look at me.
Tension kills, really. I swear it. Not even Patrick will look me in the eye right then as I clear my throat again for good measure. Good leadership, I remind myself, does not usually involve slugging your subordinates into submission. Rather, it involves coercing their obedience through the careful application of guilt.
I consider coughing again, then dismiss the thought as overdoing it at the moment. "I wasn't finished."
Lian Cre has the gall to roll her eyes, yet I notice her hand tense on the racket at her side all the same. Sinna still does not look at me.
"A vote," I say into the silence. "Alfitaria, Shella, myrrh." At the surprised look on Patrick's face I can't help but grin. "What, did you think I would decide without you? We're a team. We're all in this together."
He smiles in return (he is the only one), my harsh words already forgiven, and I am grateful for his faith in me. I want to convey this somehow, by gesture or expression, but his attention is again on his twin and I wait for her words.
"I abstain," she says, face hidden behind the curtain of auburn hair. I really hate her overdeveloped sense of nobility right then. Much as I would like to protest her bystander complex I resist, mentally marking her as a vote for either Shella or Alfitaria and turning to Patrick for the next vote.
There is no doubt whatsoever in his eyes as he looks up at me. "Shella," he says. He doesn't have to say his reasons; I already know them.
As I turn to Lian Cre I notice she has moved the racket to rest against her shoulder, her knuckles glaringly white against the dark pitch of the whipcord hand grip. "You're not going to like this," she warns, though her gaze is trained on the Clavat twins.
I shrug. "Say it anyway." She has the racket for a reason, really.
Her eyes do not flicker over to me to gauge my reaction. I'm not sure what to think of this. I decide to be comforted, because at least this time I'm not the unstable one. "I say we go after the myrrh."
Neither of the two still crouched in the dirt moves beyond Sinna snapping her head up to look at the nervous Selkie. This is a rather smart move on her part, as Lian has a weapon and apparently has no qualms with killing her comrades.
With that thought in mind the amount of people in this caravan that I feel safe with drops to zero.
All business despite the urge to edge away from the widow, I nod. "Go on."
Unhappily, she does. "You said it first, Zin Del. Tipa is our first priority. After seeing what happened to that village, well, I suddenly understand why people get so nervous about the caravan schedule. We have a duty to everyone in Tipa. Dare we shirk it for one Yuke?" She looks at me particularly after a slight pause. "Who are we to decide that Kindryth, decent as he is, is worth more than an entire village?"
My dilemma put into words for all and sundry. I would thank her, if only she hadn't put the choice firmly in my lap once more. And once more their eyes are all on me.
I really hate the twins at this moment. Why they can't live up to the stereotype of Clavats as mediators and peacekeepers I will never understand.
I breathe in, trying to buy both time and clarity and failing to purchase either. The decision has already been made, really. If I let every good man die for the sake of the nameless many there will be no good men left.
Even in my mind this makes no sense. But does it have to?
If I want the world to be defined in stereotypes, the least I can do is fall into my own. I can lead with my heart first, brawn second, and brain about thirty paces behind.
"Clear the camp," I say, exhaling in a long sigh. "Looks like we're heading to Shella."
