OUR LIVES, CHAPTER 41: THE WEIGHING OF ONE MAN'S SOUL
By The Binary Alchemist 2014
Nina, who was sitting along the aisle, leaned across her brother. "Daddy—look." She gestured as a robed delegation of Ishballan clergy were taking their seats in the front row of the hall. "Is that-?"
"—I know that guy," Maes cut in. "Ohh, shit!"
"So do I," Ed confirmed grimly. "That's Priyanand Lowe. He's the Grand Cleric of the Ishballans-and I know what Bradley did to his father….."
"Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?"
A thin brown hand touched the wrapped scroll in his arms with gentle reverence. 'I do. And by the laws of my people, I vow before Ishballah, the Maker and Shaper of All Life, that I will speak no falsehood nor bear false witness for any man. "
The solemn robed priests bowed as the crumbling scroll was returned to their care. "Heard and Witnessed. May His holy name be praised."
The Prime Minister, newly elected by a vote among her Peers, nodded in approval. "Thank you. Will you please state your name and tribal rank for the assembly?"
"I am Priyanand Lowe, Grand Cleric of the State of Ishbal and priest and servant to her people."
"Thank you, Grand Cleric. For the record, you were not subpoenaed to appear at this hearing. I have been informed that you have chosen to testify at the request of President Mustang. Is this correct?"
Lowe bowed. "Indeed. And," he lifted a cautionary gesture, "it was not to speak in the President's defense. I was asked to appear as a hostile witness."
Ed's head snapped to the right, eyes blazing. "Hostile witness?!" he hissed to the uniformed man at his side. "Are you out of your goddamned mind?!"
Roy ignored him. The whole of his attention was focused on the white robed figure taking his seat in the witness stand. Rising, he bowed to the Prime Minister. "That is correct, Ma'am. As I stated under oath, it is ultimately the right of the Ishballan people to judge me. My crimes during the Dahlia Campaign were against his people, not our own. And while I am aware and grateful that the Parliament has decided not to sue for the death penalty…" Roy's voice trailed off, one hand extended towards the Grand Cleric and his priests.
"President Mustang has stated that he will abide by any and all judgments made by our Holy Council, including resigning from the Amestrian presidency and returning to our country to accept any punishment that is deemed appropriate, that the Balance of Justice –what your alchemists call 'equivalent exchange'—is kept." Lowe nodded towards the rear of the room where a tall, familiar figure in the gleaming white uniform of the Ishballan Guard. "In the event of a judgment against the President, he has agreed to place himself into the custody of Colonel Miles."
Shocked, a furious Ed turned worried eyes towards his daughter, reaching quickly for her hand. Ohh shit…she's going to lose it, he panicked inwardly. What kind of fucked up game is Roy playing? I am sooo gonna punch his lights out—
"I'm fine. Let's do this."
Fine? How the hell could she be—
Her green eyes locked onto his golden ones. "Either we believe in him or we don't. I stand with Poppy. Do you?"
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"God's wrath will smite you for your wickedness"
"I have heard that those were the last words of my father, Grand Cleric Logue Lowe. Those words were spoken to your former head of state, Fuhrer King Bradley. He had surrendered himself to Lieutenant Colonel Maes Hughes, in hopes that he might be able to offer his life in exchange for the lives of our people. It availed him nothing
"The Dahlia Campaign left me homeless, motherless, fatherless, with only my faith and my anger to sustain me. I was thankfully whole and unharmed and as the Grand Cleric's son I was taken in to the sangham—the brotherhood of priests. It was the hand of Ishballah that guided me into a refuge among great souls who helped me understand and master my grief and rage.
"I know I do not need to recount to this assembly the events of what has come to be known as The Promised Day. It was, in its own way, a Day of Mercy. On that day, the Ishballan people returned good for evil and the alchemy of three peoples—Ishballan, Xingese and Amestrian—were combined in harmony and a madman was brought to naught. All suffered on that day, and it was only by combining our hearts and our wills and our arts did we survive.
"It is not that day that I speak, but of the days that followed—the days when a soldier's heart was offered to be weighed and judged—and judged he was.
"Not by man…but by a beast…"
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Tugging my wrap close against the morning chill, I stood on that high plain where the fresh green surrenders its struggle against the vast Eastern Desert. As yet, the cacophony of bells and chanting that call the world to prayer had not begun when the train from Central finally arrived.
Terminus. Our name for this station. End of the line, yes, but more than that. A line between belief and, to our minds, heresy. Those non-believers—those secular people and alchemists—theirs was the green land. Only the staunch souls –the faithful sons and daughters of Ishballah—could survive on upon the brown sand. "Ishballah created this land of sand and rock to train his Faithful" I had been told from the cradle, and that my eyes and skin and hair were the literal marks of His setting His own apart from all other men.
And now a pale-skinned infidel who had once burned and spilt my people's blood was arriving on the morning train to make the first genuine overtures of peace
The woman came with him. I was to learn that she always followed him, as shadow follows sunlight. In fact, the first words I heard from were addressed to the woman:
"At ease, Hawkeye. I'm not helpless."
I noted the care he exercised as he stepped down from the train, his yet-sensitive eyes blinking and watering behind smoke-lensed eyeglasses. Quickly, he tugged down the brim of his soldier's cap before gathering up his suitcase and duffle bag, which he swung over one broad shoulder. A fleshly man with a russet brush of close cropped hair joined him, matching him pace by pace, the woman never stepping out of the General's shadow.
When I approached, he saluted—one peer to another. His voice was deep and carefully modulated to sound both respectful and non-confrontational.
I offered him my hand. He gripped it firmly. The hand of a killer is now pledged to build the peace, I thought to myself. Ishballah, show this man's heart to us—and ours to him. And if he does no good, may he do no evil. So be it.
)O(
"Working from dawn to dusk and from can to can't." That's what the man Breda called it.
"Don't read so long, sir. You don't want to strain your eyes," said the woman Hawkeye.
And now there were more of them:
"Sir, let me adjust the keystroke tension in your typewriter. Your hands are still healing."
"Hey Chief! Gotcha that seed consignment for the spring planting if you'll just sign here…"
"Tea. Yes Sir! Would that be Camilla Sinensis, or—"
Sometimes he listened to them. For the most part, he did not. Orders were given. Advice ignored. He went his own way, until at some point the woman Hawkeye would bark at him and tell him to rest his eyes unless he wanted to go blind again. And then there was the afternoon when I was admitted into his office and found him reclining on the couch, a cold wet cloth over his tired eyes. "Cucumbers would feel better," I suggested.
"I'm not hungry."
"Not to eat. Slices over your eyes. Very healing and soothing."
He sat up and blinked. "Really."
He looked so comical with his damp disheveled hair, sitting there in his shirtsleeves like a common man. I couldn't help but laugh at him, and to my relief he did not take offence. "I'll send my son around with some from my garden. Enough for your face and a few for your dinner. My wife Yalta grows plenty. She could poke a stick in the dust and a rose would bloom from it. In a land of hunger, she has more than enough to share."
"Hunger…." His face hardened and his feeble eyes blinked painfully as he stared out the window. "Hunger offends me. It's a cause of war. Desperate people take desperate measures." Abruptly, those eyes were turned to my face and focused sharply despite the blinking and watering. "How many are hungry in this village?"
"More than I can count, General."
"One is too many." He reached for his smoked lenses. "Tell me who. Tell me where," he commanded.
"More than you can feed tonight."
For the first time, I saw his smile. It was tight and cynical and made me feel cold inside. "Really? We'll see about that, Lowe…."
He stalked over to the telephone. "Fuhrer Grumman, please. No I won't wait. He knows better than to make me-Sir. You didn't tell me there was hunger, Sir. I'm getting a report from the Grand Cleric." He listened and snorted with amusement. "Thank you, Sir!"
Rising, he gestured for me to follow him to the barracks warehouse. "Get me the Quartermaster," he snapped. Words were exchanged. Not all of them were cordial. Then Mustang snapped his fingers and suggested cheerfully that if the Quartermaster didn't unlock the food storehouse doors, he could melt them down to tin slag. "Fuhrer Grumman is diverting a food shipment to this base. It will be here in two days. Get these rations to your people, Lowe. I'll lend you a truck. It's not a solution but it's a start."
"But—but General!" the Quartermaster protested. "If you give away our rations, what do we eat?"
Mustang turned to me and I could see the corner of his mouth lift in amusement.
"Cucumbers."
)O(
He was pale and grim and frequently humorless. It made him uneasy when people began to approach him in the street to thank him for some kindness or blessing: a new well in one village, seeds and saplings for another, food for our bellies and the tools and means to feed ourselves in the days to come. When my son Jaya was badly hurt in an accident, Mustang sent his own physician to care for him. He provided money for the good Doctor Marcoh to set up clinics and medical dispensaries to care for our sick and to make sure that our mothers and babies were well and strong. Instead of taking over, he chose to offer training for our people, and under Marcoh our healers greatly improved their art. The man who had inflicted such horrors upon our people was helping us to lift ourselves up—with dignity and respect.
It was Mustang who tactfully and respectfully handled the negotiations with our council of elders and priests as to whether or not to allow alchemists to use their arts to search for water and dig our much-needed irrigation ponds.
His solution was to bring a delegation of five remarkable alchemists from four countries. They were Master May Chang of Xing, Izumi Curtis and Alphonse Elric from Amestris, Julia Creighton from Milos and Sensei Miyazaki Hikari from Nihon, who had recently wed the Emperor Ling Yao. These worthy women and this young man gained our trust and respect by their own merits and their devotion to serving others. This was not the alchemy of blood and violence we had seen in the wars, or defense and protection as our brother, The Nameless One, had witnessed in Central on the Promised Day. They spent much time listening to the 'pulse of the Dragon' as Master May called it—choosing with great care how to coax the water from the bedrock and contain it safely. Such care and respect and veneration for the sacred earth showed to many of our people that—within respectful limits—alchemy was not always a thing to fear.
That autumn we had cold sweet water to drink and the alchemists joined us in the sand, as two more alchemists, Fletcher and Russell Tringham, spoke to us about choosing the crops that would thrive in our soil and later made good on their promise and returned in the spring with a wealth of seeds and shoots and viable saplings that are now our cherished oasis lands. Such care was made not to upset the balance of desert and green! And such a joyous harvest to give thanks for! And these seven alchemists and the Fire Alchemist who had brought them all together to help our people sat among us in our temple, listening in respectful silence to our grateful prayers to Ishballah who has caused His people to establish their Promised lands at last.
My Jaya became as a shadow to the General, asking him endless questions and to my surprise the General treated my son kindly, eventually giving him a job as his messenger boy, gruffly presenting my son with a bicycle of his own to help him get around. Behind closed doors, Yalta, Jaya and I included him in our prayers, asking Ishballah to bless and protect the General and to give ease to whatever regrets and sorrows so clearly burdened the good man's heart….for he was a good man, for all his stern expressions and seeming coldness.
One night after temple, Jaya approached me about the lesson we had read from the Holy Scripture. "Abba," he asked me, "today we learned about the Saddiq, the Righteous souls that walk unknown in this world." I nodded, encouraging him to continue. "They say that the Saddiq walk among us, not even knowing themselves that they are instruments of Grace, but if you see with the eyes of the heart you will know them by their goodness."
"That is so. Why do you ask?"
"General Mustang feeds the hungry. He helps the sick. He is helping us help ourselves, not just taking over like the Amestrians did before, when Grandfather was killed. He won't let you thank him or repay him. All he ever thinks about is making up for what he did in the war. Abba?" he drew a deep breath. "Can an unbeliever be one of the Saddiq?" I could not hide the astonishment on my face. Mustang was raised in a house of sin. A libertine. He drank and swore and heaven only knew what else…and the horrors he had inflicted on our people and our cities were so terrible that…
I shook my head. "The General is a good man who was made to do evil. He has taken the burden of repentance upon his soul, which is what Ishballah asks of us. 'The penitent heart shall be washed clean of its stains, and he shall be as if he were newborn, in his original innocence.' I believe that one day he will forgive himself as Ishballah has surely forgiven him, unbeliever or not. But a Saddiq….I cannot know….I cannot say…"
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As they adjourned for the morning recess, Ed turned suddenly to Prince Sheng. "That was your mother, right? I didn't know she worked with Al in Ishbal."
The young alchemist bowed his head, smiling a little. "I was there too, only I could not be of much help. Oka-san has always wondered if carrying me in her womb during the great works in the desert influenced me before my birth, making me as I am. It runs in families, you know."
Ed removed his glasses and scrubbed at his eye, which looked reddish and irritated. "I have got to get this prescription changed," he grumbled. "Damn things are useless. Didn't realize it until we were in the courtroom. Bad lighting, I guess."
Nina and Sheng exchanged glances. "Eyestrain, Daddy?"
"Must be." He shrugged and knuckled his eyes again. "Everything gets hazy, like there's a mist around people, but then it gets really sharply focused. Goes in and out. Been reading too much with crappy glasses and it's straining my eyes."
Nina looked and her father, suddenly very serious. "Possibly not."
"Probably not," Sheng corrected. "This started this morning?"
Ed frowned. "Yeah….guess so."
"When did your vision become blurry? Are you still having trouble?"
Ed glanced across the courtyard, his eyes following Roy as his husband conferred quietly with Hawkeye and Havoc. "Weird, it's fine now."
"And if you look….there, to your right. At the Cleric and his priests?"
Ed turned his eyes. Immediately, he began to squint and blink."Shit!"
Alphonse touched his brother's shoulder. "Something wrong, Ed?" He turned to Prince Sheng who nodded. "Ohhhh…" Al nodded and grinned, finally comprehending what was happening to his older brother.
"Ohh what, Al? What, have I got a brain tumor or something?"
"You'd have to have a brain in the first place," Al laughed, turning suddenly to slap hands with Maes, who had joined them. "You're gonna be fine, Ed. Better than fine!"
Blond eyebrows began to knit themselves into an irritated scowl, but before he could snap at his family's baffling behavior, Prince Sheng folded his hands and bowed ceremoniously to the elder Elric. "'Aditiya hridayam punyam, sarv shatru benah shanam.' 'Evil has no place within my heart, for the light of Truth shines within me.'" He lifted his eyes to Alphonse. "Satori."
"Daddy, all those years you've heard Master May talk about seeing the chi—the vital force of the body. Most of the time, it's hard to see without really concentrating, but when you're in the presence of someone of exceptional power, you can feel it-and sometimes see traces of that." Nina took her father's hands in her own and squeezed them tightly.
"It's the first step to finding the Dragon's Pulse, the first step in learning Alkahestry and the Grand Arcanum." Maes looked proudly at his father. "You're finding your way back, Dad. No shit."
"Well I'll be goddamned,,,," Ed swore softly.
"You are waking up, Ed. "Alphonse smacked his brother playfully on the back of his head. "About time, you asshole!"
…..TO BE CONTINUED…..