David Farland - Beyond the Gate

She took his hands, held them lightly, and studied his face. She was breathing heavily, and she said, “That song-I have to ask-from whom did you learn it?”

“From a minstrel named Tam, who lived here ages ago,” Gallen answered.

“But this man, did he remember me? He didn’t know the Swallow in person?”

“You were but newly gone when he composed the song,” Gallen said.

“And Belorian? Did he know Belorian?” Her voice was nearly hysterical, as if she hoped for some word of her long-dead lover.

“No,” Gallen whispered. “He never knew Belorian.”

Ceravanne gasped and began weeping, fell against Gallen’s chest. “Ah, I thought he had. I thought you remembered his face.” Then she sobbed from the core of her soul, and Gallen clumsily put his arms around her, tried to ease her pain.

“So many tears, for one long dead,” Gallen whispered.

Ceravanne looked up, stroked his chin. “You look much like him,” she said. “When we first met, I kissed you inappropriately. I guess I wanted you to love me. Being near you has been hard. Forgive me if I’ve offended you with my affection.”

Gallen licked his lips, stepped back. He’d been aware of Ceravanne, of her graceful movements, of the longing glances she sometimes gave him. He’d imagined that it was all a ploy, a sly attempt to manipulate him. And the Inhuman, with its clever tongue, whispered that this was true-another cruel attempt by the Tharrin to ensnare him. Gallen had never dreamed that Ceravanne could really have felt anything for him, and now he saw that he was but a shadow to her.

“I’m sorry.” He found himself unaccountably apologizing. “I didn’t know.”

She looked at him oddly, as if wondering if he told the truth. “Of course you couldn’t have known.” She turned away. “What of Maggie? Have your feelings for her changed?”

“Today, I learned of the most marvelous people, far to the south. The Yakrists, they are called, and they care for others more than they care for themselves. They love one another perfectly, and as I lived the life of a Yakrist, I came to understand how weak and imperfect my love for Maggie has been.”

“So your feelings for her are changed?”

“I will try to be more … understanding of her needs,” Gallen said. “Perhaps if I were Inhuman, I would love her more perfectly.”

Ceravanne nodded, obviously distraught, and Gallen realized that she had hoped he would answer differently, that he would say he was abandoning Maggie.

“And you believe that by enslaving others, the Inhuman is showing that kind of great love?”

“Ceravanne,” Gallen whispered. “I think there is something you should know. The Inhuman is not completely wrong, here. It only wants us to understand one another, to help one another.”

There was a cruel laughing, something that Gallen could almost not imagine hearing from Ceravanne’s throat. “Don’t tell me that,” she whispered fiercely. “I’ve seen what the dronon are up to. They care nothing for us, nothing for each other. They love only their Golden Queen, and they serve her ruthlessly.”

“And yet they want peace,” Gallen said. “They want us to unite with them, and they’re offering … so much in return.”

“What are they offering?”

“Life. Rebirth,” Gallen said. “They’re going to open restrictions on giving rebirth to nonhumans. And anyone can be reborn into the body of their choice, experience life as they desire.

“And peace!” Gallen continued. “In the past, the people of Babel have been slaughtered in ruthless wars, with everyone trying to conquer their neighbors. But among the hosts of the Inhuman, everyone will live fuller lives. I know what it is to be a Yakrist, and now that I know them, I could never harm one of them. That is what the Inhuman offers, a knowledge of our own brotherhood. And the Dronon will take care of the people of Babel.”

“Gallen,” Ceravanne said, looking at him as if he were mad, and a knife of fear stabbed him, for Gallen wondered if he was mad. “The dronon don’t care for us,” she said reasonably. “You can’t imagine that they do. When their own infants are sick or crippled, they grind them up to fertilize their fields. You’re trying to make sense, but the dronon are using your own compassion against you. And it’s damned unfair of them to ask you to be compassionate, when they lack that capacity themselves. They don’t want to free us from our wars and infighting, they want to create nations of slaves with them as our masters. All of the technologies they offer to benefit mankind are technologies we’ve already developed. If they succeed in taking over, just watch them. They’ll give rebirth only to those who serve them best. And they want you to feel good about it.”

Gallen listened to her words carefully, tried to hold on to them, but somehow their meaning evaded him. I used to think like she does , Gallen realized. But when? It seemed to him that his fears of the dronon had stemmed from a dream-a long time ago. Something about Maggie, wearing a Guide, while trapped in a dronon fortress. But just at the moment, he couldn’t recall. Instead, a more pressing argument came to mind. “You are no more human than a dronon is,” Gallen said, brightening. “Why should you rule us?”

“Because humans created me for that purpose,” Ceravanne countered. “And I crave to serve them. But unlike the dronon, I never force my rule on anyone. If humans desire to elect a human leader, that is their option. But the dronon will not let you serve as equals. They will never accept human leaders.”

There was a long pause, and Gallen listened to her words but could not understand how any sane person could arrive at her conclusion. He finally managed, “The Dronon will accept us . Maggie and I, we are the leaders of the Sixth Swarm. We could take our rightful place, show them how to live together with us in harmony!”

“But humans don’t want to live with them !” Ceravanne said.

“Agreed, most of them don’t,” Gallen whispered, and there was an unusual intensity in his voice. He felt almost as if his mouth moved of its own accord, and he merely listened to the words it said. “But what of the people of Babel? They are not humans. Can’t you see how your policies afflict them? They have no sense of purpose, so few social bonds across tribes. They have no law, no access to technology. You created them, then abandoned them. They need what humans and the dronon have!”

“Gallen, I was not formed to be a judge of the peoples of Babel. I can’t take care of them, any more than the dronon could. I don’t understand all of their needs, all of their hopes. I don’t even force my judgments on humans.

“But let me ask you this, Gallen. Is it our obligation to govern other peoples, or to find a purpose in life for them, or to be their friends?” Ceravanne asked, and her voice was desperate. “You are human, from a world not unlike Tremonthin: who ever tried to give you a purpose in life? Who ever protected you? Can’t you see-all of these things that you say the humans owe the people of Babel, in your own country, you don’t even force them on your own children. It would be wicked to do so. If these people in Babel want law, then they have to figure out how to create and enforce their own laws. They weren’t designed to live by human standards, and I can’t take the right to govern themselves away from them.”

“But you deny them life …” Gallen objected, angry that she would not or could not see his point.

“And we deny most of our own people more than one life,” Ceravanne said. “Even the best of us often only get our lives extended by a few decades.”