Partisan Saga, Chapter VI - An Era of the End

            Dorian awoke to the too-bright light of an overcast morning, a cool breeze flowing through the open window, and most notably, the pounding on his door.
            “Dor!” Kev. “Dor, are you awake?”
            Well, he was now. Dorian slid from bed and trudged over to the door.  Kev, of course, was already dressed. He seemed quite surprised to find sleep in Dorian’s eyes, to say nothing of his nightwear.
            “Oh. Were you asleep?”
            “Only a little,” Dorian remarked with a roll of his eyes.
            “Do you want to get breakfast?”
            Dorian leaned to one side to peer past him. The dining room table of their flat lay bare; He had half expected two bowls of cornflakes. “You mean at the diner.”
            “Yes, at the diner,” Kevin replied. He shifted back and forth almost as though he had to pee. “What do you say?”
            It wasn’t far, but Kevin insisted upon driving anyway; from the moment they climbed into his small, old, but well-kept ride, and at every stoplight they came to, he drummed almost furiously upon the steering wheel. Dorian thought to ask more than once, and thought the better of it each time.
            They finally arrived at the diner; it was a humble place, boasting large open windows that revealed only a single row of tables and chairs, along with a broad counter for additional seating. Given the traffic, it would have proved faster to walk, and Dorian would have preferred so if only to avoid his friend’s constant fidgeting.
            Inside, things with Kevin seemed to settle; it was odd, for the diner offered a buzz of activity between the wait staff hurrying to and fro and the patrons who enjoyed their meals along with bouts of conversation. After taking their order, the server moved away to process it, and Kev leaned in. Dorian rolled his eyes. Apparently, hot coffee and casual diner talk was not enough for his companion.

            “I heard you got into it with some Whites last night.”
            “Yeah?” Dorian took a sip, a deep, slow sip of his coffee. “What else did you hear?”
            “You tried to pick a fight.”
            “Is that what they said? Huh.”
            “Dor.” Kevin suddenly became stern. “This is serious.”
            “Never said it wasn’t.”
            “Then why are you so uncooperative?”
            “Uncooperative?”
            “Keep your nose clean. Mind your business, do what you’re supposed to.”
            “Because that works so well.”
            “It does. It’s only because you act out that the Whites police you so hard.”
            “Except I was minding my own business last night.”
            “That’s not what they said.”
            “Well, I was. I was out for a walk, and they came to me. Judged me, and really all Blacks on account of the Ravers.”
            “Well...” Kevin seemed to think about it for a moment. “The Ravers are an ugly lot, aren’t they?”
            “Sure, some of them are,” Dorian admitted. “But not all of them.”
            Kevin shrugged. “So just don’t act like a Raver.”
            “Well, there’s good and bad Ravers. Shelley, for example.”
            “She’s a Raver?”
            “Surprised?” Dorian grinned. “You wouldn’t know if I hadn’t told you.”
            “Alright,” Kevin nodded. “So, she’s an exception.”
            “Not really. A lot of them are like her. I mean, yeah there are a few who you’d probably call crazies—”
            “Then you should reign them in. We wouldn’t be so put off by you all if you did.”
            “Wait… so I’m responsible for the poor behavior of those in my sect?”
            “Well, that’s just how it works, Dor.” Kevin threw up his hands. “As long as some of you act crazy, you’ll all suffer for it.”
            “Well, I don’t hold you accountable for the way those punks treated me last night.”
            “It’s not like they did anything wrong, right?” Kevin reasoned. “You were out and maybe they thought it was suspicious.”
            “I wasn’t aware there was a curfew.”
            “There isn’t,” Kevin replied. “But it still makes sense to confront anyone looking suspicious.”
            “Kev, I don’t think they were just patrolling the city out of the kindness of their hearts. They knew who I was from the Sermon. In fact, I think that’s exactly why they came after me.”
            “Came after you, Dor? Seriously?” Kevin shook his head. “You make it sound personal.”
            “I call it like I see it,” Dorian replied. “Like I said, they recognized me, and even after they realized I was just out for a walk, they still felt the need to harass me.”
            Dorian could see that Kevin had his doubts; whether he was doubting the words of his sect, or those of Dorian, however, remained unclear. “Alright…well, you could be more cooperative…”
            “Really?” Dorian asked. “And how’s that? I answered their questions and explained Black society to them. I asked them questions about the Sermon- at THEIR prompting. I wasn’t in the wrong here.”  The pair of them fell into silence as the server returned to refill their coffee. They offered the customary smiles along with nods of thanks. After their relative privacy returned, Dorian continued, quietly, calmly. “And in spite of all of that, I don’t hold you accountable for what they did.”
            “Well of course not. Why would you?” Surprise sat clear on Kevin’s face. “It’d be uncalled for to blame me for the actions of someone else.”
            “Yet you’re blaming me for the more perverse Ravers.”
            “No I’m not. Look, I’m just saying that if you guys did a better job of policing the Ravers—”
            “You mean the ones who aren’t like Shelley, right?”
            “What? I guess. Isn’t she the only one though?”
            “Not even close. Just the only one you pay attention to.”
            “That’s not true. I know lots of Blacks.  You, Shelley-”
            “Yeah, I bet.” Dorian remarked. “Keep going.”
            A period of silence ensued, and Kevin, frustrated, asked: “And how many Whites do you know by name, smartass?”
            “One or two,” Dorian admitted with a shrug. “Not counting present company.”
            “Okay then.”
            “But I realize that I don’t know a whole bunch of Whites, and I take them on a case by case basis,” Dorian explained. “I don’t judge them all at once because it’s convenient.”
            Kevin looked away. “Listen. Just stay out of trouble, alright? And keep the others clear too.”
           
            After their talk, Kevin seemed to relax; while he had evidently gotten such concerns off his chest, Dorian now found himself grappling with them. When they finished breakfast, Dorian declined the ride back to their flat.

***

            To those unfamiliar, uninitiated, the halls of the Black might prove a fearsome place. Poorly lit, curving, winding, covered in a thousand different scrawls of paint- to Dorian however, it represented home.

            Here was a place untouched by outsiders.
            Here was a place ignored by order.
            Here was a place where no one watched, where no one cared.
            Here, Dorian could be himself, as could his brethren, and no judgment would befall them. Thought was a pleasantry, discipline a choice.

            The flickering torchlight that typically bounced with his thoughts now seemed to roil, to stumble, faint and struggling alongside his troubled mood. He'd felt far too sour far too often lately, and any joy the morning might have held had vanished over coffee.
            He descended into the deepest and darkest halls, places devoid of sound, save for the footsteps— both his, and those of his brethren. He knew of the things that lurked in the dark, and in passing them gave only a nod. So it was within the Black Library.

            A shadow parted from the wall and kept pace with him.
            "Well hello there stranger," she said with a smirk. "I don't believe I've seen you here before.”
            He turned and concealed a smile of his own behind feigned confusion. “I come here all the time. You’re the stranger, stranger.”
            They knocked fists before falling into a brief embrace.
            “How goes, Shelley?” He asked.
            “It goes.” She peered at him. “You’re looking sour. What’s wrong?”
            “Nothing.”
            “I’ll drop it if you want.” She paused, and the smirk returned. “But let me guess. Kev?”
            “Kev. He doesn’t understand me.”
            “What do you mean?”
            Dorian shrugged. “It’s complicated.”

            The pair wandered the mazing of the Black, passed by the random establishments thrown up among those halls wherever they might fit. They took no route in particular while speaking of their mutual friend.

            “He thinks we’re all Ravers,” Dorian told her. “Or more accurately, that we’re all insane.”
            “Insane?” Shelley’s eyebrows rose.  “You mean like we’re not all there mentally?”
            Dorian nodded. “More or less.”
            “Really? Even you?”
            “I was the exception. And you too, after I told him that you partake sometimes.”
            Shelley frowned. “That doesn’t make any sense. Where did he get that idea?”
            “He’s heard stories.”

            It was the freedom to build whatever, wherever that brought a home to such a place. While it might seem craven to others, to Dorian and Shelley, and those like them, it was a city within a city- or perhaps more accurately, beneath one.  A place consisting of open space: ‘parks’, lounges, studios-

            “So what did you tell him?”
            “What could I tell him?” Dorian shrugged. “I doubt he’d listen.”
            “Maybe, maybe not,” Shelley caught him with a sharp jab in the shoulder.
            “Ow! What was that for?!”
            “You don’t get to mope over it if you didn’t even try. How are you any better than Kev if you don’t give him a chance?”

            To Dorian, it especially seemed that the Black Library was everything the White Library was, and still more; or perhaps everything it was and everything it was not, simultaneously. There was more method than madness, a chaos that took on patterns if one knew which words to speak and precisely where to step- art.

            “Yeah, I get it.” Dorian glanced down at his hands, flexed his fingers. “But I did actually try.”
            “What exactly did you tell him?”
            “Well, I told him a lot of things,” Dorian replied.
            “Specifics.”
             “That we weren’t all alike, for one. That it wasn’t fair to lump us all together.”
            “And what did he say?”
            “That it was up to us good eggs to police the bad ones so the Whites stay off our backs.”
            “Well, that makes some sense,” Shelley admitted. “Because everyone should always be watching out for their brothers and sisters. But that doesn’t mean we should all bear the blame if one of us acts up.”
            “I told him that last part,” Dorian insisted. “And he didn’t really have an answer for it. I don’t think they’re listening.”
            “Whites in general, or Kev in particular?”
            “Whites in particular, Kev included,” Dorian clarified. “Or I should say, every one of them I’ve talked to lately.”

            It was hard to see it that way, Dorian realized. On the outside, it was distasteful. People might object to the (lack of) lighting in the halls, or the at odds painting, the skewed designs, the apparent lack of any sort of organization. On the inside, the mazes rose, wound, cantered, careened; it was easy to get lost, true—

            “Be careful,” Shelley warned.
            “I tried explaining myself to the ones who jumped me last night-”
            “What?”
            “Well, jumped isn’t the word. It wasn’t a fight.”

            —But that was okay. Getting lost was part of the Library, and part of the Library because it was a part of the world. Here, a truth lost to the Whites. In their halls, a truth denied. Unsettling.  In any case, his amendment hadn’t helped his case much; now Shelley gazed intently upon him.

            He cracked a smile. “You hurt me more than they did.”
            She remained unsatisfied.  
            “It was just a talk. Honest.”
             “A talk about what?”

            As Librarians, they owed it to the people to preserve the truth, and because of that, Dorian spent most of his time above ground despite his love for the Library. To be a Librarian, he reasoned, was to love the world, and in some sense he could agree with the Whites on the notion of service- but truth be told, sometimes he felt as distant from his brethren as he did from their White allies.

            “You know how I went to that thing with Kev, right? I guess they call ‘em Sermons.”
            “Oh, right! How was that?”
            “Boring. Dry. Irritating.”
            “Dor…”
            “Well it was!” Dorian protested. “And it seemed like it was just all about how important the Whites are.”

            This distance came mostly from Dorian’s lacking. He lacked creativity to throw upon the walls, lacked interest for the Mosh, the Rave. These truths also played a role in his absence, and to deny his failings in such things would be dishonest at best. Still-- to travel the Black and observe what others could imagine brought him more joy than his own creations, and he valued the freedom in such experiences.

            “Well, Dor, they are important,” Shelley reminded him. “We’re all part of the balance.”
            “Yeah, I know, and I know I forget sometimes,” Dorian admitted. “But I don’t think they see it that way.”
            “Why do you say that?”
             The Sermon, for starters. It went on and on about playing parts, specifically ‘leadership’ and ‘sacrifice.’”
            “Both good things.”
            “In moderation.”
            “Right.”
            “But the way it was talked about, Shelley…they think only Whites can be leaders.”
            “I see. So when it comes to each person taking a role…”
            “Exactly. Where do you think you and I fit in?”
            “Did they say?”

            Wasn’t that enough? It certainly was enough for his kind; though some teased him for not partaking of the rave. Like the Black Library itself, they still saw the conduction present in his chaos, and though it took its own shape in him, they all knew it as one power and the same. Surely the White looked among their own oddities the same way? Then again, thinking of their steadfastness to order….
            Dorian looked at his hands again, clenching and unclenching his fingers. “That brings me back to the talk I had afterward.”
            “What about it?”
            “Shelley, they don’t see us as equals.”
            Shelley thought for a moment.

            He found his mind now lingering upon the Sermon again, and for a desperate moment, he wanted to believe that it was a matter of place; that each of the White knew precisely where they fit in, and took to that spot for their sakes, and those of the world. That they had designed places for the Black as well, not out of hatred, disdain, or disrespect, but necessity…

            “Why don’t you invite Kev to come tour the Black with us?”
            “What?!”
            “We could even bring some of the others,” Shelley added. “Show them around, tell them what we’re really about.”
            “What makes you think that’s a good idea?”
            “Well, if what you say is true, they already don’t seem to think much of you, so it couldn’t hurt. But who knows? Maybe this could clear the air.”
            Dorian wanted to argue the point. Sure, it was definitely a longshot; Kev wouldn’t want to visit, and assuming the talked him into it, he’d find himself subject to a lot of unwanted attention, particularly from the ravers.
            A sly grin spread over his face. Yeah, Kev would totally be out of his element. But he might learn a thing or two. “You’re right, Shelley.”
            “As always!”

            “It’d only be fair…” Dorian pondered it further. “After all, I had to go with him—”
            Shelley hit him again. “He’ll be uncomfortable enough without you hamming it up. It’s supposed to be a learning experience, not teaching him a lesson.”
            “Isn’t that the same thing?”
            “You know exactly what I mean, Dorian.”
            “Yeah. I guess I do.”
            Maybe if Dorian were lucky, Kev would learn something- the others too. When he put away the thrill of unnerving them, he found another taking its place- the thought that maybe they’d all be able to connect. Perhaps the Whites would come to see the Black Library the way he did. He thought back to the conversation with Kev that morning. Understanding had seemed close there for a while; Dorian was determined not to let it go to waste.

Partisan Saga, Chapter V - The Ending of an Era

There came a commotion from outside. Oddriser paused in his motions and locked eyes with Counsel. The Collaborator remained as cool, calm, collected as he had ever been, whilst Oddriser harbored a carefully contained deadly seriousness. The guards moved toward the doors, and both Collaborator and Selector moved with them, their dispute forgotten.
                Upon emerging from the First Library, they discovered a contingent of guards had encircled the Selectors, their weapons leveled at the outsiders. The Selectors matched them in kind, blades drawn, their backs to one another. Some distance from the spectacle, a guard knelt, clutching a wound in his side.
                The hissing intake of Oddriser’s  breath was lost under Counsel’s words.
               “Guardsmen, stow your arms! What is the meaning of this?”
                Both sets of men flinched, but not one among them lowered their weapons, nor took their eyes from their enemies. It was the wounded guard who spoke first.
                “That Selector swine tried to run me through!” He shouted. “It was a mistake to ever allow their return!”
                “Ewstob, do not speak of our guests so,” Counsel replied. “It appears—”

“Which of my men?” Oddriser cut in, though his eyes already scanned the blades of his Selectors, and found but one freshly crimson— Apcin’s.

By now, a crowd had begun to gather. Seeing one of their own fallen brought them to shouts immediately.
                 “Selectors!” Oddriser roared. All eyes fell upon him. “Stay your arms. Did you forget? We are guests here!”
                “Likewise, Guardsmen,” Counsel added softly. “Lower your weapons. We will have explanations before we carry this madness any further.”
                Now, both camps of men stowed their arms. Counsel He knelt by the wounded Ewstob. Rivulets of blood poured forth, from the guard, spurting in time with his panicked breath. “Oddriser. Can your power do anything for him?”
                Oddriser knelt on the other side of Ewstob, though the answer was clear on his face.  “Unfortunately not, cousin. My power would only end his suffering. I apologize. If my brother were here—”
                “No matter, Oddriser. I can manage. Tend to the people.”
                The two locked eyes for another moment; Oddriser, finding that he could not read Counsel’s face, rose to address those gathered.
                “Collaborators,” he began.
                “HEATHENS!”
                A black bolt of lightning fell from Oddriser’s  outstretched fingertips, tearing the precious stones out of the road near his feet and hurling them into the air. There, the smoldering gems slowly tumbled into a dizzy circle before his uplifted hand. The crowd now fell to silence, and though their expressions remained angry and untrusting, Oddriser saw the unmistakable fear they harbored as well.
                “Think what you will of me,” Oddriser continued. “Think what you will of my men, if you must. I believe that you Collaborators sometimes forget that we are all one and the same in our love of knowledge. All that differs is our approach to the unknown. I know these things because I, too, sometimes forget that we were once the same tribe.” He gestured to the First Library. “It has been… too many years since I or my brethren have laid eyes upon the Library. Grand, is it not? Splendid. Magnificent. The First Library is certainly to be envied.”
                “Jealous rotten cowards! You’ve come to rob us!”
                “You had your chance to contribute, and you spurned it! You have no right to stand here now and preach to us of knowledge!”
                Oddriser lifted his hands. The stones, forgotten, fell to the ground and ricocheted off those still set, bounding away with the slightest sparks of dark energy. “As I said, think what you will of us. Perhaps we are not your kin. Perhaps we are not your friends, nor comrades,  but know this: we are not without honor.” Here, he looked to Apcin. “The truth, Apcin.”
                “Self defense, Lord Oddriser.”
                “He lies!” Ewstob tried to rise, but fell back to the street with a pained gasp.
                “Don’t move,” Counsel murmured. His hands gleamed with a subtle prismatic light, one that brought a strange sparkle to the wounded man’s blood. “I am doing what I can for your injuries, but if you move about too much, I will not be able to stabilize you.
                “He… Lies…” Ewstob repeated, his  skin pale, his breathing shallow. “Not one of us turnt a blade on him!” At these words, the crowd roared to life again.    
                “ Apcin,” Oddriser  asked. “What exactly happened whilst I was within the First Library?”
                “The truth of it is, Lord Oddriser,” Apcin mumbled. “They strove to take us as soon as you departed!”
                Oddriser spied some guilty looks among his men, as well as outrage from the Collaborators around them.
                “Uryf, Taserct.  What did you see as you exited from the First Library?”
                “It was not clear, my Lord,” Uryf replied.
                “We came out to find the Collaborators with their backs to us,” Taserct explained. “From our vantage, we could not see who provoked who.”
                “It’s obvious!”  One of the guards insisted. “Only our man lies upon the ground!”
                “You there,” Oddriser called. “What is your name?”
                The soldier offered Oddriser a hard stare. Then finally: “I am known as Vegri.”
                Oddriser dipped his head some. “Guard Vegri, please recount the events as you saw them unfold.”
                Another hard stare followed as the soldier sized him up.
                “I am quite serious when I ask you,” Oddriser assured him.  “My men have given me some account of this travesty, but I would hear the words of the Collaboration, if the Collaboration will cooperate with me.”  He smiled then, an ugly, sour, and sincere smile.
                “After you and Lord Counsel entered, your men quickly became restless,” Vegri told him. “Foremost in their discussion was the talk of how the Collaboration would double-cross them.”
                “Surely my Lord Oddriser,” Apcin pleaded, “you do not believe the words of this crooked soldier?”
                “I will hear his words and decide for myself,” Oddriser replied. “You dishonor me before our hosts when you speak out of turn.”
                Hearing this, Apcin fell silent.
                “Now then, sir Vegri.”
                “Your people were convinced that mine would slay them, or perhaps that we would refuse to return that which was agreed upon,” Vegri explained. He pointed a finger at Apcin. “That one especially became frightened and angry at the thought.”
                Oddriser nodded. “Do not presume I excuse any violence on the part of my men when I suggest that their concern is not misplaced….” Here, Oddriser glanced to Counsel, who looked up from Ewstob’s wound only to meet his eyes for a moment.
                Now a deathly silence fell; no words passed, and onlookers, Collaborator and Selector alike, followed Oddriser’s gaze to Counsel.
                “Be that as it may, Lord Oddriser,” Counsel replied. “The mere thought that we would perhaps withhold something from you is no cause to leap to violence, is it?”
                “We are in agreement, cousin.”
                “Then it remains that we discover what provoked this attack.” Counsel turned his soft eyes upon Vegri. “How did our fair Collaborators respond?”
                “We lent them space, of course,” Vegri insisted. “However, they grew more mad by the second. When it seemed their bitterness would move beyond words, Ewstob moved to reason with them. His trust—your trust, Lord Counsel— cost him dearly, for that knave cast a blade for his heart.”
                There came gasps from the crowd, followed by a crescendo of angry utterances. Oddriser, watching this, offered a wry smirk.
                “You certainly choose your words well, sir Vegri,” Oddriser commended. “Well enough that I might believe you.”
                “My Lord!” Apcin pleaded.
                Oddriser lifted a finger. “Might,” he reminded, “Were your man Ewstob so gravely wounded.”  Hearing the ensuing protest, he lifted both hands. “Now, I do not make light of the injury suffered,” he said, now speaking directly to Ewstob. “But forgive me if I discard the notion that Apcin aimed a fatal blow.”
                “How can you tell?” Counsel asked.“ Furthermore, what difference does it make?”
                “It makes all the difference, cousin,” Oddriser assured him. He turned to Vegri. “You are lying about Apcin’s attack. Though he is an oaf, and his actions here are in poor taste, that you would lie of his motions suggests that you are hiding something.”
                “Lord Oddriser—” Counsel began.
                “Perhaps your man Ewstob was less a force of calm and placation. Perhaps he goaded and received a memento on that accord.”
                “So much for your honor,” Vegri muttered. “You would doubt the words of a Collaborator?”
                “The best lies are hidden in truth,” Oddriser mused. “Apcin never lies, but he never tells the truth, either. However, when it comes to blades...” here, he glanced to the fallen Ewstob once more. “He never fails to hit his mark.”
                “I see.” Counsel finished with his task and rose. “Then what shall we do in regards to this?”
                Oddriser nudged Ewstob with his foot. “Will he live?”
                Counsel nodded. “He will recover in time.”
                “Good,” Oddriser replied. “Then we do nothing. Come Selectors! It is clear we have worn weary our welcome. We depart!” Oddriser moved to retrieve his men, but Vegri blocked his path, sword drawn.
                “How can you leave when your man has committed so grave an injustice?!”
                “Injustice on both sides,” Oddriser replied. “Anything further does not make the past just, so it is best to depart before further incident.”
                 “Though dismayed at this turn of events,” Counsel added, “I am in agreement with Lord Oddriser.There is no need for further violence.”
                “I won’t accept that!” Vegri roared. He leveled his sword at Oddriser’s chest. “Apcin will answer for his crimes!”
                Oddriser smiled, that slow, sinister smile with the warm and forgiving eyes. He glanced to Counsel as if sharing a joke, then returned his attention to the man before him. “I speak for Apcin, good Vegri. What is it you propose?”
                Vegri looked between Oddriser and the much smaller, far less composed Apcin. “You will not let him stand for himself?”
                “Apcin’s crime is against your fellow Ewstob. Would you have it that we remain here, dependent upon your generosity, until Ewstob is prepared to challenge Apcin in righteous combat?” Oddriser waited, and after some silence, he added: “As I have said, I am not without my honor. I take responsibility for the actions of my men. If it cannot be avoided that you strike one among our number down, I implore that you raise your hand to me, and me alone.”
                At this, the gathered Collaborators roared all manner of indecencies, and so Counsel intervened.
                “As I have said, Lord Oddriser, I am with you on the matter that justice cannot be found by another incident,” Counsel assured him. “However, in light of these circumstances, I fear things will escalate if we do nothing. Therefore, I believe some compensation is in order. For the sake of both parties, I challenge you to single combat.”
                Oddriser lifted his brows in surprise at the challenge. He glanced to his men, the guards, the crowd. “How unlike you, cousin.”
                “The needs of my people are the needs of my own soul,” Counsel replied. “I do not wish conflict, but if we agree that this be the end of it, decided by our bout, then perhaps further bloodshed may be avoided.” He turned to his people. “What say you, Collaborators? Will you set aside any resentment, win or lose, should Oddriser and I engage in combat?”
                 The crowd came to a roar of approval, though not without some jeers that Oddriser was too cowardly to accept, and that if he did, he would lose.
               Listening to the crowd with a smirk upon his face, Oddriser thought for a moment, and finally, he nodded. “I accept your challenge, Lord Counsel. That said, there are three conditions  that must be met.”
                “Name them.”