CHAPTER 11

Exactly a week to the day later, we received word from the White. It came on White stationary and looked like something truly befitting The Pure One. The boy read it with a grim face, but overall, he seemed pleased with its contents.

“We’ve set the date,” he told me.

“And the location?” I asked.

“And the location,” he confirmed with a smile.

“Have you picked the two envoys to represent the cause?”

“Yes, I have,” the boy said. “Alaric and Odessa. I think they’ll represent our interests well.”

I was tempted to mention the last time he had said something of that sort, but I willed my tongue to be silent. Instead, I tactfully replied, “I’m sure they will.” In reality, I was worried for the whole convention, but I pushed those thoughts to the back of my mind. I trusted the boy with everything important to me, including the cause. If he thought this was the right thing to do, it surely must be.

“I’ll send them tomorrow,” he continued. “As you know, it’s a few days walk to the meeting place between our two lands.”

“Yes, and now we must attend to something else.” I had decided to push the issue.

“To what?” he asked.

“To announcing your succession to the post of commander,” I said. “We’ve done away with the spies and now the people have to know they have a government to rely upon.”

“Yes,” he said simply.

I had been prepared to argue my point, so this easy victory came as a surprise. “Then you’ll do it?”

“As soon as I can.” His voice was dismissive and wordlessly cued me to leave, but I refused to listen or respond to it.

“Tomorrow?” I pressed.

“I said, as soon as I can.” His tone was quick to light on anger and I sensed something behind it. It was something he tried to hide, yet in doing so, he made it very apparent.

“What are you afraid of?” I asked the boy.

“Afraid of? Nothing?”

“You’re scared of something. That’s why you keep delaying it.”

I watched his face for a sign that I had hit the right mark. The boy struggled in keeping his countenance smooth and unwavering, but I saw through it.

“What are you afraid of?” I repeated again gently. “Are you afraid that they somehow won’t accept you?”

“Yes.” His utterance was soft and cloaked in his breath, yet it was a definite answer. “Yes.”

“You’re one of them. You’re accepted by them. You’ve helped through all the recent happenings. You were there bathing the injured’s wounds alongside their mothers, wives, and children. You’re a part of them, something I can never be.”

“How can I help when I don’t even know who I am?” His voice was strained, as he strived to formulate his thoughts into words. “They don’t know me ... I don’t even know me.” His throat closed, trapping his thoughts. “Who am I?”

“To them, you’re a friend, a brother, a son, and a father. You’re a helper, someone who does good and who is good. And soon, you’ll be a leader. Isn’t that enough?”

My words were pained. What the boy really wanted was an identity, a name he could call himself. But I couldn’t give him that. No one could. He had to find it himself. Nonetheless, he had something close to what he wanted. He had what he was to other people; relationships and roles that defined him. That wasn’t the same as a name, but it was something.

There’s no substitute for emotions. Emotions make us people. Without them, we’re just shells of what used to be. The unfeelings aren’t people, but they once were.

“Thank you,” he said faintly.

I couldn’t tell if it was a tactful dismissal or sincere gratitude. Either way, I left and went to seek solace with Gerrard, who, by now, I thought of as a friend. When I couldn’t say something to the boy, I sought a listening ear from him.

“Do you think I did the right thing?” I asked Gerrard, after relaying what had just occurred.

“Personally, yes. I think you did do the right thing. You might have given him the final push he needed to take action. But the real judge is time. Only time can tell.”

I knew he was right, but I still wondered if my words were too sharp. Was I too severe? Now I could only wait to find out and I truly hoped my words had moved something inside the boy to take some action. At this point, that was what the cause needed. Action, any action. If we sat on our hands any longer, I believed we would surely self-destruct.

Gerrard poured a Red liquid into two glasses and handed one to me. I remembered the drink from when the old commander was still alive and I took a long slow gulp of it. It had the same taste, bittersweet, one could call it.

“There were more fights today,” Gerrard said.

“Between who?”

“Groups of Trigons and humans.”

The fights were getting increasingly worse. They had started as only words thrown back and forth between the Trigons and humans, but that had evolved into action. Now there were full-blown fights.

“Did anyone get hurt?” I asked.

“Members of both sides, but luckily Devonport was there to prevent further damage,” he said.

Though I didn’t wish for war, sometimes I found myself thinking that a common enemy would have the potential to unite the Red cause. The animosity between humans and Trigons had gone on for as long as anyone could remember. They had been forced to band together to hold against the White, but now with that threat further away from us, we were crumbling and everyone could sense it.

The general and I talked into the night and through the early morning. It was preferable to worrying by myself in my room and I sensed that Gerrard also had his own concerns to unload.

I awoke to the sound of cheering drifting in from the nearby window. I realized that Gerrard and I had both fallen asleep at the table and my mouth tasted of memories that had emerged with the Red drink we had last night.

When I walked to the window, I was greeted with a welcome sight. It looked like every single member of the cause was gathered around the boy. He was filling the silence with his words, which were being received by the people with great optimism. They cheered at every other word he said and seemed so devoted.

There was one person whose grin was more radiant than the boy’s or anyone else’s and seeing it there surprised me. It was Devonport standing in the very front near the boy. She seemed to hang on every word the boy said.

“He did it, didn’t he?” It was Gerrard who was now up and peering over my shoulder at the window. “He won the people over and he has earned the respect of Devonport.”

“It’s high time he has.”