Vana Dandreal had certainly not been looking forward to spending an evening sitting next to the Anti-Akronist-in-Chief of the country she had just seceded from, but from the very moment she had first laid eyes on Zaram Nuvo Šolosar, she had immediately been overcome with an emotion she never would have expected:
Pity.
The King Emeritus of Tavaris was obviously in a great deal of physical pain. He had a white-knuckle grip on his cane—a cane she had never seen use before—and he hobbled slowly and awkwardly as they made their way to the table. On more than one occasion he simply stopped walking, silently gritting his teeth until he could make his way forward again. It was as if he had aged ten years since she had last seen him less than one year prior. This was a man who was once renowned as one of the best wrestlers in the country. For him to agree to be seen in public with such a symbol of weakness and infirmity as a cane surely required a great deal of convincing, or a great deal of pain. Probably both.
When she had agreed to take this trip, she had done it for one reason and one reason only: to be seen by the Akronists of Packilvania as being supportive of their Sultan. Packilvania had more Akronists than any other country on Urth, and she was painfully aware of the massive rift between Akronists in Packilvania and Akronists elsewhere, a rift that was only growing wider. While the People’s Communion of Acronis was not constitutionally a socialist state, she had clearly, fully embraced theo-socialism as the governing policy of the young country. Precisely one seat shy of two thirds of the elected Synod was held by the Acronian Communist Party. And while, of course, Packilvania was a country of rich diversity, the political climate made one thing absolutely certain: Communism was not welcome. And that made following Akronism a significant risk.
In truth, even despite her visit, even despite anything else she could do, Vana knew that the Church of Akrona’s Province of Packilvania would almost certainly break away before the end of her time on Urth. In fact, it was fairly likely it would break away this very year. The fact that not one of the Packilvanian High Priestesses would agree to come with her to the wedding and coronation was plain evidence of that.
Akronism had long been highly restricted in Packilvania, of course, and the fact that this insulated Packilvanian Akronists from changes that took place across Akronism in the rest of the world was probably a feature, not a bug, of the Sultans’ designs. It had always been something of a miracle that there were so many Akronists in Packilvania at all, at least under the current regime. Efforts to spread the faith through conversion were strictly, strictly forbidden, the activities of Crystal Hoteliers International were quite restricted, and Akronism was essentially allowed only in one province. But it was true that the Sultans had permitted Akronism to remain, and the community was growing, thanks to births among the Akronist community, and the Church had always been appreciative of such.
In a perfect world, some time over the course of the festivities, Vana could speak with the Sultan and hash out some sort of understanding about the future of Akronism in his country, but she didn’t expect to be considered important enough to do so. Failing that, she hoped that being seen here, dressed in the Packilvanian manner, celebrating and paying respect to the Sultan as Packilvanians did, that she would be able to convince the Packilvanians to accept an offer of their church being granted independence and communion with the Church of Akrona as an administratively separate Akronist Church of Packilvania.
Of course, her still-too-recent excommunication of the Church of Metradan had jeopardized that effort as well. Negotiations with the Metradani had stalled primarily because they were unwilling to submit to Church requests for greater oversight over their finances—they were disinclined to “let Communists control their money” as one High Priestess had put it. And however inaccurate that statement was, if even one single Packilvanian High Priestesses had heard it, which was almost certain, then her offer would surely face equal, if not stronger, opposition here.
All she had wanted was a country where she was certain that Akronists could feel at home, could feel was theirs, could provide them safety and the uncompromisable right to worship according to their faith. And she had gotten it—at a price far, far steeper than she had wanted to pay. She haid paid not only with blood, not only with terror, but, it seemed, with the souls of Akronists in all the other countries that weren’t the one she had just created. She had gained Acronis and lost Metradan, and she was losing Packilvania.
It was her fault. It was the price that she, personally, had to pay for the sins she had committed. And despite how futile it was, despite how frustrating and humiliating it would be, part of the price she had to pay was putting her neck out on the line to try and salvage the Church she had shattered. “YOURS IS THE BURDEN,” The Goddess had spoken to her in that terrible, wonderful dream in the midst of the secession crisis. “YOURS IS THE MANDATE. YOURS IS THE BLAME.”
“THE REST OF YOUR LIFE MUST BE FOR MY CHILDREN,” The Benefactress had said. And so it would be. Even if it meant being next to a dying orc in a purple turban for two days. That, surely, was the least of the prices she had to pay.
A waiter sat a glass of rose next to her hand and the Matron wasted no time taking a deep drink. The King had ordered a Ranat on the Rocks, which she had to admit was a favorite of hers as well when the times called for straight liquor. In fact, they probably did.
“How is the rum?” The Matron asked idly.
The King Emeritus swirled it in his class and sniffed it as if it were a fine wine. “Not Tavari,” he said finally, but he took a sip anyway. “Hm. Tastes like the… stuff the Akuanists make.”
Vana let out a single, loud, sardonic chuckle. “That bad?”
Zaram arched an eyebrow and looked at the Matron for a moment. “I didn’t take you for a connoisseur of rum,” he said quietly.
“You know, I was born and raised in Tavaris just the same as you were, Your Majesty,” said the Matron. “Akronists like to drink just as much as traditio- as Avatidari do.”
The King Emeritus did not speak again for a few moments, and Vana had to restrain herself from making a face that betrayed the pity in her heart. That would only make him more unpleasant. But he appeared thoughtful, not pained, and it took a moment for Vana to realize that he might actually simply be impressed that she had called him ‘Your Majesty’ and used the proper term for a follower of the Tavat Avati, the Tavari word Avatidar.
“You know, Your Majesty, I do want to say… I appreciated and respected a great deal your decision to step down. I think it was the right thing to do, and most importantly, you owned up to it when you said that your actions had caused you to lose the right to serve as the symbol of the Tavari people. And I want to say that… I never expected, I certainly never asked, for you to be banished as it seems you have been.” Vana picked her words carefully as she spoke, but she meant every single one of them. As the head of state, she could no longer act with such disdain as she had. 45% of her people were Avatidari, and she depended on their support as well as the support of the other countries in the Tavari Union for Acronis to continue to exist. Acronis was far too fragile to support internal conflict or external sanctions. She owed the Avatidari, at the very least, genuine outreach. And she could begin in the here and now.
“Thank you,” was all the King Emeritus seemed to be able to manage.
“Did you know, Your Majesty-”
“Highness,” said Zaram. “You should say Highness.” He paused. “I’m not… you know.”
“May I call you Zaram?”
That seemed to take the King Emeritus by surprise, but at the very least the surprise seemed to force away his pain for a moment. His face almost came close to what on another person’s face might be called “lighting up.”
“I suppose,” he said.
Vana offered a smile. “Did you know that I wrote a letter to you once? I only ever got a pre-written form letter in response, I was just a lowly priestess at that time, so I wouldn’t blame you if you never even saw it. But it was after your wife had passed. I, and really quite a large number of Akronists, were all very impressed with your completion of the 144-day rite of purification, and I had wanted to tell you how… touching it was, really, to see you do such a thing in honor of your wife. And I talked a bit about how Akronism has retained that ritual, so it’s something that we share.”
The Rite of Purification was considered by most Akronists to be among the most difficult rituals in the faith. For Akronists, it was only ever used in the most extreme cases where a devout Akronist had, for some reason, caused another living person to die. It was most often performed by Akronist members of the Armed Forces, or by Akronists convicted of murder. In the Akronist tradition, it entailed leaving one’s home for 144 consecutive days, not speaking to anyone except strangers, clergy, or Akrona, and reflecting on the loss they had inflicted upon the family of the victim and the world at large. Often, except in the most extreme cases, those performing the ritual were granted absolution by 72 days or even earlier after demonstrating a concerted effort to complete it.
But the Avatidari tradition was much more extreme, and in fact, then-Prince Zaram was the only person known to have completed it in the 20th century. Zaram had spoken to no one—not a single word—and had remained secluded for the entire 144-day period. The Tavat Avati called for a 144-day period of seclusion only in “circumstances most grave and dire,” which it did not define. No monarch or prince before Zaram had ever seen fit to perform the ritual, and Zaram had never explained his reasoning for doing so. It was presumed, however, that he had done so out of some belief that his wife’s death in childbirth was his fault, perhaps for not being devout enough. When Vana had first heard that the Prince had decided to undertake the ritual, she had cried. Most of Tavaris had, in fact. Tavaris had lost many princesses and many queens before their time, but never had it seen a heart as broken as Crown Prince Zaram’s, and the hearts of the entire country had broken with his.
“No,” said the King Emeritus, his face lingering on that expression that was almost happy. “I didn’t know that. Either of those. I didn’t know you retained any Tavat Avati rituals.”
Vana nodded with a smile. “Yes, we do. Akronist soldiers perform the rite when they have to kill in combat, though we allow them to speak to priestesses and usually grant a reprieve at 72 days. And now, with the recent revelations from the Danvreas, we can be relatively certain that the Tavari tradition dates to the time when we were Danvreans, themselves exiled for reasons of purity. Akronists carry with them this tradition that the very first Tavari carried down the mountains and across the Sunrise Sea.” She paused. “In the end, it was quite easy for Acronis to join the Tavari Union. Akronists have always been Tavari.”
“I… I didn’t think… I thought you couldn’t… I never…” Zaram had to stop himself to find the right words, and when he spoke again there was just the slightest sparkling in his eyes. Whether it was pain or something else, Vana couldn’t tell. “I thought saying things like that was… frowned upon, among… some Akronists,” he finally said.
But Vana only laughed. “Well it certainly is, but they’re wrong. Akronism is a Tavari religion. Akrona has wept for the Tavari and she will continue to weep for them.” The angry, Urth-trembling words of that outraged, wounded Goddess echoed in the back of Vana’s mind as she spoke. “Akrona was with the Tavari at the very first. She told me so herself, she called us the family she had raised for a thousand generations. It is true that Akronism must be Acronian, but it is also true that Akronism is and must be Tavari as well. There are many beliefs held by Akronists that need to change. Soon, you will see what I mean.” The words that Akrona had spoken to Vana would soon become Edicts that would change the Akronist faith, very soon, and somehow, despite it all, the Matron found herself hoping that they would please this man who had insulted her so.
Zaram stared into her eyes, his eyebrows furrowed but gradually rising. “You are… not at all what I expected you to be, Matron.” He paused. “Vana?”
The Matron grinned. For all his faults, and there were so many of them, Zaram was the first person in years to ask to call her by her name, not her title. She missed it, and it warmed her heart quite like a glass of wine to hear him say it. “To Zaram and Vana,” she said, raising her glass toward the former King.
“To Vana and Zaram,” he replied as he clinked his glass with hers. His eyes had come alive and the smile on his face matched hers. His smile was unmistakable, and in the span of a single moment, ten or twenty years melted from his face.
Perhaps all he had ever needed was to understand Akronists. Perhaps all he had ever really been was a heartbroken widower, a heartbroken father. Perhaps even the most traditional traditionalists could find peace in their hearts toward the most Akronist Akronists, if only they allowed themselves to see themselves in one another.
Perhaps this wouldn’t be so bad after all.