The second Play was longer than the first, consisting of four
scenes. The first three told a recurring story as the leaders of one or other
of the Commonwealth’s cities searched desperately for the cause of the dangers
that beset them while the Dybbuk schemed in the background. The common theme in
all three scenes was the warning given at the opening of each story by a
non-human character who delivered the same message to the leadership of each
city in turn, “Beware, for Betrayal stalks.”
Each time, the leaders of the city at first ignored the warning
then, as calamity fell upon them, began to cast about for a scapegoat, always
prompted by the Dybbuk in their midst. In the first scene, the merchant
adventurers were blamed. They were, it was said, hoping to push up their prices
by formenting insecurity. In the second scene, they blamed witchcraft, one
character reporting proudly that fifty people had been impaled that morning,
which surely the curse would soon be lifted. In the third scene, they blamed
refugees from a city that had fallen earlier. They had destroyed their own
home, now they sought to destroy their refuge.
In all three scenes, the non-human character returned to
proclaim, “You have failed. Their work is done for them.”
The forth scene began.
“Beware,” said the non-human, “for Betrayal stalks.”
“Betrayal shall not claim us, for we are strong!” proclaimed the
Council, speaking in unison.
This time, the non-human had more to say. I have travelled far.
I have delivered my warnings. I have failed and my failure weighs heavily upon
me, even if it is not truly my failure. Your confidence is misplaced, for they
are already amongst you. You will heed my warning or you will be destroyed.”
One stood amongst the listeners. “Who is this visitor who speaks
of failure that is not failure, who threatens us with destruction?”
“I do not threaten, I bring warning. My plea is sincere. Will
you not heed me?”
The one who had spoken continued his questioning. “Who are these
that we are to fear?”
“They are Dybbuk, which in the language of the Republic means
‘future’. They took the life of Convenor Elias. They took Harran and Thaal.
They intend to take you.”
“The visitor seeks to frighten us with fables. It is known that
the tribes took Thaal. It is known that Harran was visited by plague and
famine. It is known that Convenor Elias was murdered by one of his kind, the traitor Bar Khoba.”
“Leave us, visitor. We shall not be distracted from our work by
your warning” They spoke together. The non-human left the stage.
Time passed. The Council reconvened. The one who had spoken
against the visitor spoke once again.
“Disaster! Though the rains come, the fields are barren and the
storehouses are empty. The waters have been poisoned. The trading routes have
been closed. Our people starve. How have we come to this?”
“Tell us, tell us!” responded the others.
“Betrayal!”
They howled in horror. “How? Who has done this?”
“The visitor. It was he who spoke of disaster, he who threatened
us with it. We must be rid of him! Then
we will be saved.”
“Yes, yes!”
The visitor was dragged before them. He was beaten so he could
no longer stand. They hurled words of accusation, fear and contempt at him as
he weakened. Their howls of derision drowned out his cries of pain. The one who
had spoke approached the dying visitor, bearing the sword that would claim what
was left of his life.
“It was you,” said the visitor, “you were the Dybbuk.”
“I am,” said the Dybbuk, “and this city is mine.”
“You shall not succeed,” said the visitor.
The Dybbuk smiled coldly at him. “Your first warning was not
heeded, but only because it was directed at fools. I shall heed this new
warning. We shall not be defeated, for we know our true strength. We will stay
in the shadows and we will use the weaknesses of the fools against them, as I
have used them to destroy you, the one who would have saved them. Weep for your
Commonwealth, for you know we shall have it in the end.”
The visitor wept. The sword claimed his life.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Erle felt like weeping as well, for the nobility of the
visitor’s futile quest. This story had been entirely new to him, full of a
richness that he had never experienced.
He turned to Tinker, his mind full of questions. Tinker stopped
him with a shushing motion. “It is customary to spend the period between the
second and third Plays in silent contemplation. Think on what you have seen.”
Erle looked around. Rosanna’s eyes were wet, her compassion for
the visitor evident. Sombre faces predominated in the crowd, in contrast to the
earlier jocularity. Some openly shed tears.
But across the square was a face that stood out, for it
reflected anger. Erle knew that face. Though he had long, shiny hair now as
opposed to the close crop he had worn before, the man was unmistakeably Georg
Aldersparre
Erle knew Aldersparre. He had been a follower of the Fanatic
Arbanel Bazaine that had been broken up by the old Protector. Erle had been
with the Troops that had done the job. He had seen the atrocities which
Bazaine’s faction had committed, counted the corpses of women and children that
had been left to rot in the streets of Ges during the Terror. He doubted
whether the Boundary Guide remembered him, he had been an insignificant member
of the expedition, a young officer on his first mission. Other people had taken
the decisions. But he remembered Aldersparre. He had spat defiance even as he
had been bundled into the wagon that would transport him back to the capital
for judgement. He had no idea why Aldersparre had not been one of the dozen or
so who had been executed.
More to the point what was he doing here? He must have come in
with the delegation from Kahrain, Erle supposed.