Serial
99: Signed language
March 28th, 33 S.D. 12:06 Balawanda, Sventa-Henron Border
To the north of the Ganglan Pass, between the lands of Sventa and Henron, the minor clan of Falhan sat in a rather small settlement. They were only four closely linked villages at the most, and their members numbered at only a few hundred. They had survived in the Central Plains not by affiliating themselves with stronger major clans, but by remaining both neutral and obscure. Only a handful of people in either Sventa or Henron had heard of the Falhan. Nevertheless, history would forever remember them on this day.
The peace treaty for formally ending the Sventa-Henron war was to be signed at a place both clans could agree on. An unbiased third-party was a particular rarity in the plains, but the Falhan presented themselves exactly as such. They had happily agreed to host the event from their humble home. That afternoon, a total of 14 ambassadors �" seven from each side - had come to the central hall in Balawanda, the Falhan’s largest village.
Despite the size of their clan, the Falhan had remarkably refined buildings. Their hall was as ornate as anything Losha had seen in Sevia or Capital City. Every grain of wood was smooth and polished, every window was perfectly clear, and all the furniture had quality crafting. The main chamber was long and large, fitted with various drapes that dropped all the way from the ceiling. In this room, a great table sat near the far wall. Like a giant “U” straightened with hard angles, it had two sides connected by a shorter middle section.
On one section, the Sventa delegation took their seats, and across from them were their Henron counterparts. Losha, however, found herself at the center. Her brother, Harle, occupied the chair on her right. Tibil and Liveta placed themselves on the left. Between them all, however, the Falhan elder headed a special position, to ensure everything went accordingly. He was an old man, nearly as aged as Albolt. Over the years, he’d grown bald, yet two prominent locks of white hair dangled loosely from his ears down to his shoulder, both tied up neatly.
“Are we ready to begin the process?” Medai asked, looking around at both clans.
“Sa, Ver Medai. We of Henron are ready to begin,” Liveta said.
“Sa, Ver Medai. We of Sventa are ready to begin,” Harle echoed.
For a moment, Losha looked down at herself. Everything she had worked for had finally culminated to this specific event. In a sense, her surroundings seemed unreal, as if the scene before her were from a dream. Even so, as she breathed in, glancing at everyone present, Losha couldn’t deny what was happening. At last, a true end for this wretched fighting.
“Today we gather here to mark the close of the war known as the Fifth Central Conflict of Sventa-Henron,” Medai started. Because the Central Plains were littered with various wars, the clans had developed a unique system of naming them. Each was given a number, followed by the region, and then the participants. The number signified the current war-count between the belligerents. In all their years existing near one another, this was only the fifth time Sventa and Henron had gone to battle. Negotiating the terms of peace like this, however, was a definite first.
“We come here to acknowledge this document, the so-called Treaty of Balawanda, to not only sign it with our honor, dignity, and word, but to put it into practice. To only speak of peace is easy. Actually abiding by it, now there is something admirable. The terms of this agreement are binding on both accounts, for Sventa as well as Henron. Before we commit ourselves to anything, we shall review the points set forth by the treaty.”
Medai coughed lightly as he brought up a sheet of paper to his eyes. Copies lay in front of everyone, so they all read along with him. The text was the complete version Albolt had written up with revisions the Tabran had requested. For the sake of brevity, Medai simplified the language as he spoke aloud.
“Article One: Effective immediately after the signing of this document, both clans must acknowledge an official end to this war. All hostility between Sventa and Henron must cease at once. Inter-clan aggression shall not be permitted afterwards, not without seeking mediation as the first means of resolution.”
The war was already over, effectively. Both armies had withdrawn to their respective territories. Nevertheless, the first article had to be written out. The last bit was an addition Losha had heavily pushed for. Although Sventa had reached out to Henron about a year ago, those talks had been rebuffed. Shortly on the heels of that, Henron openly declared war. There had to be a better mechanism in place, an obligation for both clans to speak face-to-face before plunging into bloodshed.
“Article Two: As a result of this conflict, Henron officially forfeits claims of the Talimer Forest.”
That simple dispute had initially triggered everything. How odd it seemed that it could now be brushed aside with a single sentence. Losha’s mind returned to the notion that Henron had been manipulated from the very start, given a false cause to rally around in order to breed violence across the land. She wondered if that unknown person or group was among those seated with her...
“Article Three: In light of the hazards posed by serastone, Sventa and Henron shall ban the mining, refining, processing, sale, or distribution of the material. Except in limited circumstances for peaceful research, no one may possess serastone. No one may possess weapons that utilize serastone. All research into manufacturing such weapons must be disposed of at once. Henron shall restrict access to any deposits they control. Sventa shall likewise restrict access to any they discover on their soil. All information regarding serastone located in either clan shall be freely, openly, and frequently communicated with the other.”
Though it may have seemed tempting to hold onto, the capabilities of serastone simply proved too much for Henron. They readily forfeited the single greatest weaponry the Central Plains had ever seen. As Liveta had mentioned, the power of serastone was chilling. A single shard could potentially obliterate entire cities. A sizable chunk stored enough seras to conquer entire clans overnight. Serastone represented terrible might, strength that could crush all, however, it also threatened everyone. It could just as easily have destroyed Henron, the very same people who developed and used it. In any hands, the stone was an indiscriminate danger.
Losha remained especially concerned about the matter. It was her duty to see that the world learned serialization safely and responsibly. In her eyes, serastone let people use seras without having to study the principles behind the art. They didn’t need to know about the fine details; they just had to pick up a certain rock and go from there. It meant they didn’t need her to teach them, and they didn’t need the values she wished to instill upon her students either. If serastone ever proliferated in the Central Plains, if the situation every got beyond her control, Nabel Viska would surely step into the picture again. She got lucky this time, but...
“Article Four: Both Sventa and Henron shall endeavor to the utmost of their abilities to return the remains of every combatant to their appropriate homeland. Concerning any prisoners of war, Sventa and Henron unconditionally agree to free all held subjects to their given clan.”
Though the treaty officially stated this exchange was supposed to be without strings attached, Avil the Noven Hawk, TRIBLADE’s premiere sniper, was an exception, off the books of course. Losha knew that from Liveta, but the Wolf couldn’t help wondering if there were not more like that man.
“Article Five: Sventa will recognize the new government in Henron as the legitimate authority of the Henron clan. They will refrain from any such actions that may destabilize the political mood of Henron.”
Some hawkish elements of the Tabran persisted, despite the overwhelming opposition in favor of negotiations. Just as well, undoubtedly loyalist sentiment had not been completely stamped out in Henron. Though supporters of Heigon and Govan were few and marginal now, they sat in hiding, undeterred in their beliefs. A number of people in either Sventa or Henron could stir up trouble. Even so, by accepting this treaty, Sventa and Henron would stay vigilant against rouge actors of any sort.
“Article Six: From this moment onward, neither Sventa nor Henron will pursue acts of war against one another without exhausting all viable means of diplomacy. Combat shall be judged an effort of last resort. Each clan is hereby required to maintain and uphold regular contacts with the other through various officials.”
In the Central Plains, battle was far too often the choice tool for all. It was among the first options sought by many clans to settle their issues. Now, however, that notion had to change. The Treaty of Balawanda mandated dialog first and foremost. It promoted understanding, a move that could have prevented a majority of all wars on the plains. This type of accord was unlike any other for this region of the world. No one regularly talked over their problems with their neighbors, even when some clans had relatively good ties with others. Generally, the primary response to any slight, offense, or grievance relied on confrontation, no matter who it was.
If Albolt’s version of the future proved correct, however, Sventa and Henron would push the boundaries of cooperation further than anyone else in their history. Once the new Henron Council formed, not only would the clans establish lasting diplomatic channels, a separate set of treaties and deals afterwards aimed to draw their peoples closer. As the old minister envisioned it, trade, travel, and culture would flow across their borders. In truth, none of these aspirations had any precedent. Nothing of that sort had ever happened among the 14 major clans. No one really knew what challenges would face Sventa of Henron as they adapted to new rules and roles. Even so, Losha felt optimistic. They had already overcome the horrors of a bloody war to make it this far. Surely they could achieve what many thought impossible.
“Article Seven: Failure to meet the obligations of this treaty shall result in the loss of face before the Central Plains.”
This last bit of the document served as a means to prevent either side from breaking their promise. The treaty itself was mere paper, incapable of enforcing the will written into its words. It needed tangible repercussions. In the Central Plains, a hierarchy existed between the major clans, a scale of dominance and influence. Part of the equation consisted of raw military prowess, lands controlled, and overall wealth. Another portion of that rank was determined purely on image. Though a clan could be strong, if its actions demonstrated unfavorable characteristics, others would rate them lowly. It was more than popularity; those who lost face were treated with disrespect and mistrust, elements that could spark more trouble, dooming them to continual bouts of armed combat, in turn leading to economic troubles internally.
To another extent, minor clans were very sensitive to a major clan’s status. They avoided those with poor reputations and affiliated with better clans. Though in the grand scheme, minor clans played little part in the Central Plains, they were still a boon to major clans. They provided diversity and skills not found elsewhere, supplementing the larger population. A major clan with fewer minor clans often stagnated and lagged behind their peers. In short, attracting minor clans was important to any major clan.
“That concludes the summary of the treaty’s terms,” Medai said. “I believe you all have carefully studied this beforehand, sa? If that is the case, what do Sventa and Henron say to signing the treaty?”
“Sventa has no quarrel about the terms. We are ready to sign the treaty,” Harle said.
“Henron agrees,” Tibil confirmed. “We will sign the treaty.”
Medai nodded slowly. “Very well. I would ask that all members of this meeting gather around for the signing.”
At that time, two assistants to Medai entered the room, carrying a small table. They set it down in the very center; at once they produced a small jar of ink along with a long, elegant quill. They were to scribe their names on 3 copies of the treaty. One would go with Sventa, the other with Henron, and the last would stay with the Falhan. This would ensure that no one could ever forget the pact being made today; there would always be a version for reference. No one could ever claim the treaty never really existed or deny its contents. Medai spread each of the three across the table.
“As a witness to these events, I shall sign first,” he said, dabbing the end of the quill. “Let us remember this day for ages to come. Let it live throughout all memory. We, the Falhan, recognize what has transpired here.”
The rest of the delegates wrote their names in triplicate. Each side took turns, first Henron, then Sventa. Eventually, after Harle and Liveta signed, it was only Losha and Tibil left.
“At last,” Tibil said, taking up the pen. “It has finally come down to this.”
He put his mark on the papers, then handed the pen over to Losha. As she started to form her letters, a sudden voice echoed distantly in her ear.
“With the likes of pens and paper, swords and shields shall fall, and our conflict will be nevermore...”
Was this what Suvla meant all along? That the end of their vicious feud would not be on the battlefield, but in a room like this? As the seer’s words faded, Losha finished her signature. When she lifted the quill away, the treaty was sealed. Everyone clapped amongst themselves, smiling at the deed they had collectively accomplished. Losha was relieved that the wretched war had come to an end, however, she couldn’t help feeling apprehensive as she recalled the rest of Suvla’s prophecy.
Her thoughts were soon interrupted by the latter portion of the day’s planned events, namely the upcoming feast. It was a symbolic as well as practical meal. On one hand it would showcase the new-found friendship that was beginning to grow. On the other side, it would help Sventa and Henron representatives personally socialize with their partners and create working relationships. It would turn into a busy afternoon, and perhaps drag on into the evening, so immediately after the treaty was forged and set, they exited to prepare themselves. But like a whisper, her warning slithered through the air.
“Yet these are not the years of peace...”
Far into the night, at the blackest hour of all, the Sventa delegation rode away, heading back towards Sevia. In the coach the Holvate usually reserved for their trips to the Tabran, Losha and Harle sat together, side-by-side.
“Finally, you get to come home to us,” Harle said. “And this time you will stay, sa?”
“Of course,” Losha laughed. “I do think my business abroad is done for the moment.”
“Great! Now about business at home...” Harle began.
“The Torom?” Losha frowned. She still had not developed any fondness for politics, even if it was her job dealt with Sventa’s internal affairs.
“Hah hah! No, no, that is not what I meant. You are a natural handling some of the fools in the Tabran, but you can leave stuff of that sort to mother and me. I was talking about your art, serialization.”
“Oh,” Losha said. “What about it, brother?”
“What exactly happens from here on out?” he asked. “I am sure that after the past few months, your fame has now spread across most of the Central Plains. Everyone will have heard about serialization at this point. Serastone is a taboo, effectively, but the art you practice is not. There is a great deal of power resting in your hands, Losha. I suppose I am just curious what you will do next. You did speak of running your own school some time ago.”
“Well, sa, I do not believe I told you about the circumstances under which I returned home from Palostrol...” Losha started, casting her eyes down for a brief instant.
“Circumstances?” Harle repeated.
“To put it simply, the school in Palostrol was permanently closed. The art has been entrusted to me alone.”
“Just you? What about the rest of your classmates?”
“None of them reached my level. With my master’s passing, serialization has but one available teacher through me. Aside from Denze and Mesel... the other students left.”
“Sa, so without you, serialization gets lost to time.”
“In a manner of speaking, precisely.” A great number of details were overlooked in her explanation, but now was not the proper moment to reveal them. Some day, she would, when the time was more appropriate.
“I am going to start over again where my master left off. I want to start my own school, build my own following. But with that comes a heavy responsibility. Serialization holds incredible potential, both positive and negative. You know very well what I am capable of doing now. My powers would be frightening if abused. If I pass on my knowledge, I will have to ensure that it is properly applied. We could easily find ourselves living in a dangerous world if it ever goes out of control.”
“Even so, I truly believe that we can use serialization peacefully, to bring about a new era for us. This could completely change the face of the Continent. Just imagine if everyone could serialize; we would push humanity to a level yet unheard of. I do not mean to sound so grandiose, but once you discover what your soul can do, it... it opens your eyes I suppose. It will not be easy, not in the least. I think some trouble will be unavoidable, but all the same, I am hopeful. Nothing is beyond our reach.”
For a moment, it seemed as if she were trying to convince someone like Nabel rather than her own brother. She wondered if he ever thought of serialization as a threat. He simply smiled widely at her.
“That sounds awfully exciting though. A school all your own... You will get plenty of willing pupils now with your notoriety,” he chuckled a bit. “You know, it is strange. You probably will change everything. You are going to alter the flow of history forever. But sitting here right beside you; I do not know how to say this, but it just seems so surreal. You are my dearest sister, my little Losha. Yet years from now, who can say? You may have you name etched upon earth itself.”
“Stop that nonsense,” she said, shaking her head. “I highly doubt that. A mark or two in the books sure, maybe even a building named after me, yet nothing else so bold.”
“And in 10 or 15 years, when you are renown by all the Central Plains, will you still be so modest?” he grinned, teasing her.
“Sa, I should say so! I already have serialization at my command. I need not add an ego to the mix.”
“Do not speak as if you do not have one at all though,” laughed.
“Why you...” she laughed in return.
It was good to joke about the future like so, to make light of the days to come. In all likelihood, things would only grew more serious as this new age progressed. She could sense it, a vague force moving toward her through the streams of time. Eventually, something big was going to happen, something that would quite possibly shake the entire Central Plains, perhaps even the Continent at large. She had no idea when or where or how it would strike, but she knew as long as she headed down this path, it would meet them all. For now, however, it was enough for her to enjoy the intimacy of the family she’d so often been pulled away from. Losha intended to relish the next few months following her true homecoming.
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