after The Fisherman and the Ifrit
At the end of the Age of Rains, a fisherwoman named Idralla became queen in Abdera, the largest city-state on the western coast of Mars’ Hellas Sea. At that time in Abdera the monarch was determined by an elaborate system that sometimes produced unexpected results; the ascension of a fisherwoman to the throne was one. When the previous monarch announced she would retire, Idralla, then thirty years old, was selected successor, and her training began. Ten years later, the old queen retired and Idralla took her place.
Of every seven days, Idralla devoted five and a half to matters of state; a half-day to the care of her small fishing boat; and a day to fishing as she had in her youth: not far off the coast, in the company of the city’s other fishers, under the same sun or storm and wearing the same clothes.
Idralla ruled well. She was a wise woman whose wisdom consisted mainly in restraint. She ensured her ministers were competent and trustworthy, then let them handle day-to-day affairs. When a citizen complained that a minister had acted unjustly, she heard the case; when a matter fell into the portfolios of more than one minister, she ensured they conferred with one another; when ministers disagreed, she guided them in finding agreement. She gave her most careful ministers responsibility for trade and war, instructing them to defend Abdera’s interests but initiate no hostilities. It was a volatile time: the water level in the Hellas Sea rose and fell; great rains and years-long dust storms came and went; so too did droughts and famines. Millennia of terraforming had made Mars habitable, but not—by far—clement. Under such conditions, war often seemed inevitable, and Idralla’s predecessors had made Abdera no few enemies. But under her rule the proposals of Abdera’s expansionist councilors found no ear; the army and navy were tasked only with defending the nation’s traders abroad and rebuffing the expansionist impulses of their neighbors. Idralla told her cabinet: “See that each child is fed, warm in winter and dry in summer, and cared for; see that those who must be learned are taught; see that no fisher is without boat and net, no farmer without a mule, no merchant without a cart; see that the army and navy defend our walls and fleets, but start no wars; in civil disputes seek the good of each, not judging a learned woman more important than a farmer, or a trader more important than a teacher.”
And so it was for the first twelve years of Idralla’s reign. The climate was benevolent, Abdera prospered quietly, and the troublesome and adventurous sought their fortunes elsewhere. But in the twelfth year of her reign, a drought came to the western basin. After three years of unrest, war broke out between Hisarla to the north and Orika to the southeast. Both city-states sent emissaries to Abdera; Idralla heard them but refused their requests for military aid, instead announcing a policy of neutrality and opening refugee camps near Abdera’s borders with both nations. Defectors from both armies, war-weary and malnourished, began trickling in to the camps; the rulers of the belligerent states objected. Idralla replied that it was impossible to tell defecting soldiers apart from peasants whose livelihoods had been destroyed by the hostilities; though true, this did not defuse the situation. Eventually Idralla received reports of land armies massing on both borders; the generals surmised that Hisarla and Orika had decided to suspend their war on each other and invade Abdera instead.
“This is an unfortunate development,” said Idralla. She summoned her advisors. The generals reported that although the invading armies were worn thin, together they still outnumbered Abdera’s forces; a simultaneous defense of both fronts would be risky.
The queen said: “Suppose our soldiers advance not as a mass, but secretly, clothed as farmers. Suppose they do not confront the invaders at our borders in daylight but instead attack them from behind, once they have entered our country, after nightfall. What would be required for such a plan to send the invaders running back to their own lands?”
“My queen,” one general said cautiously after a long silence, “that is not the honorable tradition into which our soldiers are trained.”
“I know,” the queen said. “It gives me no pleasure to ask. But in combining their forces against us when we have done them no harm, it is the Hisarlans and Orikans who have strayed first from honor. What does honor win us if there is no-one left to celebrate the deeds of the honorable?”
The silence of grim acceptance filled the chamber.
“I believe it could work,” said another general finally. “The officers are trained not only to fight and obey but also to think. With good instructions, they can carry out this plan.”
“Can you craft such instructions?” the queen asked.
“Yes,” the general said.
Eventually the plan was agreed.
“Regarding morale,” one of the generals said finally, by way of a question to the queen.
“Tell them the truth,” she said.
Then, as it was the sixth day, Idralla walked down to the harbor to care for her boat. She walked unescorted, befitting a respected queen in her own city, speaking with this person and that, but not discussing matters of state. The next morning she rowed out to fish. The sky was clear and the sea calm. There were dozens of boats out; their crews called to each other in greeting. The city’s colorful buildings receded from view as she rowed, and in the morning she cast her nets. At midday she put up her oars, fetched out her lunch, and sat. Looking up, she saw suddenly that there was another woman in the boat. She was young, with short dark hair and brown eyes, shorter than most women her age but otherwise unremarkable. She wore practical clothing under a light cloak. She stood easily, resting a hand on the side of the boat. The queen looked up with some surprise, but smoothed her expression.
“Welcome, guest,” the queen said.
“Thank you,” the newcomer replied.
“I regret I have little to offer in hospitality,” the queen said, gesturing around her. It was a small boat. “But please, sit.”
The woman put her hands beneath her and sat, just as the queen was sitting, in the bottom of the boat, her back resting against the side.
“Would you like something to eat?” the queen asked.
“Thank you,” the woman said.
The queen broke some bread and wrapped it around some fish; the woman took it and ate.
When she was almost finished, she looked at the queen. “Thank you,” she said again. “That is good bread, and good fish.”
“Thank you,” the queen said. “Have you traveled far?” she asked.
“Not so very far,” the woman replied, gesturing to the southwest.
At this the queen began to suspect that the woman was Afari and a sorcerer, and not a sea spirit, as she had first thought: one of the Afari strongholds was said to be in the southern foothills of the Hellespont Mountains to the west.
“May your task be successful,” the queen said.
“Thank you,” the woman replied. “I suspect it will not be easy.”
The queen made a sound of acknowledgment, then said, “I’ve been told life is full of difficult tasks.”
The woman looked down and smiled. “I’ve been told that as well,” she said.
She continued, seemingly with some reluctance, “I am a student of philosophy. I have a dispute with some fellow students. You seem to be someone of knowledge and experience. Perhaps you could advise me.”
By this the queen knew with near certainty that the woman was Afari, as one of the Afarit’s names for themselves, the Idun, had come from the word for “student” in an ancient language. And she began to suspect that this woman, despite her youth, was someone of importance, as it was said that the most powerful and respected—and dangerous—Afarit were also the most humble.
The queen said, “It is a blessing to have something to occupy one’s mind while one’s hands are busy. But I am no philosopher.”
“That may be,” the woman said. You are well spoken for a fisherwoman, she did not say. She continued, “The question is an ancient one. I do not expect to be able to answer it for all time when our elders have not. But our teachers say that some questions are answered with actions, and each generation must live its own answers.”
By this the queen knew that the woman knew who the queen was, and had come to answer, for herself and perhaps for all the Afarit, a matter not of abstract doctrine but concrete policy.
The woman said, “The question is, can evil means bring about a good end?”
The queen’s heart beat faster. What were the Afarit planning, or considering? Assassination would be no surprise, given what was said about them. The queen would fight, if she must, although she expected the younger woman could best her. But the question seemed larger than one life. The Afarit were said to possess strange weapons against which the armies of nations had no defenses. Perhaps the conversation was not merely a matter of her own life or death, but the life or death of whole peoples. But which peoples? Her own? Her enemies? Maybe the Afarit did not think in such terms at all.
“There are many sages in Abdera,” the queen began. “Sometimes one hears them talking.”
The woman looked at her.
“I once heard one say,” the queen continued, “that life seeks mainly to survive and grow its capabilities, and that is what we call good. Nations too seek to survive and grow, and to join other nations in more capable wholes. This is not evil. Evil requires choice; without choice, there is no evil. The fox who eats the hen does no evil, nor the farmer who kills the fox to protect her hens. Evil is choosing to end a life or curtail its joys when there is no threat to one’s own, merely for the pleasure of exercising power, for instance, or out of boredom. Evil is the seed of revenge, so whatever good one hopes to reach by evil means is easily poisoned; one cannot plan on a good end. So evil means may bring about a good end, but when it does, it is only luck; the good end cannot justify the evil means.”
The woman continued to look at her. She held the unfinished food in her hand.
“That is what I remember, in any case,” the queen said.
The woman nodded, then looked away.
“It is a refreshing answer,” she said. “‘Yes, but one should refrain from them anyway.’”
The queen made an amused sound, then shrugged. “Well,” she said. “Life is complicated.”
The woman laughed shortly. “Yes,” she said. She stood carefully, resting her free hand against the side of the boat behind her. She put the rest of the bread and fish in her mouth. “This is good food,” she said when she had eaten it. “Simple, but filling. Thank you.”
“It is a blessing to be able to satisfy a guest,” the queen said.
“Perhaps it will not be the last time,” the woman said.
The queen hid her smile by nodding acknowledgment. When she raised her head, the woman was gone.
The next morning the generals reported that after a few skirmishes, both invading armies had returned to their own lands; by evening, messages arrived from Hisarla and Orika announcing the end of hostilities. Both nations sent diplomats to Abdera to negotiate peace.
Idralla ruled into late middle age, when she announced she would retire. Her daughter became a trusted minister to the next queen, who in the first twenty-nine years of her life had been a blacksmith.
M. Six Silberman, 2021
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