The Color of the Chehirainan

"So I'm sure you understand, Professor."

Prince Taisiori of the West Enbalaku wasn't used to situations like this. It was true he was his father's son; not yet the king of the West Enbalaku, only the crown prince. It was also true that his kingdom was a member state of the empire of Echasailé. But here he sat with a commoner, a lowly hireling who worked for wages, and he was unquestionably the supplicant.

The professor leaned back into his overstuffed chair. He sipped his tea, the drink of paupers. (Prince Taisiori had brought a bottle of excellent plum wine, and the professor had only taken a polite sip.) He collected his thoughts for far longer than such a mercenary had any right to do, and finally spoke.

"While I respect your zeal for the empire, Your Highness, Teyoru Heridané is neutral in all political affairs. Our purpose is to preserve the Central Federation's scholarship, and to share it freely with all comers, should they furnish suitable proofs of their worthiness and sincerity."

"By paying you a fortune apiece," Prince Taisiori said with a scoff.

"If you would prefer to cease your studies, you are free to do so at any time."

"Your autonomy is granted by the empire," Prince Taisiori snapped. "It can be revoked."

The professor was silent. He courteously drank the wine Taisiori had poured for him, although it was clear that he didn't understand its subtleties.

"Let me express your argument in my own words," he said at last. "Chaiutas Ereh is more to blame than Saitoasis for the feud between them, because they were the ones who sold pirate cruises on their stock market, to the point that they swept the Green Bay of all shipping but their own."

"Surely the professor of sociology at Teyoru Heridané knows that this actually happened," Taisiori said. "It's not just 'my argument.'"

"I do know," the professor said, his aloof manner absent for a moment. "I lost a cousin to them."

Prince Taisiori was torn between compassion and a desire to press his advantage. Compassion was winning, but he was silent a moment too long.

"Given this," the professor said, "the unprecedented crimes of Saitoasis against them, while deserving of punishment --" he held up his hand for silence -- "deserve context as well. These crimes occurred in response to severe provocation. And the struggles of the twenty-five years since, have contained sufficient punishment already.

"The Chehirainan, of course, will accept nothing less than the deaths of the offenders and their entire chain of command, up to and including Mayor Naikhas, as is required by their religion."

The professor looked to Taisiori for a response.

"I wouldn't disagree with anything so far."

"Good," the professor said.

"You are particularly concerned," he continued, "with the conduct of Paruchaiti the Tiger, the fiercest leader of Chaiutas Ereh, who has repeatedly sabotaged peace negotiations. He has massacred whole caravans, encouraged piracy on the seas, assassinated imperial dignitaries, and orchestrated suicide bombings in Saitoasis' Last Leaves markets. He has told his young zealots that such a bombing is a warrior's death, which will bring them to Aitakeiro, while conspicuously not seeking such a death himself."

"You understand," Prince Taisiori said.

The professor nodded again. "You also believe that while most Chehirainan are petty thieves of little consequence, the minority of them who they call 'yituharan,' 'strong souls,' are exceedingly dangerous."

"Why talk like I believe in their religion?" Taisiori asked. "That petting-zoo rubbish is worthless, however shrill they are about it."

"I say this because, in drawing your distinction between common Chehirainan and men like Paruchaiti, you expressed a Chehiraineh religious belief. In your own words, of course, and not in flattering ones. But you expressed it." The professor's manner was so stern that Prince Taisiori sank back into his chair.

"We will cover, in class, how every society's imaginary contains a picture of itself, and how those pictures sometimes contain deep insights. I will have questions for you in that discussion.

"Now, let me summarize your argument to me, in a way that both you and your fellow student would understand.

"You believe that your fellow student Ridachiti is a yituhari. You were relieved -- and there is no point denying it, I have a full account of the matter -- when he almost died of cold, when winter set in. You believe that whatever he may do with his life, the strength of his soul will be so great that he will find some way to help his people and hurt your own. You believe that the time will come when Paruchaiti the Tiger is a footnote in history, compared to him.

"I see your hesitation. Let me warn you that I can fail you in your current class. I can also fail Ridachiti, should you persuade me more fully than you have. Tell me the truth, and remember that I can spot a liar. No matter how ridiculous it may sound in my hostile summary, is my account of your appraisal of Ridachiti correct?"

Prince Taisiori was silent.

The professor was silent in turn.

"Yes," the prince admitted at last.

"It's my appraisal of him too," the professor said, with a broad smile. "He has tremendous promise, and I wouldn't care to see that promise aimed at us. But the Chehirainan are poor and disorganized, highly visible but not very numerous. And even if they were strong, united, and rich, it's in the nature of things for most people's promise to fail to play out."

The prince thought about that, and drank tea instead of wine as he thought. The vintage he'd brought was one that should be taken with one's full attention, or else not drunk at all.

"You don't have to be his friend," the professor said, "but I don't want feuds among our students. Have you spent time in the Chehiraineh quarter, here in our city?"

"I'd be knifed if I went in."

"Kasiri of Isheirataké wasn't. And he saved Ridachiti's life. Why not seek him out as a guide?"

Taisiori nodded cautiously.

"And while it's not part of the class," the professor added, "please teach me more about this wine."

#

Taisiori sought Kasiri out that same evening, ostensibly to discuss a question on which they'd differed in class. He brought a middling vintage, since he was calling on a machinist's son. Kasiri remarked on the wine's inferiority with his first sip, and used it as a pretext to stonewall him shamelessly. So Taisiori resolved to explore the Chehiraineh quarter alone.

They had one day off from their studies per week, the same pace at which hirelings worked. (There was something coarse and menial about the university, demanding though its studies were.) Taisiori spent his next day off getting fitted out in Chehiraineh clothing, and he discovered that it was a joy to wear. He had a close-fitting tunic down to mid-thigh, trousers loose in the thigh and tight in the calf, soft and comfortable leather boots, an octagonal cloak with a brooch on the right shoulder, and a brimless cap with a broad, high crown; he could add a neck veil in hot weather. There was even an officer's belt in the old Federation style, which his tailor insisted was a sword belt, and should only be worn when he was wearing his sword.

He called at a nobleman's ball that evening, and was an instant sensation.

He remained so proud of his new clothes that he wore them to breakfast, with his professor and his fellow students, the next morning.

Entering the snug little lecture hall, where the students took their meals with the professor, he smiled at first as every head turned to him. But then he saw the anger on Ridachiti's face. And on Kasiri's as well. He realized for the first time that when Kasiri never ate breakfast, he was following Chehiraineh custom.

"Professor Entuharan asked me to pass some time in the Chehiraineh quarter," Prince Taisiori said, trying to keep the note of apology out of his voice. "Shouldn't I look the part?"

"You're spying on us," Ridachiti said. "And your tailor..."

He caught himself, gripped his mug of holly tea firmly in both hands, and took a sip to hide his expression.

"My tailor?" Taisiori asked.

Ridachiti blushed. Kasiri chuckled. Colonel Nihuras, who knew Chehiraineh culture decently well, laughed aloud.

"Those beads say who you are," the colonel said. He was a senior figure in the Imperial Guard; like Kasiri, he was studying here to prepare for another promotion. "Ridachiti has a blank cap, since he's young. But blue, red, and blue mean you're a married woman, with a seat on a linage council."

Taisiori blushed furiously, Ridachiti bit his tongue, and the rest of the room laughed aloud.

"I thought you understood this implicitly," Professor Entuharan said. "If no one who can go there will act as your guide, you should stay out of the Chehiraineh quarter.

"We'll cover this in a later lecture. All colors have implicit meanings, written deep in the human heart. Over time, peoples and institutions come to use the colors that suit their values best. White is purity. Black is strength." Black and white were the colors of the empire. "Red, which the Iradens love --" he nodded to Kasiri, who was half-Iraden, and had their red hair -- "means passion. Purple for rank, green for freedom. Brown is obedience, pink is youth, gold is both youth and prosperity. But blue means loyal service, devotion to one's own. And blue is the color of the Chehirainan."