21 - 21-1 and 21-5-7

Section 21: Conditions of taking office
Subsection 1: Disclosure
An Ascendant shall reveal clearly and completely to Assembly any information that might cast doubt on their ability to perform the office or suitability to maintain the position of Demarch.

Subsection 5: Conditions of Acceptance of Office
Subsequent to the Assembly chalk vote approving an Ascendant as Demarch, the Ascendant will only accept approval so long as: …

7) they know of no information that might cast doubt on their ability to perform the office or suitability to maintain the position of Demarch.

-Demarchic Statute, Statutes of Yeola-e

†

I’d started studying law at twelve, the simpler ones; when I was thirteen, my tutor judged me ready for the more complex ones, and assigned me a law instructor, Sichera-e Sinisal, the most prominent advocate in Vae Arahi who also had time and inclination to teach an anaraseye. He had the smell of books in his plain dark grey tunic and kilt, and his hair, which was salt-and-pepper, pulled back into the pristine knot that was typical of legal people, but his face was less proper and more inclined to smile than most, with laugh-wrinkles coming out like a quarter-spider-web from the outside corners of his eyes. His beard was particolour, black on the chin and white on either side of it, as I’d never seen, and I’d sometimes study it when I should be studying what he was saying. He was affable but still dry.

“So let’s look at what exactly it means,” he said, after he’d had me read the Statute semanakraseye 21-1 to him. “You have to tell Assembly anything you know that might cast doubt—the word ‘might’ makes it more open, which is to say, you don’t have to be certain that it would cast doubt, only know that it might—the law was written to require you to lean towards revelation—on your ability or suitability.”

I tried not to look out the window, smell the breeze or hear the shrieking laughter of other kids on the mountain, none of whom worked as long as I did.

“Note this wording comes up in two laws—there is also 21-5, conditions of acceptance of the office, the seventh one being knowing no information that might cast doubt, etc,” Sichera-e droned. “So it’s not just a crime to not disclose such information, but also to accept the position when you know it, and generally semanakraseyel who are charged under one are charged under both. Though there was one case, Eighth Alachao Shae-Krina in 661, who refused the position but wanted not to divulge the information and so was charged but…”

The scent of cedar and purple-spear flowers wafted in through the open shutters. First sunny day in four, it’s so beautiful out there…

“Now what ‘ability’ means is straightforward, of course. Can you do the work—do you have the knowledge, mental capacity, and so forth.” I know what ‘ability’ means, I thought snippily. “It’s ‘suitability’ that’s a little more hard to understand, and here again, our forebears in their wisdom used a very broad word so as to require an anaraseye to err on the side of openness. What is ‘suitability,’ outside of ability? Well, it can be a number of things. Here we have to look to the precedents to understand.”

All-Spirit, this is going to take forever. Mana, Krero and Sachara were out there, curse them. Sichera-e opened the case law book, began flipping through pages in his practiced way. “Here’s an example. 973, Third Kyara Shae-Arano-e, never war-trained, felt that he was unsuitable as Yeola-e was beset with war on three borders at the time, when his younger sister First Somora had proved herself brilliant in war—not a case of revealing information precisely as it was known that he…”

My mind wandered, out the window and up past the cedar grove, while I listened to the precedents with the half-ear that is sufficient to repeat back words if necessary that students learn to use. “548… secret past behaviour made her prone to blackmail by enemies… 809… impeached for not having revealed his drinking habit and accepting approval nonetheless, breaches of 21-1 and 21-5-7 both as I said and he was charged under both and impeached…” There was a parry-counter Azaila was teaching me that I couldn’t quite get; I did it over and over in my mind. “…not ability, suitability, you see… bodily she was plenty strong and vigorous and the disease would not affect her mind, but, as the Haian testified, it invariably causes sudden nervous degeneration and death between the ages of twenty and twenty-five, so her term of office was certain to be inappropriately brief.”

The whole world froze. My body felt as if it had turned to stone, except for the tingles seeping sickeningly out of the centre of me and down my arms and legs.

“…so you can see how the distinction was made here; while she was able, in that nothing prevented her performing all the duties of a semanakraseye, she could be seen to be unsuitable. Assembly concurred that she was, and her younger sister Fifth Tyeraha was designated the successor. What is best is that the anaraseye reveal the information to Assembly and let it be the judge.”

All the blood just drained out of my face, I must look like a ghost, he’ll see… I couldn’t move. I put all my mind into taking a very slow long breath.

“1243, Sixth Artira; she was charged but acquitted after she made the case that she hadn’t thought the information might cast doubt on her suitability, and that was reasonable, with which the judges of the Arch Arbitrate concurred because… Lad, are you all right?”

Breathe… think… talk… lie. “Y-yes,” I croaked from a bone-dry throat. “I just… Sichera-e… I’m sorry, but… this is all so interesting that… I let it go much too long… I have to go to the privy really, really badly.” Let him think it was the runs, since that can sometimes cause pallor. On watery legs I scrambled out.

Alone within four walls, I sat shaking. Yeola-e wouldn’t want two short terms of office and regencies in a row. When I die it will be a shock of grief, same as my father—except that I could have prevented it. I could still serve Yeola-e as a warrior… These things were all clearer now that I understood so much more than when I’d been seven. I closed my eyes and fought back tears; I still had to go back to Sichera-e and the lesson.

Using every warrior-trick I had I pulled myself back together, stumbled through the rest of the lesson, and ran outside afterwards, letting no one see me, to a cleft in the rock that is fairly high up Hetharin. I squeezed into it, and closed my eyes again. Playing it all out was what I must do.

I tell. No one will marry me—either because they don’t want to suffer what my other parents did when my father was killed, or else, if they don’t believe in foreknowledge, because they think I’m crazy. Just not being able to marry makes me unsuitable… I tell Assembly, let them be the judge… they vote charcoal on me, and I am Chevenga Aicheresa, not Fourth Chevenga Shae-Arano-e, forever more. In the meantime everyone tries either to cure me of the madness, or protect me from the danger. Lock me in a tower, tie me to a bed, someone watching me every instant; either way, I’m in chains, however softly they’re padded and gently they’re wrapped around me.

I don’t tell. I marry, and have to deceive the one I claim to love all my life, along with Mana and whoever he finds. Every plan we make, I pretend I’ll be there to see fulfilled, every child we have, I pretend I’ll be there to see grow up… I wear a false smile while we speak of next year when I am twenty-nine… could I do this, even if I tried? I break the law of Yeola-e, the Statute semanakraseyeni that is sacred to me, and have to go each day into Assembly and my office in the shirt, knowing I am in truth a criminal…

Either way was unbearable. Fairly near that cleft is a cliff. I staggered there now and sat on the edge, letting my tears fall into the yawning height. Here I am again… one push-off with my hands, and all my worries are over.

But another part of me insisted that my situation being as bad as it seemed was simply implausible. Surely life, that I had always loved, could not be so bitter. There is a vein of hope in me that can be very strong, and it was stronger when I was a child. At the very least I should speak with my mother before I jumped.

I went down. She was busy in a meeting with Veraha, Esora-e and Denaina (I know people from other nations find the idea of spouses having meetings odd, but it is absolutely necessary in Yeola-e, I assure you). Then, since she liked cooking and so had long accepted a shift in the kitchens, it was dinner-making; then it was dinner. She was wearing a black ribbon around her head; she’d got a letter from Chavinel saying an aunt of hers had died, she told us over dinner. Of course I had no one else to ask whether they thought she’d rather hear my trouble now or not. If I were her, I decided, I would. After dinner she was busy with a dispute brought to her by Naiga and Sishana. I did my homework. When things finally went quiet in her room, I went in.

Only the cedar grove felt private enough, so we went there, and I laid it all out for her, trying and failing to stay dry-eyed.

“First thing, Chevenga,” she said, “you are only thirteen. Under these laws, you are not committing a crime until you are twenty; that’s seven years to decide. It doesn’t have to be this instant.”

All my breath heaved out of me. I hadn’t thought of that. Still, it left my mind not made up, not a place I’ve ever liked being, in all my life. “If I decide not to accept approval, I should tell them in good time,” I said. “I shouldn’t leave it until just before.”

“Even a year before wouldn’t be just before, and that gives you six years. It’s not just the time, Chevenga; it’s that your own understanding will grow so much greater in that time. You shouldn’t decide now, in truth.”

“Right—I’m only thirteen, and I don’t know anything.”

She allowed a smile. “You know more than most your age; but as the years go by you will learn more that will make it clear which way is best to decide.”

“Which do you think?”

She stroked my hair. “I gave you such advice when you were eight because then you couldn’t have borne the truth. But now you’re old enough. The truth is that you, and only you, can choose that.”

I’m not so sure I can bear it, I thought, and yet I could enough to understand this was true.

“Mama, do you think if I told, Assembly would vote not to approve me?”

She sighed, and tangled her hand in my hair as she did when she wanted me to feel a loving clench. “My gift of foreknowledge is not so good, love. And the Assembly we have now might not even be the Assembly we have in seven years. I can’t know.”

“It’s likely, though, isn’t it? Whether they thought I was right, or I was crazy… they wouldn’t want Yeola-e to suffer again as it did with Daddy, and you can’t have a mad semanakraseye… aigh.” I pressed my face into my hands. “I’m not sure why I’m even asking… the law is clear. Sichera-e explained it… they worded it broad, to lean the anaraseye towards telling, that’s why it’s ‘might cast doubt’. If I don’t tell, I’m breaking the law, no two ways about it. But if I tell… my life will be ruined.” I repeated for her what I had played out, and she couldn’t disagree with much of it.

Tears came burning again, and all my strength drained out of me. She pulled me into her lap, just as when I’d been much younger, except not as much of me would fit. I hadn’t done that since I’d got my wristlets. “I’m not too big for this?” I sobbed.

“No and I sincerely hope you never think you are.”

“You’d still let me do this when I’m a man? I’ll be so heavy it will hurt your knees.”

“I’ll just hug your big head, then.”

I let it out, burying myself in her. Somewhere here had to be the oblivion of comfort I remembered from much younger.

My father lived only to twenty-seven, and he’s going to be remembered as a good semanakraseye, I thought, when calm had mostly settled over me. He did enough in the time he had that no one wishes he hadn’t been. The thought of telling, and still being approved, tempted me with its beauty. If I made my arguments well enough... ‘Come back to reality,’ I told myself.

“Mama,” I whispered, “if Daddy had been in my place, what do you think he would have done?”

There was silence, just her hand caressing my hair. “I don’t know… he lived and breathed the semanakraseyesin, there was nothing else for him. But he never broke a law… one thing I’m certain of, love: he’d have sweated it as much as you are.”

“I wish he were still alive. I wouldn’t have this problem.” No semanakraseye ever plans to be in office less than twenty years, which would have taken his term to the end of my life, making it all moot.

“I wish he were still alive, too.”

“Do you still cry for him sometimes? I do; not often any more, but sometimes.”

“Yes. I do. Same as you, not often but sometimes.”

I lifted myself out of her cradling, and put my arms around her. Comforting someone else in their pain is one of the best things, to my mind, for forgetting your own. “The older I get, the more of him, as he was, will be in me,” I said. “And you’ll have that for…” Shit, I thought. Good strategy, bad tactics; there was no good way to recover. “Well... for longer.”

My mother seized me hard, and so did I her. We hid from pain in each other. “I love you.”

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