Yes, Alfred could see it all as Jonathan talked.
Life in Abarrach was good. Death was not bad, either. But then, just when everything (not counting the mensch, who by this time had been mostly forgotten anyway) seemed to be going so well, it all began to go terribly wrong.
“The Fire Sea and all the magma lakes and rivers and oceans were cooling and receding. Realms that had previously been trading neighbors became bitter enemies, hoarding their precious supplies of food, fighting over the life-giving colossus, That’s when the first wars were fought.
“I guess it would be more correct to term them brawls or skirmishes, not really wars. Those,” Jonathan said more seriously and solemnly, “would come later. Our ancestors apparently didn’t know much about waging war at that time,”
“Of course not!” Alfred said severely. “We abhor warfare. We are the peacemakers. We promote peace!”
“You have that luxury,” said Jonathan quietly. “We did not.”
Alfred was struck, startled by the young duke’s words. Was peace a luxury available only to a “fat” world? He recalled Prince Edmund’s people, ragged, freezing, starving; watching their children, their elderly die while inside this city was warmth, food. What would I do if I was in their position? Would I meekly die, watch my children die? Or would I fight? Alfred shifted in his chair, suddenly uncomfortable.
I know what I’d do, he thought bitterly. I’d faint!
“As time passed, our people became more adept at war.” Jonathan sipped at a cup of kairn-grass tea. “The young men began to train as soldiers, armies were formed. At first, they tried to fight with magic as their weapon, but that took too much energy away from the magic needed to survive.
‘And so we studied the art of ancient weaponry. Swords and spears are far cruder than magic, but they’re effective. Brawls became battles and, inevitably, led to the great war of about a century ago—the War of Abandonment.
“A powerful wizardess named Bethel claimed that she had discovered the way out of this world. She announced that she was planning to leave and would take those who wanted to go with her. She drew a large following. If the people had left, it would have decimated the population that was rapidly dwindling anyway. To say nothing of the fact that everyone feared what might happen if the “Gate” as she called it was opened. Who knew what terrible force might rush in and seize control?
“The dynast of Kairn Necros, Kleitus VII, forbid Bethel and her followers to leave. She refused to obey and led her people across the Fire Sea to the Pillar of Zembar, preparatory to abandoning the world. The battles between the two factions raged off and on for years, until Bethel was betrayed and captured. She was being ferried across the Fire Sea when she escaped her captors and flung herself into the magma, to keep her corpse from being resurrected. Before she jumped, she cried out what later became known as the prophecy about the Gate.”
Alfred pictured the woman standing on the bow, screaming defiance. He pictured her hurling herself into the flaming ocean. He lost the thread of Jonathan’s tale, picked it up again only when the young man suddenly lowered his voice.
“It was during that war that armies of the dead were first formed and pitted against each other. In fact, it’s said that some commanders actually ordered the killing of their own living soldiers, to provide themselves with troops of cadavers . . .”
Alfred’s head jerked up. “What? What are you telling me? Murdered their own young men! Blessed Sartan! To what black depths have we sunk?” He was livid, shaking. “No, don’t come near me!” He raised a warding hand, rose distractedly from his chair. “I must get out of here! Leave this place!” It seemed, from his fevered attitude, that he meant to run out of the house that instant.
“Husband, what have you been saying to upset him like this?” demanded Jera, coming into the room with Tomas. “My dear sir, please sit down, calm yourself.”
“I was only telling him that old story about the generals killing their own men during the war—”