“In other words, they’ll want a bribe,” I said. Of course. “And whatever they ask for will result in further complications.”
“Furthermore, once we bring the celebration to the table, we can’t back down. If the vampires, for example, make some outrageous demand in return for agreeing to the celebration, and we are unable to reach an agreement, in the otrokari’s eyes, the Holy Anocracy will become the people who prevented the observation of a beloved ritual. One would think that given their history of mutual hatred, this one more small occurrence wouldn’t matter. In reality, that hypothetical transgression will overshadow whatever bad blood they already have.”
“They killed my brother, stole our planet, but most of all, they wouldn’t let us have the autumn festival?”
“Yes. That’s a peculiar quirk of the psychology of small isolated gatherings, which is why I chose this format and your inn in the first place. When you take sworn enemies and put them together into an isolated environment, provided the group is small enough, they experience the same events and develop similar attitudes, which gives them some common ground where previously there was none. It creates a ‘we’re all in this together’ mentality, a camaraderie. The vampires and the otrokari recognize their own emotions in their enemy: boredom while the proceedings take place, relief when they’re over the day, joy at simple pleasure of a well-cooked meal. This commonality of circumstances and reactions fosters empathy, which is a precursor of any consensus. Right now this empathy is very fragile and the conflict over the autumn celebrations has the potential to rip it apart beyond all repair.”
“But if everyone makes a concession and consents to the celebration, wouldn’t that show respect and tolerance of each other’s religion and traditions? If the vampires and the merchants show respect for the festival and observe it as guests, wouldn’t it promote the feeling of empathy?”
“Assuming that celebration will happen, yes. But that’s a big assumption. It carries a lot of risk.”
I leaned back. “Unless I have gotten a wrong impression, the peace negotiations have stalled.”
“You’re not wrong.” George grimaced.
“This could give them a boost.”
“Or destroy any chance of peace.”
“You are the Arbiter. The decision is yours, but I would be willing to speak to all interested parties to see if I could get them to agree.”
George studied me for a long moment. “What is your interest in all of this?”
“The Khanum and her people are my guests. They are stressed and I want them to be comfortable. The autumn celebration will help.”
“Is that all?”
That and the masked desperation in the Khanum’s eyes, which made me wince every time I remembered it. Remembering her on the couch, brushing at her son’s hair, holding all her worry and sorrow in a steel grip haunted me. I couldn’t help with peace negotiations. I could do nothing to keep her son from going to war. But I could do this one small thing for her, and I would try to accomplish.
“That’s enough, isn’t it?”
He thought about it for a moment. “You win. We’ll take this risk. If you want to bargain with the vampires and the merchants, you have my permission. But I want to be kept aware of everything.”
“I will record our meetings and send the feed to your screen.”
“Good. Do not agree to anything, Dina, before consulting with me. Make no promises. They will be held against you.”
“I understand.” I rose. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, although I’m not sure exactly what I’m being thanked for.” George grinned and his smile had a mordant edge to it. “This ought to be exciting. It’s good to have some fun once in a while.”
“You said yourself, this fun carries risk,” I reminded him.
His smile got wider. “That’s the best kind of fun.”
“Absolutely not.” If vampires had fur, Odalon’s would’ve stood on its end like the coat of an angry cat, so the Battle Chaplain would’ve doubled in size from the sheer outrage. “No, they can’t have their pagan rite here, on this ground, where we must remain after it has been befouled.”
I had gone to the knights first, because getting them to agree to the otrokari festival would be much harder than bargaining with Nuan Cee.
“They have the same right to practice their religion as you do.” I stood my ground. “You are all guests here and are on equal footing.”
“Do you know what is involved in this heresy?” Odalon leaned toward me, all six feet and a few inches of him, his crimson vestments flaring. “They consecrate the ground. They dedicate it to their pagan deities. When I walk upon their unholy ground, it is with a battle hammer in my hand dripping with the lifeblood of the otrokari.”