|Posted by rjagilbert on February 26, 2017 at 11:15 AM|
I originally posted this entry in late January, during what I had hoped would be a short-lived period of political unrest. Today, as I try (once again) to re-post this excerpt from my latest Tales of Vantoria book, my local left-wing politician has made front-page news telling his followers that they need to "keep fighting." It's not just scary. It's sad. In my own family, there are relatives who have not talked to each other since before the November 2016 election.
So, in the spirit of trying things again, I would like to re-post this incredibly relevant excerpt in which the main characters, preparing for another dangerous mission into a city torn by civil war, discuss the ways in which words can be used as weapons.
A thoughtful expression had come over Wenchel’s face. He set the wand down gently on an end-table and seated himself on the couch. “Haiyamm’s taught me a lot of things. Not just about magic.” He looked up to his friends. “I think the more important things were about how to be a king.”
Luciana reminded him, “You have several friends who wish to help you rule.” She gestured to Renaud and herself.
Wenchel smiled gratefully at her. “Thank you,” he said, “I can use all the help I can get.” Then he leaned forward, hands clasped together as if in prayer, and said, “There’s something else I’ve been thinking about, though. Since we came here. A story Haiyamm told me about my own world.”
“About Magic?” Mary inquired.
“About being a king,” Wenchel clarified.
Renaud coaxed, “Do tell.”
“Haiyamm once told me that there’s no difference between a castle and a dungeon. They’re two words for the same building—from different languages, but used to describe the same structure.”
Mary looked confused. “What do you mean?”
Wenchel began, “The story tells that a kingdom on Earth was once invaded by two armies. First, an army from the north came to burn villages and take the people hostage. From his castle, the king rode forth with only a handful of his best warriors. In five days they marched nearly two-hundred miles across the land, all along the way sending out riders to call for more men to join them. And men did join them; gathered from all corners of the kingdom to defend their fellow countrymen from the northern invaders. By the time they confronted the enemy, they were a great army, a sea of armor. They drove the invaders back, freed the captured cities, and restored peace.”
Renaud asked, “So what about the other invasion?”
Wenchel’s eyes grew sad. “News of the second invasion came while the king was still restoring order in the north of his kingdom. He gathered what forces he could from the weary countryside and marched the long distance—and then some—to confront the second invader on the southern border of his land. Unfortunately, this battle was lost, and he died.”
Luciana sat beside him on the couch. She put a gentle hand on his shoulder. “That doesn’t have to be you.”
Wenchel shook his head. “That’s not the point of the story.”
“What is the point?” Mary asked insistently.
The young king continued, “The new conqueror did not have the support of the people who had so freshly fought with their king to defend their land. To maintain control over the conquered kingdom, he built new castles—fortified structures—in every region he took possession of. In his language, he called them dungeons, and from them he asserted his authority over the people until they dreaded the very word used to describe those buildings.”
Renaud grunted. “I get it. The only difference between the old king’s castle and the new king’s dungeon was how they were used.”
Wenchel nodded. “One is used to build up and protect. The other to oppress and control.” He unclasped his hands and leaned back against the couch cushions. “I suppose the same could be said of anything, really. How we use it determines what it means to those who see it in use.”
“Especially for those who fight with words and ideas,” Renaud said, thoughtfully stroking his chin.
Luciana considered the idea for a moment. Finally she said, “That’s the best description of my mother anybody’s ever come up with.”
* * *
Dungeon of Illusion was published in 2015, a full year before the political unrest that began when Donald Trump announced his run for the white house. Neither of the opposition parties described in that book are based on the real-world political candidates. However, the lies, the deception, and the political antics described in this book all come from historical figures who used those tactics to gain and retain control. Unfortunately, as a wise person once said, those who do not learn from history...are doomed to repeat it.