Coda (Part II)

The man in the brown robe bowed his head in greeting. “I am Sinustragán Dzáshu, one of the teachers at the College.”

Keléno’s eyes lit with recognition. “So, you are Toneshkéthu’s master, then?”

A flicker of approval crossed the teacher’s face, quickly gone. He gave a short nod. “Yes and it is because of her that I have brought you here. She is very fond of you and wished no harm to come to you, so far as that can be prevented – but you cannot remain. You are neither students enrolled nor scholars invited to teach. The College has its laws and they must be kept. You must return. The only question is to where?"

Once again, Keléno and his companions found themselves unprepared. Having somehow survived their confrontation with Dhich’uné, all they longed for was safety. The College at the End of Time certainly offered that, but it was equally clear they did not belong here and, more importantly, that they would not be permitted to remain. The question was not if they must leave, but where they should ask to be sent.

Their debate circled between Sokátis, the familiar refuge of home, and Jakálla, which Qurén favored. As they argued, Sinustragán cleared his throat, the sound sharp in the stillness.

“Forgive me,” he said, “but I fear I have misled you. That is my fault. I speak as one who dwells in the College. Here, where and when are bound together in a way they are not for you. When I asked to what place you wished to return, I also meant: to what time?”

The revelation broke over them like a sudden storm, sparking another round of frantic discussion. Again the teacher raised his hand to still them.

“Remember this,” he cautioned. “We, here at the College, may walk the full span of the Tree of Time, across its trunk and down every branch. You cannot. For you, the span is limited only to the moment before you entered the passage that brought you here. I can return you to that point, but, from there, you may choose among the leaves and branches that grow from your cluster of time. And there are many.”

Sinustragán’s voice deepened as he went on.

“Consider, then, the struggle now wracking your empire. Who will claim the Petal Throne? Who shall be the first to rule Tsolyánu since the sundering of its ancient pact with the One Other? From where we stand, six futures lie before you, though some are less likely than others. All, in the end, flow toward the same sea: the dissolution of Tsolyánu. No empire endures forever. What differs is only the pace and the manner of its inevitable decline.

“If Eselné takes the throne, he will drive the Empire into a season of conquest. His banners will fly over Milumanayá, Yán Kór, parts of Salarvyá, even Mu’ugalavyá. He will forsake the seclusion of the Golden Tower, leading his armies in person, drawing comparison to Hejékka the Heretic, the last emperor to do so and a devotee of Lord Sárku ironically enough. Yet his triumphs will not last. By his grandson’s reign, rebellion and civil war will tear the Empire apart, ushering in a new Time of No Kings – an age of heroes, yes, but also of chaos.

“If Táksuru ascends, suspicion will rule. In the shadow of Dhich’uné’s example, the Omnipotent Azure Legion will turn inward, purging temples and clans alike. Paranoia will become policy. Conspiracies will breed counter-conspiracies until trust itself withers. The Empire may endure for generations, but the rot will spread, with provincial secession, foreign intrigues, and the slow crumbling of its foundations.

“If Mridóbu is crowned, the Empire will last the longest. His reign will be one of continuity and the careful preservation of institutions. Tsolyánu will remain recognizable for centuries still, secure but stagnant, its neighbors outpacing it in vigor. It will be dignified, yes, but more a monument than a power, a relic not unlike Salarvyá in your own day.

“If, unlikely though it is, Ma’ín should rise to power, hers will be the swiftest fall. She will mirror Nayári in cruelty and indulgence, but lack her predecessor's skill in rule or diplomacy. Her court will be infamous for its excess, her empire notorious for its weakness. That weakness will invite predation. Foreign armies will press from without, insurrection from within, and Tsolyánu will unravel with alarming speed.”

“Even less likely is the reign of Rereshqála, though his path is the most curious of all. His rule will be marked by duality: the attempt to preserve the old forms while softening their most oppressive burdens. He will abolish the Kólumejàlim, ending the struggle of the heirs and he will grant the Vríddi and the Ito greater autonomy. They will no longer be rivals, but vassal kings beneath the Petal Throne.

“These reforms will not save the Empire entire. Tsolyánu will still dissolve, as all things must. Yet the shape of its fall will be different. Where other futures end in ruin, his will leave behind successor realms of surprising strength, states born from his compromises. In their institutions, tempered by reform, will lie the seeds of new greatness, long after the name of Tsolyánu has passed into history.”

Turning to Kirktá, he asked, “And what of you, Kirktá? The Tree of Time does not exclude you. Your ascension to the Petal Throne is by no means improbable. Indeed, more plausible than Ma’ín’s or even Rereshqála’s. Yet every branch where you sit upon he the Petal Throne shares certain marks in common.

“In each, you are a son of Belkhánu, servant of the Excellent Dead. In each, your reign is not defined by conquest or tyranny, but by inquiry. You are no despot, no libertine; you are a scholar crowned, a seeker of truths, more given to questions than to commands. Admirable, yes, but unsuited to the endless vigilance empire demands. And so, under your gaze, Tsolyánu falters – not through malice, nor folly, but through neglect. Its decline is slower, perhaps gentler, yet decline all the same.

“I do not speak this in condemnation. The Tree shows what is likely, not what must be. But its branches whisper another possibility, namely, that your destiny may lie elsewhere than the Petal Throne. A legacy not of rule, but of meaning. The question, then, is not whether you will ascend, but whether you should.”