Apprentice Quiet-Dream stared at the incredibly satisfied looking rat in front of him, unable to comprehend what they were even trying to do. They had correctly identified his background, but calling upon him to testify as an expert? What did they think he was?
Seemingly sharing that confusion, and recognizing that Quiet-Dream was not experienced enough to deflect the request himself, Arbitrator Completed-Day immediately stepped in.
“Explain yourself, Crafter. Exactly what kind of expert do you believe the Apprentice to be?”
“I know that it is one of the ‘afflicted’ being held by the Guardians. It needed an escort to attend, and it shares a name with one mentioned in the newly published observations!” Blended-Technique expressed the “afflicted” label with clear skepticism, but it was that last part that demanded elaboration.
“Published observations?” Quiet-Dream asked, tilting his head. Both the Guardian Golden-Streak and the Arbitrator looked away, unwilling to answer and unable to meet his gaze. Crafter Blended-Technique, however, was more than happy to explain.
“Yes! Copies of observations recorded by Scribe Swift-Paw during your quarantine have been widely circulated recently! You know about so many unique things!”
“Unauthorized and unverified copies,” Golden-Streak growled, causing the rat to flinch. “They have been denounced and recalled.”
“They were, however…” The Crafter stood their ground, regaining their composure in the face of the leopard. “I made use of the public records in the library to prepare for this Consensus, and it was there! The original notes, completely identical to the copies!” The Arbitrator seemed like they were about to object, but Blended-Technique raised a paw, stopping them so they could finish. “And there was another record there as well. One created by the former Scholar Ink-Talon, with the assistance of Quiet-Dream. One analyzing and recognizing the Beacon’s Insight as knowledge from their own world!” The rat was truly frantic now, their tiny body buzzing with pent-up excitement as they bounced in place. “It has knowledge of craft and inventions never before seen in the Known World! It Understands the Beacon’s Insight natively! What better expert could there be?”
The Crafter’s flurry of expressions ended with an overjoyed squeal that echoed through the stonework around them, the final declaration having stunned everyone, even the Guardian. Once more, all eyes fell upon Quiet-Dream.
“I… I don’t…” He only managed to chirp out a fragmented thought as his head swam with everything he’d just been told. Someone had been distributing Scribe Swift-Paw’s observations of him. The ones she had made after teaching him how to groom himself. And rather than demonstrate just how pitiable he had been at the time, it had somehow convinced this person that he was something else. Something tied into their religious or spiritual beliefs. Something he very much did not want to be.
“Apprentice.” The webbed forepaw of the Arbitrator nearly made him jump out of his fur when it gently touched his shoulder. “I need to know before we continue. Is any of what Blended-Technique claims true?”
“No! It’s…” Quiet-Dream’s objections died in his throat as he considered what arguments he even had. The grounds for his “qualification” was his knowledge of human technologies and achievements. It wasn’t detailed or even well-informed knowledge, but it was knowledge that no one native to this world possessed. “It’s not untrue, I know of many things,” he stated truthfully. Lying my way out of this isn’t an option. I’m not Ink-Talon. Trying to push the lingering bitter thoughts about his missing friend aside, he took a deep breath and did his best to salvage the situation. “I wasn’t a Crafter myself, though. I only have passing familiarity with the knowledge they’re interested in.”
“Unfortunately, that is enough to fulfill its request for an advisory opinion. I ask that you give your opinion as truthfully as you can when prompted, as awkward as that may be for someone in your role.” Completed-Day seemed genuinely sympathetic, despite their insistence. “This is a strange situation, but I cannot allow you to decline this request without setting a disruptive precedent for future Consensuses.”
The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
“And what would the consequences be for… noncooperation?” Quiet-Dream asked the question with a pleading gaze, but all the Arbitrator could do was sigh.
“You would be barred from participation in any future Consensus, even one that directly concerns you.” The implications behind the statement were as clear as the beaver could make them. He would be barred from the very Consensus Maggie was petitioning for, unable to testify or plead their case. It would almost certainly be used against everyone else, too. Avoiding momentary discomfort was not remotely worth such a cost.
“Right. Got it. I’ll contribute to the best of my ability.”
Quiet-Dream took a deep breath, grasped his stylus in two, trembling paws, and steeled himself for what was to come.
<hr>
By the time the proceedings had wrapped up, the first drops of another rainstorm were beginning to fall. But Quiet-Dream decided to stand out in it anyway. He needed space from… whatever all that had been.
The dispute being decided upon had been as petty and simple as could be. Crafter Blended-Technique had overpromised on custom furnishings, splitting materials between two clients and delivering dangerous, compromised work. This was not in dispute, as the Crafter themselves had admitted fault. The first Matter of Consensus had been a unanimous confirmation of the Crafter’s liability.
It was the second matter, that of due compensation, where the rat’s angle became clear. There were three potential outcomes to the question, not counting minor variations and quantities. They could be temporarily stripped of their role, unable to practice their Craft in Darksoil for a period of time. They could be forgiven, with the caveat that any repeat offenses would carry far harsher penalties. Or they could be partnered with a volunteer Crafter for supervision and fulfil their original promises, along with additional services. That final option had been what Blended-Technique wanted, and they spent the entirety of their arguments asking for Quiet-Dream’s opinion on the hypothetical viability of various design concepts, or asking if he had any knowledge of human construction accomplishing those same goals.
They were hoping that his agreement that such things were hypothetically possible would be appealing enough to convince the others to let them try. That his knowledge as an “Other-Worlder,” as they put it, would carry so much weight that they could escape consequences for overpromising by promising even more.
And to his horror, it had actually worked.
The flamingo and boar had both agreed to one of the Crafter’s proposals, enthusiastically, even. And whether or not Quiet-Dream believed that this was remotely a good idea was not a question he had been asked. He wanted to scream about how stupid the idea was, how someone so reckless should not have been trusted with creating unproven concepts on the basis of… faith. Faith in humanity as some higher power that would uplift them all to grander heights. It made him feel sick just thinking about it. But he couldn’t interfere.
Not just because Sharp-Search had emphasized that he must accept the outcome of the Consensus and not voice his opinions on it, but also because any attempt to put a paw down and assert authority on the topic would only deepen this belief that he and the others were… Divine. Holy. Greater. He couldn’t wield authority in order to claim not to be an authority. All he could do is wait for them to fail and then weather the backlash.
“You should not be standing in the rain. Creatures your size become too cold too quickly.” Guardian Golden-Streak approached as silently as ever, their own thick fur being far better suited for the damp.
“You sure you don’t want me to get sick?” Quiet-Dream squeaked bitterly, staring out across the rain-shrouded street as the day’s last stragglers scrambled for shelter. At his size, the sight was more like a moving forest, long and tall trunk-like legs and boulder-like wheels, all flying by and scattering the water flowing on the stones in their wake. “Being confined to bed would make your job easier, and I know you’d love it if I just got sick and-”
“No.” Golden-Streak’s growl pierced the soft patter of rain, not with a threat, but with a rejection. “I know why you must think that, but no.”
“Why?”
“Which reason would you prefer? That my assignment is to protect you on this trip? That, as a Guardian, my duty is to prevent the deaths of others? That Scholar Ink-Talon is a dear friend of mine, and I refuse to cause it any more pain than I already have?” The leopard laid down next to Quiet-Dream in the rain, turning their head to look him in the eyes. “That I have been watching you and the others like you struggle all this time without posing anything approaching a threat to anyone? Pick any of those. They are all equally true.”
“We do pose a threat, though,” the Apprentice shivered, meeting the Guardian’s gaze. “You just saw it happen. Simply by existing and being who we are, people are deciding that we are far more than we’ve claimed. That we’re divine messengers or prophets or gods or who knows what else. It’s dangerous, and it doesn’t matter if I want to cause harm or not. If enough people come to these false conclusions, then harm is going to be done in our name.”
“That is not a problem for you to worry about, Apprentice. Others are to blame for this, and they are the ones who will face judgement for it.” Golden-Streak’s growls deepened. That was a threat, not towards him, but towards this yet-unknown party. “I am going to take you back now.”
Before Quiet-Dream could properly process the statement, Golden-Streak had once more picked him up in their mouth and set off for “home,” this time moving much slower and keeping their head low to shield him from as much of the rain as possible. And he really appreciated it, because it let him ponder what the Guardian had clearly also realized.
Someone was distributing writing about him and the others. Someone with an agenda. But… was framing them all as divine beings really the intent? He hadn’t read Swift-Paw’s notes on them all, but he seriously doubted that she would have written anything suggesting that. Did they just want an informed perspective out there, so that the public would come to their own conclusions? Or were they aiming to spark a conflict of some sort, posing us more directly in opposition to the Guardians than we already were?
Whatever it was, he knew that he had become a piece in some sort of game. And he knew what he had to do. He was going to find out exactly what game was being played, and who the players were.
And then, if he had to, he’d flip the table to make them stop.