on march

After the meeting, we set off in the dark. For some reason, we couldn't wait until morning, but had to get away from the place — stupid, really, certainly foolhardy — on the other hand, the decision being made, it was time to go.

The old man himself couldn't have been kinder: sad, of course, that we could not (or would not) all stay together with him — for he felt sure, everyone could tell, that we will be caught out here — but also because our departure will without doubt weaken the defenses of those we are leaving behind. But he seemed to appreciate our point, that we can't just wait for the enemy to show up and burn the place down with us in it — even though he could not agree that our leaving was the right thing to do.

Mostly, I think, the old man grieved that we would not turn from our purpose, that is, to retaliate, take revenge on the enemy for wrecking everything. He honestly believes that payback never succeeds, but only makes things worse, and reconciliation is the only way. I cannot see how that could work in this case, but I respect his experience, if not the conclusions he has drawn from it.

That is, I am glad to have his advice about how best to foil the foe, as he puts it: he's had more than a little practice in subtle sabotage, though some of his proposals struck our leaders as too subtle, or worse: just plain old, therefore useless. That was then, they say; this is now.

My friends are wrong about this: we should be willing to try anything to achieve our purpose — that is, to stop the enemy from further depredation on us and our world — and I will remember the old man's antique ideas, for I believe some might still be best. No point in arguing, however: our leaders are possibly more set in their ways than the old man is in his.

But the prospect of actually doing something concrete is many days ahead. Our plan is generally good, but still needs work: until last night, our biggest challenge was persuading the old man to let us go. As it happened, that was easy: he saw at once we were resolved, that keeping us back would sour feelings among us all, and in the end could only delay the inevitable.

The old man was right: anger destroys everything. It has certainly eaten into the happiness of our band of hopeful insurgents: our leaders, who are (or were) lovers, have fallen out over what to do next, and their wrangling is getting worse: last night they actually started grappling and hitting each other. The rest of us pretended to be asleep, but the commotion they were making was impossible to ignore. I'll just say that it was not the night-noise we were accustomed to hear coming from their tent.

For days I have been thinking of going back to the old man — I've always believed in our cause, but just now we are too few, or too weak, to inflict significant harm upon our enemy. I am no longer sure I even know what that would mean: we haven't been able to get close enough to any of his installations to do productive reconnoitering, let alone set to work 'foiling' him. It feels like we're only marching about, playing soldiers in the woods.

There are others who share my feelings, I know, though no one has said a thing to me. Nor will I bring it up — I'm afraid I really don't trust anyone but myself, and may just fall back on our next march and slip away. I actually feel quite homesick for the House and its gentle inhabitants, the old man most of all.

Seeing that we are too many to move about all together, our leaders (reconciled, for the moment) have divided us into three companies of a half-dozen each. I am in charge of the scouting party, and our leaders will each of them lead one or the other of the remaining groups: the company who comes after that will consolidate the position of potential camp sites my party locates, while the last group will work with sympathetic locals to secure passage through their territory — and possibly persuade them to collaborate with us. Overall, we're heading in the general direction of the City, primarily doing reconnaissance, until our leaders can agree upon a viable strategy of actual action.

I prefer my part in this division of labor: we spend the night out in the open, just the six of us. Since we left the old man's mountain refuge weeks ago, we've stayed fairly high up, skirting larger communities where the enemy is likely to be entrenched. This suits me well: I have little gift for talking my way into a situation with strange people. Happily, whenever we must enter a village or town, one of our company is very good at this kind of first contact, a woman slightly older than I who has an innocent face and friendly manner. Taking the lead, she poses as 'eldest sister', apologizing for the crude behavior of the rest of us, whom she has taught to remain silent and act cowed by her affectionate tyranny. At the same time she convincingly explains our expedition as a search for a safe place to live, since our home district was destroyed in the fighting. In the course of this masquerade, we gain much good information about the surrounding area and the people in it. This we pass along to the groups that follow us.

Her performance is so winning that we have yet to experience the least difficulty with any locals we have encountered. But I worry that her sometimes overcheerful manner might make us too memorable...

Tonight the River of Stars is very bright. Gazing at it fills me with such longing the tears come, and I must wrap my arms tight around me to keep from sobbing aloud. I cannot explain it. I have been told that every grain in that broad swath of stardust is another world like this one, with uncountable beings living there, each reaching for better things and fleeing danger, loving their own and fearing others.

Many think that this is the only way to be, to live — that is, to struggle — at least in this world. But I hope not. Somewhere, I must believe, somehow, all beings can live in peace, everyone, always and everywhere, our whole lives long, this priceless gift of life, and learning to understand it, passing down through us, one generation to another...

It has been said that good cannot exist without evil, joy without suffering. I will not go along with this: saying that is lazy, just giving in to what we fear instead of acting on what we hope, what we love, what we want for everyone to have — it does nothing to prevent crime, excuses it before the fact, even encourages gangsters to wonder what they can get away with.

Some, like the old man, say forgiveness is the only cure, and I agree that, if the criminal repents, he must be forgiven — or else the cycle of vengeance goes on and on, getting worse with each blow in recompense. But I am not sure forgiveness is a solution, or a complete one. I do not know what that would be, but on nights such as this I feel — no: I believe — that the answer can be found, because it must be...

We now have a perfect hideaway for the twenty of us, all snuggled up in a little cave in the mountains; its entrance is hidden, it commands a clear view of every approach, and a network of tunnels lead to exits elsewhere, through which we can scatter and escape. For the past few days we have been stocking the place with supplies and weapons, getting ready to fully mount our mission.

Now that I turn my mind to it, I find that I care rather less about that mission than I did when we first left the House. Then we were fired by outrage and impatience, eager to hit the enemy, hurt him, pay him back for his atrocities against us and those we love.

But as the weeks drew along, and the practicalities of living in the open imposed themselves upon us, I found that I enjoyed engaging such pragmatic matters, and I forgot for long periods that there even was an enemy to be struggled against, a foe to foil.

I only dislike our wandering life when it involves tricking strangers into helping us, but then 'eldest sister' takes charge, which is always a relief for me — not to mention entertaining: I admire her spirit and ingenuity, and especially her good humor, which she imposes on everyone, our leaders included. And she certainly never spares me — her teasing can make me blush like a schoolboy...

[Fragment ends here. — Ed.]