Manifesto Story
Matthew Ryan Fischer
The outlaw wrote stories that challenged the validity of the king.
He wrote blasphemous accusations and spread lies. He accused the king of having
slaughtered and massacred and of covering it up. He called for the resignation
of the king. He called for a new government. A new nation.
The people had believed the king when he said he was only
interested in reuniting the city-states the way they had once been. But that
had never happened. Years had passed and the king ruled with a fierce and
crushing force. The people had no rights and no voice. The outlaw provided
that. What he wrote, whether it was true or not, inspired many to hope. Hope
was a dangerous enemy for a king to have that didn’t want to give up any of his
power.
The king for his part was silent. He was away in a distant capital
and never came to the city-states. One of his predecessors had, and that man
had been assassinated. The king was a student of history and was wise enough
not to repeat it.
The governor of the city-states had no interest in governing them.
He was promoted to this post, but it was more of a punishment. He was not a fan
of the king and the king was not a fan of the governor. They were not enemies;
they just didn’t like each other. But the governor was good at his job and king
needed men that were good at their jobs.
The city-states were broken and backwards people. They feuded and
killed each other and pockets of violence and revolution were always breaking
out and having to be put down. Theirs was a world of chaos. The governor abhorred
chaos. He was a man of order. Chaos was messy and bloody and you never knew
where it would lead. And it was expensive. The governor had limited resources,
not that he would admit how strained they really were. He was charged with
keeping the peace. That was his job. He would keep the peace.
The governor couldn’t kill the outlaw. There were too many people
that knew his words. There was too much public love. Too big a following. To
kill the outlaw would only invite more chaos. But he couldn’t allow the rabble-rousing
to continue. The king would never stand for it. If the choice was chaos or the
king, he would choose chaos.
The soldiers searched, bribed, threatened and cajoled. The outlaw
had no resources, but he was very good at staying hidden. He knew the land. The
governor knew he loved the land. The governor threatened to burn the land. The
governor only wanted a meeting. That was what he got.
“You are quite annoying.”
“I know.”
“Just what is it you are hoping to accomplish?”
“Hoping to? The fact that you are here means I already have.”
“Perhaps. But what now? What’s your master plan?”
“I don’t know. I’ve tried big plans before. Now I’m trying
something different.”
“You don’t really expect that to work, do you?”
“I’ve lived a long time, longer than perhaps I should have. I’ve
seen many things work.”
“I need you to stop.”
“I can’t.”
“You will.”
“You can kill me. But that might be a spark you’re unwilling to
light. Too many people know who I am and where I am right now.”
“I disagree. Not that many people actually know who you are. Not
really. Not the old you. You stop or we’ll tell everyone who you used to be.
Before. In the old days.”
“They won’t believe it. There were no records, we burnt the
scrolls—“
“There were rumors. There are always rumors. There was a name
attached to those rumors. And to the violence those rumors talked about.
You tell stories for a living. Well so shall we. We’ll tell lots
and lots of little stories. Of torture. Of beheadings. Of infanticide. No one
ever likes that one. And that’s all it will take. Someone will believe. All we
need is one. One to crack that pristine foundation you’ve so carefully built
for yourself. One crack and it will all come crumbling down.
You talk about the pen and the sword. You knew one, you know the other
now. We too know both. We can’t kill you, but we can destroy you. And you’ll
live every moment of it and you’ll suffer. Oh how you’ll suffer.”
“You really are a ruthless bitch, aren’t you?”
“Yes. Yes I am. You were a good teacher.”
The outlaw was silent, thinking.
“Still like writing your little stories?”
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