319 - The _semanakraseye_ of Yeola-e

The Understudy semanakraseye
By Kinethao Kariya

Introduction:

Ask anyone who the semanakraseye of Yeola-e is and they will say without hesitation—indeed perhaps with a look of amazement or pique, as if to say “How can you think I don’t know?”—Fourth Chevenga Shae-Arano-e. But if you look at who has actually worked longest in the role of semanakraseye since Chevenga took office on atakina 19, 1547, it is his younger sister, Artira Shae-Arano-e.

Born on verekina 21, 1528, Artira came of age about three moons before Chevenga went missing on an ill-fated peace mission to Arko, having been in office barely more than half a year. She was accordingly approved by Assembly as Acting semanakraseye on verekina 86, 1548—the same day that Chevenga fought his first Mezem fight—and stayed in the role for more than two years until he returned on etesora 21, 1550.

Chevenga, who reinstated himself immediately as chakrachaseye to take charge of the heretofore disastrous war, was urged by many close to him to concentrate solely on fighting and commanding, and allow his sister to continue the routine tasks of a semanakraseye. He refused, insisting he was capable of doing both, though of course he could not preside in Assembly; that was done by the angaseye dagra krisa on his behalf. The sight of the dashing and heroic young war-leader doing official paperwork on horse or mamoka-back during the march became legendary in the army.

It proved too much, however; after a bout of dysentery that many suspected was due to overstrain put Chevenga out of action for a month in late summer, he asked Artira to take on the acting semanakraseyesin again, and Assembly to approve, which they readily did, on atakina 25. Just turned twenty-three, the semanakraseye had actually worked as semanakraseye for less than a year, his diligent sister more than two.

Artira had been doing it for an additional half-year, almost, when I first approached her to ask if we could speak in aid of my writing a book about her.

Fourth Chevenga is one of those people who seems to have an inborn instinct for being spectacular, whether it’s slaying five raiding Lakans at the age of twelve, assassinating a Lakan general at fifteen, or turning defeat into victory against Arko apparently single-handedly.

His younger sister—half-sister, to be exact, as she is the daughter of Seventh Tennunga and Denaina Kotelai, not of Tennunga and Karani Aicheresa—is much less visible by nature, preferring the quiet, oak-lined offices of Assembly Palace to the attention-loci of battlefield and army podium.

It is no secret in Vae Arahi that the two siblings didn’t always get along. The kind of divergence of pursuits often seen in a brother and a sister at odds appears here. While both underwent the standard semanakraseye’s education, Chevenga developed his natural talent as a warrior with a strict training by Azaila Shae-Chila at the School of the Sword, while Artira eschewed all but the most basic war-training to study Yeoli history and law. Off-duty, he was most likely to surround himself with friends in revelry, hunt or indulge in contests and dares; she would more often remain indoors reading, crocheting or conversing with a few close confidantes.

As an administrator and president in Assembly, Artira has a reputation for exactitude, thoroughness, formality and civility, as opposed to her always-hurried brother who is known for using abbreviations even on the most formal documents, asking everyone to call him by name, and not always recusing himself from debate when he ought to.

As opposed to Chevenga’s rugged and dramatic black-haired handsomeness, Artira has a soft and subtle elegance in her appearance, having inherited Tennunga’s blond hair. She has a precise way of moving, and dresses in subdued colours, looking vaguely official even when she is not wearing an Assembly kerchief. Her way of speaking is gentle and quiet, an extension of the soft Vae Arahi accent with its bureaucratic associations.

She seems almost startled to find that an author wants to write about her, despite my reputation for exploring what others ignore or unearthing what others have missed. She maintains that she has done nothing of note, merely been a competent administrator when needed, following the familial dictate of semana kra. “I did not expect to be even acting semanakraseye so young,” she says. “But life can contain surprises.”

Asked how it has been, she shows no sign whatsoever of exasperation or complaint, even while saying, “This has been one of the most trying times in Yeola-e’s history. I don’t need to enumerate to you the deaths, the kidnappings, the oppressions, the tortures, that we suffered at the hands of Arko. Compared to most Yeolis, I was very fortunate, in that it was not only open to me, but required of me, to flee to safety and work in hiding.”

But did she not feel the weight of responsibility, and hence shame? “Yes,” she says, “but I could not clutch my forelock and cry. There was too much to do. You will hear the same among the warriors; they had to pick themselves up and fight again even after they’d been defeated, not wring their hands. The sheer vastness of the suffering, affecting so many…” Her eyes, hazel like her father’s, look away into an invisible distance. “If you let yourself fully feel it, let its weight fall entire on you, if you dig yourself into total pain and shame, you cease being able to move, and that would be in contravention of semana kra.

“Chevenga and I are working well together, and it is a joy, now,” she says. “He drives the Arkans out with his army and his sword, then I come in to rebuild what must be rebuilt, whether it’s towns and bridges, or understandings and agreements, or staffs and initiatives. That is what takes up nine-tenths of Assembly’s time now. Our task is to return everything to how it was before the war, or better, if possible. It is difficult and slow because we are short on funds, and much of it must necessarily be allocated to the war effort, but it is going well in my mind nonetheless.”

I note that this sort of effort tends to be unsung. Her brother’s place in history is assured now, even with the liberation of Yeola-e still not quite complete; is she concerned that she might disappear amidst the hoopla and be forgotten over time?

“I might be concerned about that,” she says, without apparent emotion, “if I were concerned about appearances. Semana kra rules both our lives, and it does not mandate such concern. My mother told me never to worry about my reputation, just to do my work well, and my reputation would then be as good as I could wish. History will judge me as it judges me, same as it will judge him; that’s for historians to pick over, not me. Or him.

“It is not important, in the greater scheme of things. What we have to do, here and now, is so much more important, than what lies in the future, or what people think of us. Keep our minds on that, and people will ultimately think the best of us. That was what my mother meant.”

Artira is less flamboyant in her love and loyalty towards her people than Chevenga—he has performed the Kiss of the Lake twice, even though he was not due when he did it the second time—but it seems to be the overriding force in her life, nonetheless, an ethic so pervasive it goes without saying, informing all she does. It is the water in which she swims.

How did she learn it?

“If you are Shae-Arano-e, it is in the air as you grow up,” she says. “Other children cut their teeth on warp and woof, or sow and reap, or saw and nail, and service to those who need these things; for us it was vote and decree, and service to all Yeola-e. The semanakraseyesin was made hereditary for that reason; if you look back at the decision, Y. 483, the proponents made the point that those most thoroughly ingrained in the ethic of a calling are those who have had it handed down through generations.

“As well, and in the debate back then this was expressed, albeit in primitive ways: because the children have grown up immersed in it, and take it entirely for granted, they come into the position without pretensions. You can’t possibly burn with ambition for a position that you’ve always known you’ll have. You can’t possibly have illusions about it, at least the same kinds of illusions that other people might.

“You won’t think of the semanakraseyesin as grand or glamorous when you’ve seen your mother or your father come back from it each day in a sweat and just wanting to throw off the white-bordered shirt and put up their feet. It doesn’t seem alluring to you when you hear about the daily frustrations as well as the triumphs; you learn just that it’s the same as any other calling, with its good days and its bad. You don’t think of it as huge and mighty, and therefore yourself as grand, when it is simply routine and has always been there as you grew up.

“You could say there are exceptions. Notyere, you are likely thinking. But notice his ambition was not to be semanakraseye. It was to be king. He wasn’t enticed by the semanakraseyesin. By some fault in his raising or some defect of character, semanakraseye was not good enough for him; he wanted more power. But Notyerel are rare.”

I interrupt Artira to ask, does she consider Chevenga something of an exception? There has been a move to clip his wings, concern expressed in Assembly that he encourages too much reverence toward himself; is that not something of an indication?

“If you look back throughout Yeoli history,” she says, “you will see that whenever a semanakraseye has achieved something outstanding and so earned widespread admiration, whether it’s in war or diplomatically or what-have-you, he or she has been accused of self-aggrandizement or seeking reverence or something of that kind, by someone. It is in Yeoli culture. We don’t trust extraordinary ability in our semanakraseyel. We are afraid they’ll turn into tyrants, would-be successful Notyerel. It is a consequence of the nature of our politics. I think, to tell the truth, that if you were to ask Chevenga whether he was, at heart, glad to see those accusations, he’d say chalk, because it is an indication that Yeoli politics remain egalitarian.”

So Chevenga is not guilty of that at all, in her mind?

“He does consider his reputation more than I do mine. But there is a practical reason. His reputation is a sword in Yeola-e’s hand. Arkans being terrified of him aids in defeating them; his subordinates thinking of him as invincible aids in defeating the Arkans also, since it lends them courage. So, yes, he wields that. His awareness of his reputation is no different than a warrior testing the keenness of his sword-edge.

“People also mistake confidence, which he has in mamoka-servings, for conceit or arrogance, but it isn’t that. In his heart of hearts, as those who really know him know, Chevenga is very self-effacing. He does not value himself above others. He would give anything for Yeola-e, including his own life, as he’s proven ceremonially twice, now. He thinks of himself less than most people.”

Is she not jealous of how much he is cherished by the people of Yeola-e, even though she has served them longer?

“Kinethao, I would not exchange my life for his in a thousand years. Because it includes what he went through in Arko, the most severe agonies a person can suffer and survive. There is no one who knows a tenth of what was done to him who’d want to exchange lives with him for a moment, believe me. He is my brother, so I educated myself on it. It’s worse than most people know, worse than he wants people to know.

“Besides, jealousy is a road to madness. He is so extraordinary, and everyone loves him so much, that if you allow yourself to envy him unrestrained for these things, if you don’t control it, you’ll draw yourself into a maelstrom of malicious thoughts and bitter feelings, and you’ll mentally drown. There was a setakraseye he was fighting under during the Lakan war who essentially went temporarily insane from unrestrained Chevenga-envy, and ruined his career.

“I have learned to know better than that.”