A Fool Sees Not The Same Tree | With Constantine [Plot/Open]

It was well into evening before Zubaidah and Constantine left, saying farewell to their newfound companions. Before leaving, however, Diana had told them about a Reiman guesthouse on the town’s outskirts whose patrons were mostly Fanalis. Zubaidah had been surprised at Constantine’s discussion with Julius and Diana, being Reiman and Kounese each, since he had shown great hostility towards non-Sassanids before this time. As such, she wanted to push him further and show him the real world outside Sasan’s walls. What better than showing him the humanity of the much-hated Fanalis? If he would understand the world, then he must understand that its peoples are both unique and similar. He must understand that there is no black and white, as Xerxes had taught him, but shades of grey.

    Arriving at this guesthouse, a quaint and brick-red place, Zubaidah left her companion at the bar whilst she paid for their rooms. Constantine was not troubled, but curious about the red-haired men milling about the bar at first. It was not long that his curiosity devolved into hostility, however, since Zubaidah returned to a heated argument between him and a red-hot Fanalis.

‘What trouble have you gotten yourself into this time?’ She bowed her head apologetically to the Fanalis bar-goers before Constantine responded, ‘I am not some child, milady. If anything, I am the person saddled with minding you.’ He glowered at Zubaidah, eyes gold and angry as she replied, ‘I care naught for your wordplay, Conny. Just tell me how you started this argument, alright?’

As if accepting the blame, he laid the events out clearly. Indeed, he was not one for lying, something which Zubaidah had found curious, and gave her the entire truth. He had claimed that the Fanalis were a strong people, but they were lacking in other respects. For example, as he had said, they lacked the skill for card games and the like. Moreover, he claimed that he could win against any patron of this red-filled guesthouse.

    At these claims, Zubaidah was quite surprised. She had expected some assumptions from Constantine about the Fanalis, but she had not expected such stereotypes. ‘Where might you have gotten that impression, hey? Did you not know that Reim has a Fanalis for its leader, and quite a cunning mind if rumours were to be believed!’

He have her an inquisitive look, as if her question was something unheard, ‘It is something which even children know, milady! Each man has his own character and each race their virtue! There is size for the Imuchakk, and strength for the Fanalis, is there not?’ Seeing her confusion, Constantine went into a long-winded spiel on the subject, ‘IIt is something that a child can see, which experience affirms! For the natural world is filled with creatures whom Solomon has bestowed a character that might be called its single virtue! Perhaps it is better that I should illustrate with a tale:’

    ‘A gathering of the birds took place under Solomon’s watch, where every fowl and feather came under his eye. As they showed their talents, however, the peacock became quite distraught because he did not have a beautiful voice like the nightingale.

As such, he went and complained to Solomon himself, ‘Milord, is it not true that the nightingale's song is the envy of all the birds? But whenever I begin singing, I become a laughing-stock.’

In turn, Solomon tried to console him and said, ‘You have not the gift of song, my child, but then you far excel all the rest in beauty. Your neck flashes like the emerald and your splendid tail is a marvel of gorgeous colour!’

But the peacock did not rejoice, saying, ‘What is the use of being beautiful, with a voice like mine?’

And Solomon replied, with a shade of sternness in his voice, ‘Fate has allotted to all their destined gifts: to yourself beauty, to the eagle strength, to the nightingale song, and so on to all the rest in their degree; but you alone are dissatisfied with your portion. Make, then, no more complaints. For, if your present wish were granted, you would soon find cause for fresh discontent.’


She had not heard him speak with such charisma, showing his true colours as a story-teller, but she was not amused with the story itself. ‘How charming! I must say, however, that it has forgotten something amidst its charm. I mean, of course, that we are each possessed of traits different from our race or gender.’ She had realised that he had been taught such things, false and unusual as they were, but she had underestimated the depth of this education - or lack thereof. ‘I fear that you are mistaken, milady. I would agree that there are anomalies but they are gifted from Solomon himself. Yes, they are exceptions and not the rule. If you do not believe me, let me prove them with a few games!’

She sat besides Constantine, her eyes showing apologies for their Fanalis hosts, and watched him deal the first round. It must be remembered that Zubaidah was beloved of card-games, so she was more than interested in the outcome. After all, should her companion win, she would have a worthy opponent for the road.

But the first few tricks were the green-eyed Fanalis’. Well, some were her companion’s, others were his opponent’s.
He asked for a second game. He took some tricks, but he lost even more. He asked for a third game. He cursed under his breath with one; he slammed his fist down with another. He asked for five games in total and lost against five opponents in total.

‘How could they have beaten me? I have played since I was young, even beating venerable Aryan! I cannot have lost here…’ He was staring at the red-haired patrons in disbelief, but she could see a little admiration for these Fanalis. ‘Let me tell you something, dear Conny. Did you know that the game was invented in this very town?' At this point, one of his opponents came over and offered Constantine some amber-coloured beer, a little cheekiness in her eyes. 'Yeah, but you did pretty well against men and women raised on it. I'd play you anytime!' As this red-haired woman returned to the bar, Zubaidah laughed a little at his own reddened cheeks. 'Indeed, they are skilled in this game because they have more experience than anybody else, not from being gifted with such skill. That, Constantine, is where you were wrong.’

‘For with some experience, no matter who you are, you can become good at anything - and everything.’