Arc 9 | Chapter 341: Glory Be To Our Culture Alone
“As I was saying,” Olivier began anew, the teacher inside him automatically turning to the reminders he would have given his class, were they distracted from the course the discussion was supposed to take by, well, Emilia, usually, “the Baalphorian government somewhat gave up on their overt attempts to erase Grey Sander culture. In combination with their efforts to slowly bring more Baalphorian culture into the Grey Sands—likely in hopes of the younger members of the population growing to prefer it over their parents’ culture— they also opened the door for Grey Sanders to come north and assume new identities. It wasn’t a secret that most Baalphorians wouldn’t accept Grey Sanders into their land—even now, there’s a reason most Grey Sanders remain within the Grey Sands or visit the southern Free Colonies for vacations, rather than come north.”
The entire situation with the Grey Sands was perpetually strange. They both were and weren’t a part of Baalphoria; were and weren’t a Free Colony. In general, the consensus near everywhere was that Baalphoria had made a mistake when they attempted to bring the Grey Sands under their control; the nation would have been far better off making a military alliance with the then-Free Colony as they searched for a more secure barrier between themselves and the nations south of the Cyrenix Desert. Ironically, the Baalphorian government at the time had likely considered taking over the Grey Sands less work than forming an alliance with them. An alliance would have required promising protection from enemies in return, whereas the Baalphorian government had fully intended to abandon the Grey Sands, should any southern nations attack. The region would have been decimated in a war, but thankfully that had never happened, and now…
Now, things were a little better with the Grey Sands, if still awkward. They were Baalphorian enough that most Baalphorians wouldn’t turn their noses up at the idea of sacrificing Baalphorian lives in an attempt to save Grey Sander lives. Olivier had once heard it suggested that part of the reason the Baalphorian government had pushed so hard for so long to break down Grey Sander culture wasn’t a hatred or dislike for the secretive culture, as so many people on both sides suggested, but rather an attempt to make sure the region wasn’t used as a sacrifice in war.
Every bit more Baalphorian the Grey Sands became, the more palpable protecting them at the cost of Baalphorian lives became.
It was nice to think that was the actual reason behind the push to erase Grey Sander culture, but Olivier had his doubts; even now, the government was rife with corruption and purism. More likely, even if the Grey Sands fully became Baalphorian in culture and identity, there would still be some pushback from the government over using the region and its population as more than a barrier between real Baalphorians and a war.
Olivier was reminded of all the other difference between the people born south of the Jibur Bay and Baalphorians as he continued explaining to Emilia one of the biggest issues that Grey Sands attempting to move to Baalphoria had experienced, despite the government’s offer to erase their history in the Grey Sands: most Grey Sanders looked distinctly Grey Sander.
“As you said earlier, moving to Baalphoria and pretending to have always been here is something that only certain Grey Sanders can do, due to their skin colour and other physiological difference.”
Some of those difference were extremely minor, but it wasn’t a secret that enough indicators in the same person effectively marked them as Grey Sander—it was the same for the rare descendants of Free Colonier immigrants. Eyes that turned up were almost always a marker of coming from the Northern Tribes, Dion or a few of their close neighbours, and it wasn’t uncommon for immigrants possessing such distinct eyes to use makeup or surgery to alter them, if only to escape the notice of purists.
“Most of the Grey Sanders who made use of the government’s offer, including my family, originally passed themselves off as descendants of Grey Sanders who had moved to Baalphoria long before the most recent round of conflict. They still faced prejudice, but it was lesser than those who were more clear about their recent departure from the Grey Sands, especially since most made use of government courses on being more Baalphorian, so they knew how to act as though they had long left their culture behind. Unfortunately, some people will always hate people who haven’t always been Baalphorian.”
“Well, that’s terrible,” Emilia grumbled. “I suppose it’s about the same now, unfortunately. Even the people who work with my father… some of them are more accepting of Free Coloniers than the Grey Sanders? I guess that since they didn’t just, like, accept Baalphorian customs when they were taken over, that makes them somehow worse than Free Colonies that are more separate?”
Olivier thought that was quite likely. All the negative comments he had received from people who suspected his heritage had been aimed at the things they thought were still too Grey Sander of him. Grey Sanders, in the eyes of even Baalphorians who didn’t think themselves purists, were supposed to have adopted Baalphorian culture the moment they were taken over. The fact that they hadn’t was something of a mark of shame, he thought—a failure on the part of Baalphoria and its citizens to have the greatest culture that no one would dare resist once they were shown the glory of it. For Grey Sanders to continue to resist, only accepting the smallest pieces into their own, long-lasting culture, was a continuous voice of Baalphorian culture actually isn’t that good. It was stupid, but it had been like that for generations; it was unlikely that would change anytime soon, even if the overtness of it had softened over the last few centuries.
Then again, who knew what the future held. The Mhrina’s power had certainly softened some prejudice against Grey Sanders in the last hundred or so years, and Olivier could easily see Halen—so popular with the younger generation that their class trip’s group chat had been filled with talk of the young man since he’d shown up at lunch—inspiring more change in the next few decades as well. Maybe one day, Grey Sanders would be more accepted—not that he thought those who still lived in the Grey Sands would be particularly appreciative of a family they no longer saw as Grey Sanders being the reason they became more accepted. Honestly, despite having met few Grey Sanders himself, he also had the impression most didn’t really care to be more accepted by the nation they only peripherally considered themselves a part of.
“So, the government legalized Grey Sanders coming into Baalphoria and starting new lives under falsified records, and I assume at some point, the de la Rue family helped to further obscure their past—cause, you can keep some things a secret, but I doubt if there were actual records stating your father’s family had Grey Sander blood, no matter how far removed, it wouldn’t have been leaked. What does any of that have to do with your most terrible legal-horror story and why you know about it?”
Olivier’s lips twitched at the mixture of annoyance and curiosity in the girl’s voice. It shouldn’t have made him quite so happy to stump her, yet it did—Emilia was just too knowledgeable, and while it was one of the best things about her, it was also frustrating. Sometimes, it was nice to surprise someone.
“Part of the reason my mother married my father was that she found out what his family brought with them when they fled the Grey Sands,” Olivier said, silently cursing himself for his wording. They had fled, but Emilia hadn’t needed to know that.
“Oh?” she asked, all the more curious because of his fuck up—not that he was going to tell her the reason they had fled. Maybe one day, but definitely not today or anytime soon. Even so many centuries on, it was still considered dangerous—dangerous enough that he’d never been officially told the reason, only pulling bits of information and overheard conversations together to find a partial answer to the question of why they had fled.
“Yes. My mother found out the Mjunas had brought records of cases, as well as other historical documents, from throughout the Grey Sands with them. Most of the original records were officially destroyed by the Baalphorian government when they took over the Grey Sands.”
“Why?”
“Because the way the Grey Sands were taken over technically means their laws and precedents are still valid.”
“But, if the records of cases don’t exist…”
“Then neither do the records of the precedents. Many of the specific laws were also lost, as the various regions of the Grey Sands had their own laws and regulations. From what I have read, the Grey Sands’ region-specific laws were—or, I suppose, are—even more extensive than those found in Baalphoria.”
In Baalphoria, there were often such specific laws for different areas of the nation that lawyers intending to practice in another region needed to take another course or two in order to cover whatever strangely specific laws existed there. The best lawyers, who often practiced in multiple locales, were effectively forced to forever be taking courses for each region. Eventually, they would complete a course for each region, only to be forced into courses that would update them on new laws and precedents from their first region, then the second, and so on. Around and around they’d go, taking courses for their entire career, lest they miss an important, precedent-setting case and ruin a case of their own.
“So, all of those missing laws and precedents are still valid, except they only exist in memory, if that,” Emilia mused, her foot brushing up and down Olivier’s leg as she continued her expedition further and further onto him. “Memory is pretty faulty, and everyone alive when the Grey Sands were taken over is long dead.”
“Indeed.”
“So… having access to your father’s family’s records… that’s pretty valuable—although I don’t think I’ve ever heard of your family using anything like that?”
Grumbling, Olivier admitted that his mother had wanted the records, but not for anything like helping Grey Sanders.
“Have I told you your mother seems like a terrible person?”
“Oh, she is worse than you know,” Olivier told her, earning him a twinkling laugh that shone through the darkness, echoed through his soul, buried itself inside him.
“Good to know you aren’t in denial or something. Do you plan to use the records, one day? I mean, if you know this story you mean to tell me, you must have read at least some—although, you said you don’t speak Grey Sander?”
“Some were translated by older relatives.” Most were dead now, and Olivier was almost positive his father couldn’t read or speak the language; their knowledge of so much had died with his grandmother, when he was barely two, while what knowledge remained had vanished north with his aunt when he was a teenager. The day his grandmother died had been the only time his father ever spoke to him about their heritage before it disappeared into their past so firmly he wasn’t even sure his brother knew about it. Antoine wasn’t stupid, so perhaps he had put everything together and figured out the rumours about their heritage were true, but maybe not. It wasn’t like his brother spent any time with the files of their past, as far as Olivier knew.
Should he tell his brother the rumours were true? That if they could learn Grey Sander, they could find out more about their past and the land they could never return to?
Actually… no. On second thought, under no circumstances should Olivier tell his brother about their heritage. Overall, he didn’t really think the younger man would care much, but while his brother wasn’t stupid, he was a gossip who sometimes acted without thinking. Throughout their childhood, Antoine had come to have such a reputation for spouting off nonsense and ill-thought-out words that, well… there was a reason he had never truly been included in their group of cousins and their conspiracy to overtake their family’s empire. Worse than even the man’s temper and lack of forethought for the consequences of things he said was the fact that he was downright atrocious at apologizing.
It might be petty, but Olivier and each of his cousins maintained a list of things Antoine had done or said that had put them off trying to include him more. The most recent incident had only been a month previous, when he had told Henri’s date that their outfit made them look too much like a man. While his cousin’s date had been a trans man, and they were, in fact, trying to look like the man they were, the way his brother had said it made it clear he thought Henri’s date should change. Certainly, such advice could be good… in the right time and place, and with someone you hadn’t just met. There was no way Henri’s date could have changed had he even wanted to, and he and Antoine had only just met. Plus, his brother’s delivery had been rude, and yeah. That was why they all continued to not feel too bad about excluding Antoine from their lives.
So, no. Olivier would not be telling his brother about their heritage. The last thing their family needed was for him to start confirming the rumours while drunk or simply mad at them for something or other. Denying their heritage sucked, but openly broadcasting it without a plan wasn’t going to do them any good either.
Even without plans to let anyone know about his heritage, that didn’t mean Olivier wanted to forever remain disconnected from it. For Emilia to have offered to teach him Grey Sander, he wondered if she had any idea how much that meant to him; not only would he be able to translate more of the documents his family kept hidden away, but he would also be able to read more current novels and documents and—
And that meant a lot. It also, unfortunately, added yet another thing to his list of reasons why he really wanted to help with her case. Emilia, for all that she could be annoying, was also sweet and thoughtful and didn’t deserve to be trapped for a decade because she had just wanted to save her friends from forever being hunted by a boy with negligent parents and a traumatic black knot.
Olivier’s mind and Censor buzzed, trying to come up with some way that he would be able to help her, even if only from the sidelines, as his resolve to keep things from the silverstrain cracked, just a little.
Antoine might not be capable of keeping their secrets, but Olivier had no doubt that Emilia would take them to her grave.