A Brutal Justice

by Jess Corban

  “We don’t want to hurt you—any of you.” I raise my voice so every Alexia can hear. “It’s over. We’ve already set in motion the end of Nedé as we’ve known it, so a better Nedé can take its place.” I exhale slowly before dealing the next blow: “Teera’s dead.”

  A murmur ripples through Alexia and Gentles alike. Trin grips her sword, and the way her golden eyes narrow I know she’s more convinced than ever I’m a traitor. Will she ever be able to forgive me for what I must say next?

  “And . . . Trinidad is now the acting leader of the Alexia.” I bite my lip as I watch her digest the meaning of my announcement.

  “How could you?” she seethes, dismounting Midas and racing toward me until she’s close enough to strike. I don’t flinch, don’t back down. She positions her blade to run me through. Rohan lunges, but I stop him with a hand to his chest, begging him to trust me.

  “You could kill me,” I challenge. “You could kill these Brutes. With some loss of Alexia life, you could probably decimate every Gentle here—every Gentle in Nedé—with the full might of the Alexia. But for what, Trin? I’m fighting to end tyranny and restore virtue. I know you want that too. As of today, there will be no new Gentles. Nedé stands at a crossroads. Why waste any more blood?”

  The tip of her sword holds steady, poised to strike. “Adoni was a good leader. Teera, flawed or not, was our Matriarch. You deserve to pay for your crimes.”

  “Maybe we do. But what of Teera’s crimes? Of Nedé’s? Let me defend our actions before the Senators. Then . . . I’ll willingly submit myself to our punishment.”

  She hesitates, taken aback by my request.

  “High crimes demand a full trial,” I press, pretending I haven’t just remembered this.

  “Fine,” she concedes. “But you’ll stay in the cells until then. And this time—” she almost, almost smiles—“no custard apple.”

  She takes in the sea of Gentles, their makeshift weapons glinting in the morning sun, and shakes her head.

  “I don’t know how you did it,” she says, “but you had better call them off before I change my mind.”

  I’d love to know the same thing. As soon as she walks away, I sweep Neechi into my arms. He’s sweating like a pig in July, and holding a sickle so tight his hand might be stuck. Jase slaps him on the back while the other Brutes grin. Rohan quips, “Not so gutless now.”

  “Neechi,” I say, careful not to let any Alexia hear, “what in bats? How did you—?” I finally land on “You would have fought the Alexia head-on?”

  Neechi laughs. “Fight? Dom Reina, you know Gentles better than that. I might have thrown some coconuts from a tree, but I barely convinced them to hold weapons and walk down the hill. If it came to fighting, we would have run as fast as our brittle legs would carry us.”

  We burst out laughing.

  “We may not have the strength of a coyote—” he taps his head with a finger—“but Dom Leda helped us think like one.”

  “My mother?”

  “She told the Gentles at Bella Terra the truth about us, like you told me, and they’ve been spreading the word that when her daughter got to Phoenix City, we should do whatever we could to help her, because she wants to help us. Old Solomon got the message going like wildfire. Eventually, word got to Domus—”

  “Domus!” I interject, remembering now that I saw him in the crowd. He shuffles forward and I take his wrinkled face in my hands. “You’re alive!”

  “Yes, Dom Reina.” He smiles meekly. “Happily, other matters kept the Matriarch preoccupied after your departure.”

  “But how did you end up with them, Neechi? We thought we lost you.”

  “You did.” Neechi grins. “Or I lost you. Then Domus found me near the stable—scared the scat out of me—and since I knew you were headed for the Center, we figured this was as good a place as any to help you.”

  “Well done, Neechi,” I say. “Brave, brave Neechi. Now you can tell the others . . .” and I give him one last instruction before Trin returns with ropes and guards to escort seven prisoners to the Arena cells.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  WHEN MY EYES FLINCH IN THE blinding sun of midafternoon three days later, I’m disappointed Trin doesn’t accompany the guards. She stuck to her word about no custard apples, but she did provide food and medicine. It was an honorable gesture, and I had hoped to thank her.

  In her stead, a full fifty guards escort us, our hands and feet bound with heavy shackles. Apparently, after the Brutes’ last victory against impossible odds, they won’t be taking any chances.

  During the long, dark days underground, we grieved those we lost—told stories of Galion’s mishaps and Jem’s surprising naughty streak. And I came to terms with Dáin’s sacrifice—whether he meant to or not, he gave his life saving mine. I told them, too, about the images Teera showed me, and though their expressions were impossible to read in the darkness, I could feel their quiet rage—perhaps even a little fear at what their kind could become if left unchecked.

  The single star to these uncertain days and nights, the beacon of light, was that Rohan, once again, somehow managed a way to be near me. From the adjacent cell, he’d slip his fingers through the metal bars and find mine, and somehow that simple touch gave me the courage I needed.

  That courage motivated me to rehearse what I’ll tell the Senators today. If I don’t succeed—if I can’t convince them—Rohan will die. So will Jase and Bri, Torvus and the others. Our very survival depends on my ability to convince them within minutes what took me years to accept.

  We’re herded along the curving stone wall of the Arena. I expect to be pushed into a waiting surrey or marched through cobblestone streets to Finca del Mar, where Senate meetings are usually held. Instead, we turn abruptly into the west entrance.

  Through the tunneled archway, a semicircle of tables materializes in the center of the Arena, chairs filled with unsmiling Senators. I recognize some of their faces, including Julissa Pierce. None of them—not even my own aunt—betray a single glimmer of hope. Dread turns my limbs to water. You asked for this, I remind myself. Pull it together—this is your chance to save them. It’s just that my defense felt more substantial while mentally rehearsing in the secluded cells than it does before the scrutiny of the full Council.

  A strangely familiar sound grows as we approach—like a river murmuring quickly downstream. When we emerge into the ring, the entire Arena seems to echo with a gasp, and now I realize what the sound is. The towering gray bleachers are packed with women, tense and muttering. When they see us—or perhaps more accurately, the Brutes among us—there are little inhales and heated whispers, even some hisses and boos, from the Senators’ tables and bleachers of Nedéans alike.

  It appears all of Nedé has come to hear the verdict: What will be done to avenge their Matriarch? I falter under their collective gaze. Preparing to face the full Council was intimidating enough; I never imagined this. How can I make all of them understand?

  My heart pounds wildly, and my palms grow slick.

  The guards halt the Brutes and Bri, but march me forward a few more paces so I’m standing in the middle of the unpretentious semicircle of leaders. No greenery or flowers decorate the tables for this occasion, so unlike our usual gatherings in this space. No flags fly overhead. There’s not a drop of chicha in sight. It seems, with Teera gone, the Senators have already reverted to a greater simplicity. Austere, but not soft. On the opposite side of the Arena, a rectangular platform has been erected, where more Alexia guards stand armed and at attention, prepared for a pending execution. Our execution.

  Seated in the center of the Council, Trinidad stares at me, unblinking. One half of her head has been shaved, the rest studded with short, gold-tinged braids. The tribute to her fallen commander makes her appear fiercer somehow, and I wince. Her metal arm cuffs gleam in the sun, and she wears her Alexia uniform like the leader she has become. Whatever she thinks of me, I am proud of her. Under different circumstances, it would be
an honor to shoulder a bow in her service. But the sight of her also makes me ache. Even if no one else in this blasted Arena understands what I’ve done, I need her to.

  Enough guards surround Torvus, Rohan, Jase, Théo, Dantès, and Bri to stamp out any notion of escape. I steal a glance at Rohan. His whole body is taut as a bowstring; his gaze follows my every move. Despite the worry he can’t hide, his eyes tell me I have what it takes. That we’ll make it through this somehow.

  By Siyah, I hope he’s right.

  A Senator with gray hair and a taupe tunic rises, unfolding a piece of sand-colored parchment.

  “Reina Pierce,” she reads, “you stand accused of aiding and abetting these enemies of Nedé in the destruction of vital Nedéan property; the murder of Teera Pierce, eighth Matriarch of Nedé; the murder of Adoni Assad, leader of the Alexia; and fifty-two Nedéans, members of the Alexia destiny. Yet,” she sighs, “in the tradition of Nedé’s long-standing esteem of the Virtues, including justice, you may now make your defense.”

  I step forward and lift my chin.

  Beneath a deepening blue sky, tens of thousands of faces stare down at the spectacle we’ve become, waiting to hear—not what I have to say, but what punishment we’ll be given. I scan the encircling rows of my fellow Nedéans, wanting so badly for them to understand.

  One set of hazel eyes, just behind and above the Senators, welcomes me with their love. My sisters, Marsa, and Dom Bakshi surround her. She risks much to be here. How like my mother. With the lives of Jase and Torvus also balanced precariously on my defense, her unconditional support fills me with a strange ache. A fresh resolve.

  I address the Senators, Trinidad, and our sisterhood, projecting the words of our motto loud and clear.

  “‘Praesidete debiles. Salus omnibus. Vis sine virtute tyrannis est.’ These are words Nedé has proclaimed since the foremothers risked their lives to allow us to live free from fear.” Murmurs of assent ripple through the crowd. “Nedéans protect the weak. Nedéans ensure safety for all. Nedéans fight against tyranny with virtue.”

  I don’t know how much they have been told, but the Brutes stand in plain sight now. Might as well address the obvious.

  “It was in pursuit of those very virtues that one brave woman saved these Brutes from becoming Gentles. We’ve been told that Brutes committed atrocities against women because of inferior genetics. But now I know the truth: we Nedéans have made Gentles the weak-minded, brittle-bodied humans they are. To protect ourselves, we have been robbing Brutes of their minds and bodies. What right do we have to strip others of dignity because of their potential to hurt us?”

  A tall, thin Senator with hollow cheeks interrupts. “The Brute atrocities in times past are irrefutable, and their current actions prove their danger remains.”

  “With few exceptions, the actions these Brutes have taken against Nedé—against the Matriarch—were in the name of justice and self-preservation. They only combated the tyranny against them to claim what was rightfully theirs: safety, health, happiness. Is that so different from what our own foremothers were willing to risk their lives to achieve?”

  “You said ‘with few exceptions,’” the Senator presses. “Do you admit they took excessive, Brutish measures?”

  Even though he’s dead, I can’t escape the memory of Dáin pinning me against the damp earth in a Jungle clearing, or excuse the terror Jonalyn experienced at his hands. And Dáin wasn’t the only one—those who followed him to the attacks hold blame too. I glance back at the Brutes, my eyes settling on Rohan. A flutter of familiar fear surfaces. Will they go beyond reasonable measures again? Will they choose to do right more often than wrong?

  I beg doubt not to betray me as I respond. “The attacks against Nedéans were led by one rogue Brute and a few followers—they weren’t sanctioned by the rest. That Brute is now dead.”

  “Yet he was capable of great harm against us.”

  A distressed murmur pulses through the crowd, and I have to raise my voice to be heard above their fear.

  “What of our own evil?” I yell. “Was our Matriarch, Teera Pierce, a model of virtue?” I scrutinize each Senator as I continue, settling on Aunt Julissa. She knows her mother better than any of them. “Would you be very surprised to know I watched her kill a Gentle with wicked indifference? That she forced me to do the same? The unscrupulous indulgences you overlooked were only one flea on the old dog’s back. Surely you’ve heard? She tried to murder her own daughter! And she was intent on killing every Brute in existence simply for being born.”

  The Arena has grown so quiet I can hear the whoosh of a jay’s wings as it swoops overhead.

  “I stand with these Brutes because I’ve discovered they’re no worse monsters than we are. Without virtue, whoever holds the power—Brutes or women—will eventually default to tyranny. The foremothers thought we could wield sole power without being corrupted. Look where that got us. But what if we combined our strengths to fight injustice—called each other to a higher virtue?”

  I meet Trin’s eyes. She betrays nothing. A few Senators scribble notes on their parchments.

  I don’t know if it’s enough, but it’s all I have.

  Torvus, however, doesn’t seem ready to leave his fate in the hands of my shaky defense. He pushes forward to address the Senators, dragging two Alexia guards with him. They coil to strike, but surprisingly, Trin orders, “Let him speak.”

  Torvus’s deep voice reverberates through the Arena.

  “I was raised as a son of Nedé,” he booms, without suppressing his resentment toward the term. “You claim to have freed Gentles to use their best gifts for women, but I tell you, you’ve stripped them of more than you’ve given.”

  The Senator spokeswoman blusters, “But Brutes have killed women.”

  “Women have killed Brutes!” I yell back, enraged by the hypocrisy.

  The Senator glares at me. “You have killed Nedéans!”

  The Arena erupts in chaotic murmurs and shouts. I’m crushed under the weight of her words: I have killed Nedéans. The truth is—even though I joined these Brutes for a greater good—the Council sees only that two Nedéans conspired with Brutes and turned against their own. Killed their own. Regardless of what they plan to do with these Brutes, they believe Bri and I deserve to die today.

  What can I say in defense of our betrayal?

  Amidst the Arena’s upheaval, women demanding justice, Rohan fights his way forward until he’s standing beside me. He meets my gaze for only a second before shouting above the crowd’s dissent to address the Council.

  “Hear me,” he shouts over the din. “If according to your law someone must die for justice to be served, take my life. This Nedéan has done nothing deserving of death. I’ll give my life willingly in exchange for hers.”

  The frothing crowd stills at his words. I still. What is he—? Why would he—?

  Jase’s confident voice breaks the silence as he moves past Théo to stand beside Bri. “And take mine for hers.”

  Bri hisses under her breath, “You’re an idiot.” But her cheeks flush and her eyes glisten all the same.

  Trinidad stands abruptly, leaning across the table to stare at Rohan. “Why would you do that?”

  Rohan takes my hand. “Your Matriarch had power but no virtue. Reina has no Alexia at her command, but she has more virtue than anyone I’ve ever known.” He takes another step forward and spreads his arms wide. “My life isn’t enough for hers, but if you’ll take it, I offer it freely.”

  The Arena erupts in a fresh wave of confused murmurs and shouts.

  Panic grips me. “Rohan, no.”

  He retakes my hand firmly in his, meets my pleading glare, and whispers, “It would be the most honorable death.” Then, with a lopsided grin, he leans down and adds, “Besides, you chose Brute. This is who we are.”

  I want to throw my arms around him and never let go. To discover every other unlikely virtue this Brute possesses. But even if I can’t—if we never get the chance�
�a strange resolve steadies me. We were made to change the world together, weren’t we, and whatever happens to us today, we have already done just that.

  I tear my gaze from him as Jase gives his answer to Trin’s question. “Dom Pierce has sacrificed much to protect the truly weak—to save children who couldn’t speak for themselves. Children like us.” He locks eyes with Mother in the crowd, and I understand which Dom Pierce he’s really speaking of. She beams with purest love.

  As the crowd works to understand his meaning, a strange hush hollows out the Arena. I glance back at the others, who stand stoically, when a voice pierces the quiet.

  “Let them live!” it shouts.

  I whip around and quickly scan the Arena bleachers for our unexpected ally. Dom Tourmaline stands in the bottom row, just below Mother—as eccentrically dressed as ever in sweeping yellow silks—and cries again, “Virtue before tyranny!”

  Before I can make sense of it, the crowd erupts in a mayhem of hisses and whistles, some shouting “death for death,” while others chant for mercy.

  The Senators shift uncomfortably, some watching the Alexia—tense amidst the unease—others twisting in their seats to read the crowd.

  As the temperature in the Arena mounts, Aunt Julissa meets my gaze, her brows drawn together in thought, before rushing to the spokeswoman’s seat. The two exchange heated words for several minutes as chaos continues. When the Senator reluctantly waves a hand, Julissa speaks urgently with Trinidad. The Alexia leader nods. With some secret matter decided, Julissa stands and motions for the Arena’s attention. After several attempts, the crowd hushes enough to hear her address.

  “Our law is clear,” she says, to those gathered as much as to us. “A life cannot be taken without penalty.”