by Sam Ryder
Did she deserve this? Maybe. It was out of my hands now. And though I planned to sacrifice myself in a last-ditch attempt to save her, I was acutely aware of the futility of what would also be my final act.
I could almost hear Beat’s chiding voice in my head: Always gotta try to be the hero, Ryder. Give a rest, man, the world has to save itself sometimes.
“I’m sorry,” I said, trying to push the apology across time and space to Beat’s ears.
“What?” Vrill said.
“Nothing,” I replied, though the apology was as much for her as it was for Beat. As much for Eve as it was for Vrill. I’d failed them all, in some ways. I was their Demigod, the first in many years. I was supposed to have the answers, to bring about change. I guess I’d accomplished it to some degree, but it wasn’t enough to save any of them.
The decider with the sword spoke: “We have heard the damning words of our returned daughter, Vrill. We have heard the accused confirm her acts against our people, the Lri Ay. Is there anything else to say? Who here shall speak on behalf of the accused?”
“I will,” I said immediately.
“Stand and state your name.”
I stood, feeling out of place with my bulky frame. “Sam Ryder. Earthling from, well, Earth.”
“Your appearance suggests the accused is your kin,” another of the decider’s said, the man to the left. He wore a brooding expression, as if storm clouds lived constantly within his head.
I almost choked. “Kin? You mean, like, we’re related? No. No. We both have pale skin, but it’s not different than how all of your people have dark skin without being related.”
The decider who’d asked the question brooded over this response, but then nodded. “Fine. What is your relationship with the accused?”
“The accused—Eve—and I are friends.” I almost added ‘with benefits,’ but thought better of confusing this audience further. Straightforward responses seemed like the best approach. Eve’s eyes met mine and I could see the thankfulness in her expression. A softness that hadn’t been evident when I first met her. The changes wrought in her had been significant. And yet now she was going to die anyway.
Unless I could talk them out of it.
“And what say you of her crimes?”
The phrasing of the question threw me off for a second, but I recovered swiftly. I had a strategy. Namely, throw the goddesses under the bus. I knew this would hurt our chances of recruiting anyone to our cause, but I didn’t care right now. Our Finding mission would mean nothing if we lost Eve in the process. “She was only following the orders of the Three goddesses who she had pledged to serve,” I said. “The same Three who gave us the power to travel from Tor to Lri Ayem. She cannot be held fully accountable for her crimes.”
“What?” Eve protested. “No. They are not to blame. I made my own choices. The Three listened to me. I am nobody’s puppet.”
There it was—the fire. And though she was using that fire to further condemn herself, seeing it burn within her again gave me hope.
“Why do you argue for she who doesn’t argue for herself?” the middle decider asked.
“Because she thinks she’s doing the right thing by confessing, by taking responsibility for her actions. Maybe she is. But that doesn’t mean she should pay the ultimate price. She has changed. She isn’t that woman anymore. She agreed to come to your planet with us to do things the right way. She didn’t have to. She could’ve stayed on Tor and avoided your people all together. It shows great bravery and strength of character to have even put herself in this position.”
Eve’s eyes met mine, and they were wet with unshed tears.
The right decider, who had yet to speak thus far, said, “You are clearly biased in this matter.” This decider was another woman, her dark-as-night hair pulled back into a severe bun. She had high cheekbones that, along with her straight-backed stance, made her look regal.
“Maybe,” I said. “But I once held anger for Eve too. She infuriated me. I was also taken by her to Tor against my will.” The words spilled out of me before I could consider whether they were going to help or build an even stronger case against her. Too late now. I soldiered forward. “She thought she was doing the wrong things for the right reasons. Maybe she was. But she was also misguided. She claims the Three goddesses didn’t order her to do the things she did, but they also didn’t steer her in a different direction. Their influence was pervasive to everything Eve did.”
“And you think that’s changed?” said the third decider.
“Absolutely.” I looked to Vrill to confirm my words, but she looked away. For a second I’d almost forgotten Vrill and Eve’s history. No, I was Eve’s only advocate now. “She recently went on a Finding mission—that’s where she goes to the other planets to recruit new Warriors to our cause—and guess what? She returned without any Warriors. Why? Because she didn’t force them. She explained the situation and asked them to come back with her. They said no. So she left, no questions asked. Do you deny this, Eve?”
Her lips pressed together before she spoke. “I do not.”
“Do acts of good wash away crimes of the past?” the blade-wielding decider asked, running a finger along the sword’s flat side.
“Not on Earth,” I admitted. “The past cannot be washed away. But the death of someone who has truly changed provides no greater good. Allowing the accused to perform positive acts that benefit the world is a better result, don’t you think? Especially when the accused is already assuaged with guilt.”
Eve blinked. Her teeth were locked tight. A single tear spilled from her left eye, tracking down her cheek and thwarting gravity as it hung, unfalling, from her jawline.
“Our laws have no such leeway,” the one male decider said. Though his natural expression remained in that state of brooding, I thought I sensed a hint of regret at the truth he spoke.
“Then change your laws,” I said.
“How dare you, an outsider, make such a request?” said the decider to the right. “You know nothing of our people, our traditions. The founders’ laws are above change.”
“Are they?” I startled, having not expected Vrill to speak except perhaps to further condemn Eve. All heads turned toward my companion. Her gaze was firm, steely even, as it traveled from decider to decider as she explained. “What system of absolutes can serve justice to situations as varied as the rocks of our planet? Though we raise our founders onto a pedestal, deservedly so, do we claim them to be soothsayers? No. They are Lri Ay, like you and I. They could not foresee the future, nor could they predict every situation that would arise.”
“You are the witness who brought forward the charges against the accused,” the third decider said. “Are you rescinding your prior statements?”
“No,” Vrill said, shaking her head. “But I brought no charges. I was merely telling a story, one I was not permitted to finish because of your bloodlust.” There were a number of gasps from the gathered crowd, but Vrill ignored them. “Our situation is not so different to that on Tor. So I ask you this question: Would any of you not have done the same if you had the opportunity? If we could’ve traveled to other planets and brought back warriors to stand with us against the Viss, would you not have done it to save our people?”
“We are not the ones on trial!” the third decider snapped, but it was too little too late—Vrill’s words had already had an impact, sending a ripple across the audience, which murmured loudly. Her words had even been passed, person to person, outside the hall, and a rumbling could be heard without the four walls. The third decider, however, wasn’t about to succumb to the crowd’s growing unrest. “You make a mockery of this trial. Perhaps you have been away for too long and forgotten our laws.”
A new voice joined the conversation. “My daughter forgets nothing,” Delaqua said, stepping forward to stand by Vrill’s side. “She reminds us that we were not always the angry people we are today. Decider Quin, would you or would you not seek assistance for our planet if
you could? What if there was an army so close you could touch them? What if you begged them for assistance and they refused? What if you had the power to force them to fight for us, to help us defeat the Viss? Would your soul be pure? Would you resist the temptation while your people die? Our numbers decline by the season. We all know this. Every proposed solution ends in failure. Would you watch us reach extinction or would you act, for better or for worse?”
What the hell was happening? Vrill standing up for Eve was an epiphany in and of itself, but now her mother? She knew nothing of our plight on Tor, and yet here she was reasoning on our behalf. I was mesmerized by the daughter/mother duo.
The third decider said, “I will not answer your hypothetical questions, which have no relevance here. If there are no other witnesses, I call for the vote.”
Shit. This was all happening too fast. Hell, Eve still hadn’t even tried to speak for herself, other than to further admit her guilt. The brooding male on the panel looked unconvinced, like Eve was nothing more than something gooey he’d stepped on and gotten stuck on the bottom of his shoe. The female decider with the sword hadn’t ceased to tease the metal with her fingers, caressing it almost lovingly, like using it would be an experience bordering on the erotic. And the third decider…well, we all knew where she stood.
Hell, getting one vote in Eve’s favor would be a miracle. Getting two? It would require an act of the goddesses, and we all knew their power didn’t reach outside of Tor’s bounds.
My muscles tightened as I prepared to do whatever I had to do.
“Guilty,” the third decider said.
Eyes shifted to the brooding male decider. He touched his chin thoughtfully with his hand. “I cannot say I would’ve acted differently than the accused. I petition for mercy. Guilty, but without the death penalty. I would request that the accused be brought into our fold and forced to fight for us as she once forced our people to do for her.”
It was creative. It was logical and fair. It was a dagger to my heart, for if Eve was forced to remain on Lri Ay I might never see her again.
And yet if it meant she would live…
Her eyes were on mine. I melted into her certain gaze. I could feel how much she wanted this and I wouldn’t deny her. I nodded my support to her while a fragment of my heart broke free and tumbled into the abyss.
Not that we were out of the proverbial woods yet. There was still one decider’s vote to be cast. And she just happened to be wielding a blade that could remove Eve’s head from her neck in less than a second flat. A blade which she had just raised high in the air, for all the witnesses to see.
No! I screamed, but the cry was in my head alone, my mouth dry with fear.
“I agree,” the decider said.
With who? I wanted to shout, but I could already see the third decider’s gloating expression, her look of victory.
She’d misread the situation.
“I agree with Decider Horatio,” she clarified.
The smug look on Decider Quin’s face froze, morphing into one of rage. “What?”
“The deciders have spoken,” the middle decider, whose name I never even learned, said. With that, she jammed the blade back into its scabbard with authority, which was why the melodramatic woman had raised the sword in the first place.
A breath poured out of me. Vrill gripped my hand and whispered into my ear. “This is just. This is right.” She wasn’t saying it because she’d gotten what she wanted—a Tor without Eve—but because she believed it to be fair. I loved her for it. I loved Eve for her stoic courage and willingness to face her sins of the past. My heart was full to bursting while being damaged at the same time.
“Am I permitted to approach the accused?” I asked the deciders.
“The convicted,” Decider Horatio corrected. “And yes. You may exchange words if you wish. But then you must leave our planet forever. You must agree that none of your so-called Finders will ever return to Lri Ayem.” That was what I was afraid of. That was also what I’d expected.
I nodded. “I agree.” I wasn’t sure whether I had the authority to make such a deal, but I would do everything in my power to get the Three to agree to the pact too. I stepped forward. Eve stood, ropes still taut against her wrists and ankles. She didn’t hide from my gaze, as steadfast as she’d ever been.
“Thank you,” was the first thing she said.
“For what?”
“For never giving up on me. For believing there was good in me. For speaking for me when I couldn’t speak for myself.”
There was only one thing to say. “Of course.” I roped my arms around her and pulled her close, breathing in her scent—a touch of flowers mixed with morning dew—which had always charmed me.
She couldn’t hug me back, but I felt her closeness, her goodbye.
I turned away quickly, not wanting to delay the inevitable. Vrill had been watching. There was no jealousy in her now. For a second I thought she might approach Eve as well, but it just wasn’t in her to do so. However, she did offer a respectful nod, which Eve returned. The women, at long last, had found a common peace. I was no longer stuck in the middle.
“It’s time to go,” I said.
Screams blasted away Vrill’s response before she could get it out.
TEN
THE BATTLE FOR DAHL MAR
For a few ragged moments there was only chaos. The shouts that echoed through the caverns were disjointed and confused, carrying mixed messages that made little sense.
Eventually, however, the truth was carried on every tongue that spoke:
The Viss had breached the exterior portal.
Oh shit.
Vrill seemed torn by the news. “We can’t risk dying like this,” she said. “If we do, Tor is lost.”
“But your people,” I said. “We can help them. We have to help them.”
I knew that’s what she wanted to do, but she shook her head.
Delaqua wasn’t helping. “Go, now, my daughter,” she said. “Save yourself. Live on, my heart!”
It was a mother’s plea, and I knew Vrill would accept her mother’s last wish.
Unfortunately, I would not. “No, this is bigger than Tor. Bigger than Lri Ayem. Bigger than the Morgoss. This is the biggest thing that has ever happened. This is genocide, the extinction of an entire race, save for a few who escape to another planet. This is unacceptable. I will not leave. I will fight.”
“So will I,” Eve said, joining our conversation. “If you will let me.”
“Absolutely not,” Decider Quin said. “If we release you, you’ll use whatever goddess witchcraft your patronesses provide you with and leave this planet forever.”
“I swear I will not.”
“Words from the mouth of a liar are nothing but lies.”
I was tired of this constant bickering. “Listen, Decider Quin, the Viss are already inside your city. If Eve escapes it will change nothing. But if she stays and fights, maybe you have a chance. She is one of the most capable warriors I have ever met.”
Decider Quin sneered at me and I could tell she wasn’t swayed, but then the middle decider appeared out of nowhere and brought the broadside of her sword crashing onto the woman’s head. She fell, unconscious, and I barely managed to catch her.
“Well then,” Eve said. “I guess it’s decided.”
“It is.” The woman cut Eve’s bounds just as efficiently, the severed ropes coiling around her feet like dead snakes. She handed the sword to Eve. “Here. Use this. I am no warrior.”
Eve gripped the sword, testing out its weight and balance. “This is a good sword. Thank you. Let’s go.”
We left the hall. I drew my hammer, propping it on my shoulder as we ran, enjoying the steadfast feel of its weight against my body. My mind spiraled back to my confrontation with the Viss. The speed with which it had moved was uncanny, but I had proven they could be fooled. How did they get inside anyway? Perhaps they found another entrance?
Though it was hard to tell one t
unnel in this maze from another, I was fairly certain we were speeding along the same passage we’d originally taken when we reached the city, except in reverse. The first time through here, we’d seen sex—a lot of it. Couples, threesomes, full on orgies. This time around there was none of that. We saw some of the Lri Ay in their quarters, preparing themselves for battle by donning armor and grabbing weapons. Those incapable of fighting were headed in the other direction, making our progress forward slower and more cautious. Because of my bulk and the twists and turns along the way, thrice I scraped up against the wall, armor clanking and screeching.
We reached the exit from the city that led up the long slope to the exterior portal just as the first of the Viss spilled out, skittering on awkward legs meant for galloping across open spaces not navigating tight quarters such as these. In the orange lanternlight, its rows of eyes didn’t glow, seeming to absorb the fiery light, turning them the color of fire. Impaled on its long, spear-like beak was a dark-skinned, male corpse. One of the Lri Ay. As the Viss turned its head from side to side to assess the situation, the arms and legs on the body seemed to reanimate, flopping about as if performing some kind of silly dance.
Vrill said, “That’s how they got in. Clever.”
I remembered how she’d placed her hand on the portal to gain entrance to the underground tunnel. “It recognizes dead people?” I asked.
She shook her head. “He must’ve been alive when they reached the portal.”
Which was a sickening thought. Did he resist? As his final dying act, try not to let the enemy into his peoples’ city? If so, he had failed, which must’ve been horrible. Knowing, just before he died, that he was responsible for the demise of his very race.