by Greg Chapman
21
The Sederunt swarmed with spectators keen to see the deceitful prodigal daughter.
Stephanie walked to the centre of the great hall, chained and trembling. The polished walls and floors flickered with firelight and the smoke from the sconces floated across the ceiling like a mist of lost souls. The smell of Phagun sweat was almost as thick. Hundreds of them had gathered, shoulder to shoulder. At every pillar and exit stood an armed guard, but Stephanie felt they were only to keep the crowd from rushing her. The people wanted her blood for the second time, and she knew all her father had to do was give the word.
Stephanie felt all their vicious eyes upon her, could almost hear the taunts in their heads. If given the opportunity, she knew they all would have set upon her in an instant and flayed the flesh from her bones. Yet, they were just as eager to watch. In Stephanie’s mind, the only difference between the Sederunt and the arena was that when an execution occurred in the court, no one was fed.
The main fire in the court was high and hot, casting a sickening yellow hue over all the attendants. Faces flickered and mouths that were speaking appeared to gnash and snarl at her in the flares and shadows. Stephanie was made to stand beside the fire and feel its heat—a portent of her impending destruction.
Prince Malik stood proud, showing off his catch to the onlookers, savouring their nods of approval and congratulatory smiles. He was her brother, but Stephanie knew he wouldn’t hesitate to cast the first stone when the time came.
The only Phagun missing from the gathering was the King Gavenko, the father she had wanted dead, whom she wished had never spawned her. His justice would be swift this time. It had not been so long ago that Stephanie had stood in this very court, in the same chains, awaiting the same fate. Then she had escaped, but not before she lost—
No, she would not think of it, she had to stay strong. She had a purpose in giving herself up now. She’d thought long and hard on the march back—it was time to bargain with her father, whether she liked it or not. The lives of everyone gathered to accuse her depended upon it.
The whispers ceased when the King emerged from behind a velvet curtain and entered the domain of the Sederunt. Stephanie’s loathing arose anew at the sight of him, but the King kept his eyes on the ground, his shame self-evident.
Still, even she couldn’t deny the vision of the heavy burden he was carrying: mourning and loss threading his long hair with greys, putting cracks in the corner of his eyes. Beneath it all she could smell his tears and his fear. He was terrified of her and this puzzled Stephanie because it was the King who held the upper hand.
“My Lord King,” Malik announced before his father had even sat in his throne, and there was disrespect in his voice. “Calea stands before you in your court at last.”
Gavenko pinched the bridge of his nose as if to hold back pain before he held up his hand to silence his son.
“I see her, Malik,” he said, his voice almost a murmur. “Now, please, withdraw.”
Malik reluctantly abided by his father’s command. For several moments there was not a word spoken, only mute thoughts passing throughout the court. Stephanie watched her father sink into his throne and thought how pathetic he looked. His rule—his capacity to rule—had only become worse since she escaped. Ever the bold one, she moved to shatter the silence:
“Have you nothing to say to your daughter, My Lord?”
Gavenko looked up at her with eyes reddened by anguish, but her words, her malice, only reignited them with icy rage.
“You have no move to speak in my court!” the King said.
Stephanie stared at her bonds, rusted and cracked. “This is the Phagus’ court, Father—any Phagun can speak here.”
Gavenko left his throne and stormed across the court, his shoes clacking on the cobblestones, the fire illuminating his whole frame with power. He drew back his right hand and brought it down hard across his daughter’s face. Her body crumpled to the ground and dark blood spilled from her nose.
“YOU DO NOT SPEAK!”
The whole court was hushed, a King displaying such violence before the people was rarely seen.
Stephanie turned to gaze up at her father, hair a tangle over her face, slick with blood. She flashed him a gaze of not just hatred, but sheer determination, unquenched even after all this time.
“Is this how you run your court now…forego the trial and hold the execution?” she said.
Gavenko reached down and grabbed her shackles to haul her to her feet. Then he gripped her by the hair and shook her, rattling the ancient chains.
“You will hold your tongue—or I will have it removed!”
Stephanie smiled slyly. “Can’t you do it yourself?”
Gavenko thrust her to the floor and turned his back to her, making a slow march back to the throne.
“Make her stand,” he said, and two guards came quickly to lift her up. The King sat in his throne as ruler now, not as a wronged father.
“You stand in this court guilty of treason, inciting rebellion and evasion. These crimes are punishable by death. You have a choice of the method of your execution and you may speak it now, but they will be your only words.”
Stephanie struggled in the grip of the guards. “I call parley,’ she said.
Gavenko’s eyes widened in disbelief: “Remove her tongue!”
“Father!” Malik said. “This is not tradition—”
Gavenko glared at his son. “This is my court and I am King—the law is mine!” Then he pointed to one of his guards. “Now you—draw your sword and remove her tongue!”
The Phagun unsheathed his sword, but Malik drew his own on him.
“Put the sword away!” he said.
“MALIK!” Gavenko roared.
“The Sederunt is not a torture chamber, Father!”
Gavenko stood ready to strike his son, but Stephanie’s shriek was sharper than any blade:
“The one named Thomas is returning!”
The King and his son were dumbstruck, the hearts of the crowd sharing the same dismay. Gavenko regained his composure momentarily and approached his daughter.
“What did you say?”
“Thomas—the one you cast out, the one you neglected to kill—he has been taken by the Stygma and I am certain he will lead them back here!”
The crowd’s whispers became shouts—cries of outrage and for blood. They jostled against one another, some trying to get to the front while others just wanted to get at Stephanie.
Malik held out his hands to placate them. “Don’t listen to her!”
Stephanie watched her father retreat from the crowd, from her words. She knew he was thinking of the all-powerful Stygma storming his gates.
“How do you know this?” he said.
She wiped her bleeding nose on the back of her hand.
“I saw them take him—in the Forest of the Skiift.”
Malik came forward. “That’s where we found her Father—she was there with the intruder Thomas and I believe she has been cavorting with the Skin Shifters! She could be feeding you lies! You cannot trust her!”
“No more than you, brother!” she retorted.
Gavenko raised a hand for silence. “Enough!” Then he turned to Stephanie. “How can you be certain the Stygma didn’t just kill him?”
“Because it wasn’t one of the monks who took him—it was their prophet.”
Shal-Ekh’s name hovered in the court as whispers, the sound passing the lips of each Phagun. Stephanie saw Gavenko shiver.
“The prophet never kills,” the King said. “He must see something in this Thomas.” Then he took hold of his daughter’s arm. “Tell me what he wants with him?”
Stephanie’s scowl could have turned her father to stone.
“Make me a bargain,” she said.
Gavenko was aghast. “There Sederunt is not some common marketplace—there is only life or death here!”
“Yet you are willing to bend the laws when it suits your vengeance,”
she countered.
Gavenko’s gaze wavered, from her to the crowd and she knew she had caught him out, her Phagus brothers and sisters could see it too. So he returned to his throne.
“You will reveal this information, or you will die now.”
Stephanie addressed the crowd. “‘I wish to barter—life in the dungeons.”
Gavenko slammed his fist down on the arm of the throne.
“No—you will tell me what I need to know, or you will die!”
Stephanie dropped her arms by her side, accepting. “Then everyone in the Flaeschama will die with me. The one named Thomas will return with the Stygma and there will be no way to stop them and the Stygma and the Skiift will squabble over what’s left of your rotten kingdom.’
The onlookers turned to their King. They could see the sincerity in her eyes, despite all her wrongdoings. She hoped that they would force Gavenko to see reason.
“What knowledge could this Thomas have that could prove a danger to us?” The King said.
“It’s not what he knows—it’s what he is.”
Gavenko frowned. “Explain.”
“Not without a deal.”
The King was silent, which for Stephanie, was terrifying. His outbursts of despotism could be predictable, but when he was silent, there was no telling how much power he could release.
“How do you know him?” he said in a calm voice. “He declared here in my court that he’d met you before, that in fact during that meeting you feasted upon his flesh.”
The crowd turned to the exiled daughter, horror on their faces.
“Yes, we met,” Stephanie admitted. “But our meeting was…confrontational. Thomas attacked me and in defence, I bit him.”
“And we’re just supposed to take your word for it—from mouth of a traitor!?” Malik interrupted.
“Yes,” she replied with a sideways glance at her brother.
Gavenko stood. “There is no doubt the one named Thomas is a threat, but there is still no denying the threat you pose, Calea. Just three decades ago, you stood here in my court, begging for your life after your betrayal. You deceived me…you deceived us all and many lives were lost—”
“There is no need to remind me father. I know what was lost, but more will be lost if you don’t send out a party to dispatch Thomas.”
“Why?!”
“Spare my life!”
“No!”
Tears streamed down Stephanie’s cheek. “You must!” she said. “You punished me enough when you took him away from me!”
“Silence!”
“I beg of you!”
Gavenko let out a roar—the call of a King enraged—and the crowd retreated from him while the Sederunt quaked.
“You will die—you deserve to rot, just like him—that filthy traitor you plotted with—”
“You know that’s not the real reason you executed him father!”
Gavenko could have killed her with his gaze alone. “Clear the court!”
At first, the crowd hesitated, but the primal rage in the King’s eyes was ultimately enough to convince them to move. They left in a hurried mass afraid the King might execute them all just to satisfy his bloodlust.
“There will be no execution today—all of you get out!” Gavenko said.
They filed out, literally pushing against each other out through the doors in order to avoid incurring his wrath.
“Get out! All of you! But the prisoner remains here!”
Malik remained by Stephanie’s side, but the King flashed his son a look of disdain.
“Leave us Malik!” he said.
“Father?”
“I said go!”
Malik sheathed his sword and left the Sederunt, left Gavenko and Stephanie to their hatred, one that burned fiercer than the column of flames flickering between them. The doors closed heavily, the sound swirling in the air like a ghost.
“Who is this Thomas, Calea?” Gavenko said without looking at her.
“Don’t call me by that name!”
“It is the name I gave you—the name you disgraced! You should at least have the courage to wear it before you receive your punishment!”
“If you kill me, then you’ll be punishing all of your people and you will have lost everything!”
“Oh and that is the victory you seek is it—where we all die? Such a Lady of the Phagus you are!”
Stephanie shook her head in disappointment. “You’re wrong, that’s not what I want. I want you to stop—to end this ridiculous war before it’s too late.”
Gavenko folded his arms behind his back and paced. “And this Thomas will be the one to bring about this…horrible end, will he?”
“I know it.”
Gavenko turned to her, eager. “How? Who is he? Tell me!”
“He’s a…nobody. A true exile.”
“Of course he is—I exiled him!”
“No, I mean he’s truly alone…he always has been.”
“You make no sense girl!”
Stephanie cocked her head. “Do you still dream father?”
“What?”
“Do you have dreams—do you visit the dreamscape?”
There was a very long pause as Gavenko looked into the flames.
“No…not for a very long time,” he said.
“Nor me, but I haven’t slept for a long time.”
Gavenko looked to her and for a moment his expression softened.
“Is it guilt—for betraying me?” he said.
Stephanie scoffed. “You are so not fit to be King!”
Gavenko’s jaw dropped. “How dare you—”
“Very soon you’ll discover who Thomas is and what he means to the Stygma—what he means to all of us—and you will fall!”
Gavenko struck his daughter again and as she fell, he launched himself on top of her. He wrapped his clawed hands around her throat and squeezed.
“I went…to the Stygma,” Stephanie gasped.
Her words caused him to ease his grip. “You did what?”
“I needed…them to…interpret dreams.”
Stephanie could see that he didn’t understand, and in his confusion, he let his hands slacken. She lay still beneath him, quivering with fear.
“I know who Thomas is,” she said. “I know who he will become because of those dreams father and it will be your fault—just as much as it is mine.”
“But you told me you didn’t dream—”
“That’s right, they’re not my dreams.”
“Then who’s—”
“They’re your grandson’s.”
22
Malik had been in his den honing the edge of his sword when he was summoned back to appear before his father.
As he dressed in his black leather tunic and donned his sword belt, he feared the worst—not for his sister, but for himself. He had always been ready for war, but usurping his father, had never been a battle he’d wanted to fight, regardless of what Stephanie believed.
The prince left his den and pondered the future of his family and the Phagun race. His minions followed closely behind, their heels echoing loudly off the stone floor. The King had a tenuous grip on the Flaeschama, and Malik knew if Gavenko was prepared to execute his own daughter to settle an old score, it was fair to assume that his son should question his own safety?
Malik knew Gavenko was aware of his desire to be King, that in secret he wished he had some of his sister’s bravery. Ever since the rebellion, Malik and his father had clashed more than often—not over how the King handled the rebellion, but rather how he handled the aftermath. To all intents and purposes, Stephanie’s actions—as illegal as they were—had some merit.
Gavenko was a retaliatory ruler: if the people were attacked by the Skiift or Stygma, the King attacked in kind, even if it meant more of his kin were butchered. If his enemy sought solitude, he did the same. He was never the provoker. If only one of the other tribes sought peace, then maybe his father might follow suit.
When it cam
e to punishment Gavenko followed the laws, however recently his interpretations of the laws were misguided—even misinterpreted. The King’s ego was so fragile and singular that Malik wondered if his father even doubted his own capacity to rule. Perhaps his rule was all an act, one inspired by fear and intolerance?
The Thomas problem only intensified his father’s lack of self-control. Whether his sister was lying or not, Malik could see her claims generated the effect she’d intended—to unsettle the King and bide herself more time. Stephanie was as cunning as ever and unless Malik dealt with her, she could try for a second coup.
Yet when Gavenko coldly ordered the court to be vacated, Malik had considered the possibility his father might have found the courage to perform the grisly task himself.
Malik reached the doors of the Sederunt and the two guards posted outside opened them on his approach. Inside, the fire was dying down and the shadows had begun to swarm. Amidst the greyness, he saw the lone figure of Gavenko staring off into nothing. His sister was nowhere to be seen.
“Where is Calea?” Malik said.
Gavenko spoke, barely a whisper: “Gone.”
Malik’s eyebrows rose and his heart pounded frantically. “You executed her?” He gripped the pommel of his sword and scanned the room for signs of an ambush.
The King turned. “No, she is in the dungeons. Her execution has been stayed.”
“On what grounds father?” Malik said, aggravated.
Gavenko walked to him, the tongues of flame from the fire, crackling in the air as he approached.
“She…provided me the information I needed…and more.”
“On this Thomas?”
“In a way, yes, but she still seeks to bargain with me.”
“Which I presume you refused, going by your earlier display.”
The King glanced at his son, distrust in his golden eyes. “My actions are my own to judge Malik,” he said. “I have made no decision on a bargain—or her execution.”
“Something’s changed then,” Malik said. “What did she tell you?”
Gavenko walked away from him, back to his throne. The Sederunt was so hollow without a captive audience. The King sat wearily, contemplative and seemed to forget Malik was even there.
“Father?”
“Do you think she has been punished enough?”