Judge

by R. J. Larson

  Beka appeared in the doorway now, holding Jess. Naturally. She swept Ela with a head-to-toes glance. “You’re safe? Ela, the way Scythe reacted, we thought you’d been knifed.”

  “Not yet.” Remembering Zade Chacen’s hatred, her breath snagged in her throat. She mustn’t think about future attacks or she’d be incapacitated by terror. Think of something else. Think of others. “Beka, I know you want to stay to keep guard over me, but you must leave Parne soon.” She glanced at Jon, adding, “When you go, please take Scythe. He can’t protect me and neither can you. I don’t want to see any of you hurt for my sake.”

  “We’ll leave when we’re ready,” Jon said, an edge to his smile now. “In twelve days.”

  “Will your supplies last that long?”

  “We’re being frugal.” Beka lifted her chin in something approaching smugness. “I’m an excellent household manager when I want to be.”

  Jon nodded, his gaze now on Jess. “In twelve days, we’ll buy our supplies for the journey to Istgard. Once we’ve arrived there, if need be, I could arrange a loan.” He lifted Jess from Beka’s arms. “May I?”

  “No!” Beka pouted.

  Jess beamed at them, a toothless baby smile that wrung Ela’s heart.

  Twelve days until Jon and Beka departed. Thirteen days until Belaal.

  Infinite, she implored silently, protect those who love You!

  A waiting calm enfolded her.

  Despite Father and Matron Prill’s sharp-eyed stares.

  As Matron Prill stood guard, shielding her from the gazes of passersby, Ela tucked the white sash into a crevice at the base of one of Parne’s public wells, wedged mud against it, then dusted it with sand to cover her fingermarks. Good enough.

  Ela stood, rubbed her grimy hands together, then retrieved the branch from its resting place, set against the well’s carved-stone sides. “Now we wait.”

  Obviously less than pleased, Prill waved her handbasket at Ela and whispered, “Did you really bury that lovely fabric there? Ela! What will your mother say?”

  Keeping her voice low, Ela leaned toward her fussing chaperone. “What can she say? I’m obeying the Infinite’s command. Mother would do the same in my place.”

  “It makes no sense.”

  “It’ll be a sign to Parne,” Ela explained. “Everyone saw me wearing it at the temple.”

  Prill exhaled a gusty disapproving breath. “Well. If the Infinite commanded it, then I suppose it must be endured. What now?” Lips primmed, the matron asked, “Will we be safe walking through the marketplace? I need some spices and dried fruit, and you’d best tell me now if we’re going to be chased off before I can buy my food.”

  Go, the Infinite prompted.

  To the marketplace again? Ela nodded to Prill. “Yes, I suppose I’ve reason to go.”

  As they entered the bustling public square, Ela looked for Amar and the Chacens. Where were they? Not that it mattered, Ela realized. She apparently had enough enemies in the marketplace to keep her on alert as Prill bargained for her modest pinches of spices and handfuls of fruit. Merchants’ scowls met Ela’s approach, and glares followed her as she trailed Prill through the market, perusing the wares. Many of these same merchants had gladly dealt with Ela before she’d become a prophet. This morning, however, they were turning their backs to her.

  It seemed that telling the truth was an unofficial crime.

  At last one of the spice merchants, Deuel, beckoned Ela. He’d traded with Mother in the past and spoke to her of the Infinite. Now his thick black eyebrows lifted like two crescents, as if he was eager to tell Ela a secret. Curious, she approached. Deuel grinned. “Prophet!”

  As Deuel spoke, his face changed, his skin cracking and peeling back in murky layers that dissipated like smoke swept away in a breeze. In that same instant, the light in his eyes blazed, then faded to a normal, mortal gleam. His flesh, too, became normal within a breath. As if a deceiver had passed through him to taunt her. Ela froze. Was Deuel vulnerable to false worship? Infinite?

  Look at his hands.

  Ela glanced down at the token Deuel seemed prepared to give her. A clay spice box, engraved with the triple coils of Atea. “Ugh!”

  “What’s wrong?” Deuel huffed. “All I wanted was to present you with a little peace offering, but you’re behaving as if it’s rubbish.”

  Ela looked from the box to Deuel. Why had she never noticed such signs of faithlessness before? The spiritual adultery in people she’d known her entire life?

  Because now you see through eyes aided by My Spirit.

  As Ela swallowed, Deuel’s expression shifted to impatience. “Ela,” he scolded, “you’re going to shun my gift? Don’t be so simple! So single-minded! Life is too complicated to be confined to one narrow little set of rules.”

  “Is it narrow?” Ela asked, aware of the branch’s inner fire threading to the surface—strengthening her. “I’ve never felt confined.” Her throat hurt. “Deuel, don’t you understand the Infinite’s sorrow? If you’re playing a double-game spiritually, you’re guaranteed to lose!”

  “All you’re doing is breaking your own heart and driving yourself mad.”

  “Breaking my heart, yes. Madness? No.”

  “If that’s what you want to believe. So you won’t take my gift?”

  Give him your last tenth-weight for it.

  What? Infinite! Those goddess-coils—

  Imagery took form within her mind, hushing her. She slid the last bit of silver from her purse, placed it on Deuel’s makeshift counter, and held out her hand. “Thank you, Deuel. But may I offer you some advice?”

  “Of course.”

  “Reconsider the Infinite. He calls to you. Deny Him and you’ll die within two months, though that’s not His preference. Please.”

  The spice merchant’s mouth twisted, but he nodded, as if indulging her foolishness.

  Unseen pains of betrayal sliced at her, as if carved into her flesh. She looked around, surveying the marketplace. Spices. Silver. Some fruits and vegetables. Oil. Wine. Various bags of grains. Meat. When she was a child, this marketplace had seemed so immense. So rich and full of good things. But not now. Had the marketplace shrunk? A prickling sensation crawled over Ela’s arms, making her shiver. She stifled her new fear, unwilling to face it yet.

  Measuring her surroundings against the image she’d just seen, Ela strode to the busiest section of the public square. Footsteps sounded just behind her, accompanied by Prill’s breathless voice. “Ela! Goodness, where have you been? What’s wrong?” She glanced at the clay storage box in Ela’s hand. “Oh! Why would you carry such a thing?”

  “I’m carrying it no farther. Stand back, Matron, please.”

  Wary, Prill stepped back, clutching her basket of fruit, grain, and spices. Ela looked around and recognized this place, this instant. Here were the merchants and market-goers she’d seen. And there was the contingent of priests, white-clad and proud, entering the market with Parne’s wealthiest elders, eager to buy. And to be recognized and honored.

  Ela raised her voice. “Parnians! This is what your Creator, the Infinite says! ‘Listen! I am going to bring such disaster to this city that everyone who hears of it will shudder!’” All faces turned to her now, gaping. Staring.

  Ela continued. “‘You have forsaken Me and given yourselves to gods that Parne’s first citizens never worshiped! You build shrines and burn incense and offer even your children to gods who don’t exist—sacrifices I’ve never commanded of you!’”

  Only the priests moved now, drawing near, their faces seeming carved as stone, cold and condemning. Ela lifted her chin at them. “The Infinite says, ‘I will devastate Parne and make it a terror to travelers—an awful joke to foreigners! Your bodies will become carrion for birds and . . . ’” Horror-struck by a final breath of imagery, she added, “‘ . . . those who survive will be so desperate for food that they will gnaw the flesh of the dead!’” Oh, Infinite, no!

  You have warned them of the tr
uth. An unseen nudge prompted her further. The box.

  As commanded, Ela raised the clay goddess-box and smashed it on the marketplace’s stone pavings. Shards of pottery flew toward the priests, who leaped away, shocked. Ela cried, “The Infinite will smash this city, just as this clay container is smashed and can’t be repaired!”

  One of the priests nudged a shard with his elaborate shoe and shook his head at Ela. “Tch-tch-tch!”

  Her spirit almost failing, Ela turned away from the priests, lifted Prill’s basket from her arms, and swept out of the marketplace. Twelve days until Belaal.

  Father. She must speak to Father about her fears.

  Kien called down the cold, bleak, echoing street. “In six days, the Infinite will destroy Adar-iyr. Repent and be saved!”

  It was a wonder his voice hadn’t given out—with his mind. Each morning, he cheered himself along, celebrating by changing one word in his predetermined litany. He’d begun at twenty-one days. Today was six. Tomorrow would be five!

  Unless he was blessed enough to be stolen by pirates and rowed out to sea.

  No . . . Forget anything to do with sailing. The sea beast would be waiting to gulp him down and heave him up again in Adar-iyr. Better to keep walking and watch where he was going—the clouds had darkened the daylight to twilight murkiness. He trudged into an alley and called out his obligatory twelve words. But why was he yelling down a deserted street?

  Picking his way across a fly-swarmed rubbish heap, Kien turned wearily down the next street. Somewhere, a door slammed. Nearby, a shutter snicked closed. He bellowed his warning, then ambled to the next thoroughfare and frowned at the quiet marketplace.

  Where were all the citizens this morning?

  Kien sighed, raised his voice, howled the admonition, and trudged onward. Something bashed into his chest, making him gasp. A loaf of bread dropped at his feet. What a waste.

  Surely there were people starving in this city who would welcome this now-dusty bread.

  Such as him.

  Infinite? May I speak to these men, to return this bread and to warn them?

  Yes.

  Thank You. Kien looked around at the lifeless marketplace and its idle vendors. “Whose bread is this?”

  “Yours now!” one of the vendors snapped. “No one else is around to eat it!”

  Did he catch a whiff of blame in the man’s words? Kien approached him. “Why are you so upset? Look—here’s your bread.” He set the bread on the edge of the vendor’s stall. “I’m returning it.”

  The vendor shoved the loaf back at him. “Keep it! Everyone’s fasting.” The vendor’s sculpted mustache twitched above his skewed lips as his tone and words accused, “Because of you! The king’s ordered us all to pray to the Infinite and fast and mourn and repent with all our hearts.”

  The king had . . . what? Kien stared. Fast? Mourn? Repent? Seriously?

  “Well, look at the bright side,” another vendor called out in a cheery voice. “I haven’t seen a murder all day. And the sackcloth merchants are earning their keep for once! Poor fools. Usually no one touches their wretched fabric.”

  Kien eyed the man’s sleeve and noticed its coarse material. That stuff had to chafe. He winced. “Everyone’s fasting and wearing sackcloth? And repenting?”

  The cheery one grinned. “Isn’t that what we just told you? Look here.” He poured Kien a cup of liquid. “Purified fortified water. Help yourself. Go sit down and eat that bread. Have some meat. There’s some fruit. No one’s buying and it’ll just rot.” Quietly, he added, “With my thanks. The marketplace hasn’t been this calm and safe in years! You need to keep up your strength while you continue to curse our city, eh? Blessings of our Creator as you go.”

  Dry-mouthed, Kien accepted the water. But he didn’t consider eating the bread until he’d walked through half the marketplace with all the merchants handing him food—accompanied by their opinions of his mission’s success. A marketplace cook slapped a heap of grilled meat into flatbread for Kien. “You’ve ruined us financially for now, but I haven’t seen a theft in two days. I say, bless the Infinite!” He chased Kien onward with an encouraging nod and a wave of his sackcloth sleeve.

  The entire city was fasting. And wearing sackcloth. And praying. Infinite . . . !

  A slender, pretty girl with golden-brown hair stopped before him, hefting a roll of sackcloth. She smiled at Kien, elated. “If my arms weren’t full, sir, I’d kiss you!”

  He stared, then recognized the young prostitute who’d accosted him on his first day in Adar-iyr. Clean-scrubbed now, and the most radiant sight in the overcast marketplace, the girl hugged the sackcloth close. “My father has finally agreed to wear this stuff and bow to the Infinite! Furthermore, I am becoming a proper seamstress and determined to remain so—though I hope I’ll progress from stitching only sackcloth robes.” Lowering her voice, she added, “You frightened me to bits when I first saw you, but thank you for caring! Bless the Infinite and His monster that spat you onto the beach!”

  Dazed, Kien watched the girl near dancing from the marketplace with all the giddiness of a freed soul. Surrounded by the Infinite’s joy.

  Infinite? I almost didn’t recognize her.

  An overwhelming whirlwind of jubilation spun Kien, as if his Creator had swept him into an impromptu dance of celebration. She is new in My sight—My own precious child!

  Astounding . . . Kien staggered, laughed, scoffed at his own clumsiness, then gripped a marketplace stall to settle his euphoria-smacked mind. The young girl’s fresh hopes, contrasted with the undoubted squalor of her previous life, chased his own miseries into nothingness.

  Surely for her sake alone his task here was worthwhile.

  His thoughts still spinning, Kien left the marketplace, too dazed to eat the food in his hands. After wandering down numerous streets, he noticed two rough-garbed men consistently turning after him at each corner. His senses sharpened. Were they following him?

  Testing them, Kien turned another corner. When he was halfway down the street, they appeared. Definitely following him. Grim-faced. Swords readied.

  Infinite? What now?

  16

  Before Father could step into the house, Ela grabbed his sleeve. “Father, do you know anything about Parne’s provisions?”

  Dan lifted an eyebrow. “Provisions? What do you mean?”

  “I mean, the marketplace looks sparse. Doesn’t Parne have food stored for emergencies?”

  Covering her hand with his own, Dan said, “We’ve had no rain since the start of spring.”

  “Meaning . . . ?”

  “There’s been no harvest of any kind from our lands. Parne has been living on its reserves. We’ve sent traders to Siphra and Istgard for grain and fruit, but they haven’t returned.”

  Ela pressed her knuckles against her mouth.

  Father was talking, drawing her attention. “The fields flowered early this year—they were beautiful. Filled with blooms that even the elders had never seen in their lifetimes.”

  My last gift to Parne.

  “Everyone believed we’d have a magnificent harvest this year, and the entire city celebrated.”

  They made offerings to Atea and gave themselves over to her.

  Sensing the endless depths of her Creator’s grief, Ela felt the blood drain from her face.

  I will send no more rain to refresh Parne.

  Instead, He sent her glimpses of forthcoming misery. Buckets lifted from Parne’s wells. Dry. Grain bags emptied. Cattle, pets, and mice consumed. Emaciated faces staring at her. Accusing her. The trickle of imagery multiplied, pouring through her thoughts like an unleashed flood. Caught in the vision’s current, Ela rocked on her feet, covering her eyes with her hands.

  Father gripped Ela’s shoulders and steadied her. “What are you seeing?”

  “Famine,” Ela whispered. “Disease . . . rotting flesh.” Why couldn’t she stop her arms and legs from trembling? The vision’s pain increased. Multiplied to agony.


  She dropped into darkness as Father yelled her name.

  “I suppose,” Prill said, watching Ela dig out the linen sash from its hiding place at the public well, “if it’s not too filthy, we could sun-bleach it.”

  “There’ll be no bleaching this. Just as there’s no bleaching Parne.” Ela caught the sash’s edge and drew it from the crevice at the well’s base. The thick stink of mold clogged her nostrils even before she unfurled the fabric. She no longer recognized the exquisite sash. Gray. Not a hint of white anywhere. And the spots that weren’t gray were mottled black. Or not there at all. Ela laced her fingers through a series of holes, amazed at how quickly the linen had rotted.

  Prill knelt beside her now, lifting an edge of the ruined fabric. She looked from the sash to Ela, speechless at the ruin five days had wreaked on this linen.

  Ela stood, raising the moldy fabric like a desolate banner in the dry, quiet air. Parne’s women and children watched while waiting their turns to draw water from the well. As they smirked and scoffed at the useless cloth, Ela called out, “Parne, here is your soul!”

  A violent wind blasted downward from Parne’s walls, encircling the public square, startling some of the women to shrieks. Within a breath, the angry current whipped the rotted sash from Ela’s hands and sent it skyward, toward the temple.

  Ela watched until it vanished behind the temple’s ornate walls.

  And until she realized Prill was crying. The woman dabbed at her dark eyes. “That’s how the Infinite sees Parne’s soul? Oh, Ela! What can we do?” She covered her face with her hands.

  “We pray.” Ela hugged the sobbing matron. “And I need to go home.”

  To wait for her enemies.

  Before Mother noticed, Ela hurried outside in the evening light to prevent the unwelcomed visitors from entering the house.

  Their features set in unforgiving lines, the delegation of priests glowered at Ela. The eldest priest enunciated each syllable. “We want that rotten fabric off our temple’s banner pole!”