A breath caught in his throat. Shahla had always been a little unbalanced, but not like this. She spotted him and drew back in fear. She looked … brittle. Remorse blended with hatred of what she had tried to do, blackmail and a forced marriage. It was the former of the two which had set him off, not the latter. The latter had just been the fuel which had fed the fire.
“Shahla,” Yalda spoke for the tribunal this time, “what happened three days ago?”
Ninsianna's eyes bored into the young woman like twin spears. It was the same look every woman Shahla had ever burned carried whenever they looked at her, especially if the infidelity was fresh. Hope ignited in Jamin's belly. Was there some truth to Shahla's claim that Ninsianna's husband had strayed from her?
"Tell us your side of the story, Shahla," Behnam said gently.
Shahla looked like something that had been chewed up by a lion and left for dead. Had he done this to her? Yes. He had. Remorse flooded into the pit of his stomach. He had done this to her. It would have been kinder had he simply killed her that day they had buried their dead.
“I told Jamin I was with child,” Shahla said shakily. “I told him it was proper to be married. We were … I thought … I really wanted the baby to be his.” She looked to one side, ashamed, and then began to play with her dollies clothes. Unbalanced. She was having a hard time staying focused. What if he could show them how unbalanced she really was? Perhaps then they would not believe her?
“It wasn’t my child,” Jamin moved towards her. “Whose child was it, really?”
Shahla shrieked and cringed, clutching her doll to her chest.
"The accused will step away from the witness," Yalda snapped. "Pouya … this is why we hired you!"
Shahla's eyes lost focus, as though she were staring into some happy place where only she could see. Yes. Unbalanced. Shahla looked to where Mikhail stood in the background, silent, watching, and smiled. She reached towards the winged demon as though she were a prisoner reaching to touch the sun.
"He said she was too perfect to be born into this world," Shahla's voice was that of a sweet little girl. "So he took her straight into the next world, and lay our baby down in a bed of his own feathers so that she would never be cold, and built a fine house of stone around her so she could wait for us in comfort to join her."
"Who?" Pouya stepped forward. "Shahla … who was the baby's real father?"
"M-m-mmm…." Shahla swayed, as though ready to speak, and then stopped, her eyes glazing over. Her head began to twitch her head to one side as though she was trying to dislodge a fly. A trickle of blood seeped out of her nose.
"It's important to tell the truth?" Pouya said. "Shahla, who was the baby's father? Do you even know?"
Shahla began to shake. The trickle of blood grew heavier. She forced her hands up, shaking, until they covered her ears, and then she began to scream, again and again and again, exactly the way she had screamed when he had beaten her. Oh, gods, as she screamed he could feel the satisfying echo of knuckles hitting flesh as he had emptied out that bottomless pit of his anger, the anger he could feel welling to the surface, whispering to him to finish the job.
Ninsianna’s eyes glowed copper as her eyes bored into Shahla’s head. Jamin shivered. He had seen her angry, but those fiery eyes went so far beyond anger they made his blood run cold. Sorcerer's eyes.
“I … don't … know!” Shahla screamed at Pouya. “All I know is that Jamin killed my baby.” She sank to her knees and clutched the cloth doll to her chest, weeping.
"Push her further," Jamin whispered to Pouya, eager to strike the lethal blow to Shahla's reputation. "They need to see her break."
"The tribunal sympathizes with her," Pouya shook his hand off of his arm. "Aggressive questioning will not help your situation!"
It would if it was the charge which would come next which worried him and not the loss of Shahla's baby! The advocate glared at him and turned back to Shahla.
“Shahla,” Pouya asked as gently as he could. “Jamin claims the reason you lost the baby is because Mikhail injured you when he flew you back to your house for medical attention. Did he hurt you?”
“No!” Shahla tore at the neckline of her tunic. “Mikhail saved me! He carried me into the sky like a winged god and … and … and … he carried me so gently I felt as though … as though … “ The trickle of blood coming out of Shahla’s nose was now a full-fledged gusher of a nose bleed.
“Did he drop you?” Pouya asked.
“No!” Shahla screamed at him. She pushed past the ring of warriors and rushed out of the square, crying. Dadbeh ran after her. Shahla's parents were nowhere to be seen. Had they turned her out into the street as they had promised? He would not doubt it. At least he could take small solace in that.
“We have no further questions for the victim,” Rakhshan spoke for the tribunal. “We now call the couple whose house the beating occurred in front of.”
“I’m not done questioning her,” Jamin protested. "She told Mikhail's warriors that he was the baby's father. Not me. That would give him cause to harm her!"
Pouya tugged at his arm and told him to be quiet. Jamin threw off his hand and stepped forward, realizing this entire proceeding was preordained, the illusion of justice so his father could sate his conscience for abandoning him.
“We will judge that,” Rakhshan said. “Do any of the tribunal wish to hear further testimony from the victim?”
“NO!!!” all three spoke in unison.
The rest of the tribunal proceeded exactly the way Jamin expected. He had already been adjudicated guilty and they had appointed an advocate to prevent him from talking about the real crime taking place in their village, the winged demon who had come into their midst to spy upon them.
He shoved Pouya aside and began to cross-examine the witnesses himself many times, poking holes in their claims, laying open hurtful things that damaged their credibility and cast doubt on everyone who dared to speak against them. Witnesses realized he knew too much information which could damage them. One at a time the crowd began to thin until only the ones that were too bold for him to intimidate, the casual curiosity seekers, and the families of the eleven people who had been slain remained. Those people would not leave until they had extracted their punishment … his death.
At last the tribunal called the bastard who was the cause of all his misery. The winged demon stepped to face him, dark wings tucked neatly against his back, and regarded him with a closed expression. If Mikhail gloated at his downfall, he did not let that emotion show.
“Mikhail,” Behnam spoke for the tribunal this time. “Tell us what happened three days ago?”
“Gita came to me with a strange tale," Mikhail said. "She claimed Shahla's parents were forcing her to name Jamin as the baby's father. She wished to marry Dadbeh, but her parents would not let her tell the truth because Dadbeh's family is poor. I flew towards the well to meet her so I could bring her to speak to the Chief when I heard a scream."
Dadbeh? Jamin glanced to find him and realized he was not there. The lanky warrior had run after Shahla when she'd run out of here, sobbing. He remembered the way the young man had stepped forward, the woven crown of the harvest king held in his hands. Oh … shit. Dadbeh had stepped forward to take the problem off of his hands and he had repaid him by breaking his nose. A strange sensation akin to falling made the village spin, leaving only the winged demon at its axis, an angel of death, his executioner.
"I witnessed Dadbeh unconscious upon the ground and Jamin holding Shahla down and kicking her," Mikhail said. "I immobilized him, then told the two people whose house the incident occurred in front of to go get the chief. Shahla was bleeding heavily, so I picked her up and flew her home. Her mother was there, and then Needa arrived and told me to leave. I left. That is all I know.”
“Jamin alleges you dropped or injured Shahla while transporting her home,” Pouya said. “Did you drop her?”
“No,” Mikhail said with no emotion whatsoever.<
br />
“I have no further questions,” Pouya said.
“What do you mean you have no further questions?” Jamin's anger boiled over. “It wasn’t my child! She told the entire village it was his. She was blackmailing him as well as me!"
“Jamin,” Yalda spoke. “Who the father of the child was is irrelevant. It is your treatment towards women that matters. We are Ubaid. We do not treat each other thus.”
"She told over forty people the baby was his," Jamin shouted. "Did anyone even examine the baby to see if this allegation was true?"
"Needa delivered the baby," Immanu stepped forward. "And Ninsianna was present. The child was a normal child, five, perhaps six months in the womb."
"Did anybody else examine this child?" Jamin asked. "Besides the mother-in-law and wife of the person who had something to hide? The tribunal must examine it to determine who the father was."
An angry buzz went through the crowd. He was demanding they desecrate an infant's grave, but there was a second, equally loud buzz he could detect, questions from people who had an inclination to doubt Mikhail, who had reason to doubt Shahla, who had heard rumors Shahla had alleged the child was really Mikhail's, from before he had married Ninsianna, and that adjudication that the child was Mikhail's would give Shahla superior property rights over Ninsianna.
"Where is this child buried?" Ilakabkubu called, a middle-aged man who Shahla had once burned. "The people have a right to know!"
Jamin smirked as he heard that question echoed by the villagers who had stayed behind to gawk, the casual bystanders here for a morning's entertainment. He had planted the seed of doubt about the winged demon's integrity grow. There were people in this village who would believe it had to be true because the winged demon was, after all, an outsider and, when you looked at all the evidence, how could it not be true?
He could feel the fury of Ninsianna's eyes upon him, the crushing pressure which threatened to burst his brain. His hatred was his shield. He glared back at her, drawing upon his hatred to imagine he used a blade to sever whatever tie she had used to bewitch him. Ninsianna stepped back as though she had just been struck. That gnawing emptiness which had been eating at his heart ever since the day she had broken off their betrothal suddenly ripped out of his gut.
"Sorceress," Jamin hissed at her. "I am free.”
The tribunal went on without him, oblivious that he had just defeated a sorceress.
"Mikhail," Rakshan said. "Please answer the question."
"Shahla begged me to carry the child into the dreamtime," Mikhail said. "I carried it to the highest mountaintop I could find because it was the closest I could fly to heaven. I buried the poor thing where the likes of him could never desecrate its grave."
His eyes glowed bluer, just a tinge of that unearthly light that came into his eyes whenever he went into battle, and something else. The way his pupils expanded to nearly obscure the iris warned Jamin not to push the issue. Oh? So he wasn't the only man in this village with an anger management issue.
Jamin shut his mouth. The whispers would continue against Mikhail no matter what the verdict. By Ninsianna's murderous expression, he had hit a nerve. All was not well between the Chosen One and the goddesses Champion. He could see it. Revenge was sweet!
It was Yalda who interrupted his gloating by clearing her throat to get everyone's attention.
“How do the members of the tribunal rule?” Rakhshan asked.
“Guilty!” all three spoke in unison.
Guilty. The words echoed deep in his gut. Guilty. They hit that place his anger lived, the rage Shahla had tapped when he'd found her at the well, and it bubbled over.
“It’s not fair!!!” Jamin shouted, hoping to stoke the flames of doubt he had just created to rally the villagers to his aid. “Ever since that winged demon arrived, he and his family have manipulated everyone to turn against me!”
“No,” a voice said quietly from the back of the square. The villagers grew quiet. “The fault is mine. I saw the darkness in you, and because I loved your mother, I chose not to address the problem."
His father stepped to stand in front of the tribunal and met his gaze. "I chose not to discipline you when it still might have made a difference, and for that, I am sorry. But you took the life of another … an unborn child. If I do not address this injustice, then I am not fit to be chief of this village.”
He could see the recrimination in his father's eyes, the fact his father had already decided to abandon him to his fate. It made his blood boil.
“I should be chief! And I will, too, someday. Just you watch!”
“You will never be chief,” the Chief said. “When my time in this world comes to end, the village will choose a chief from amongst the people it believes are most fit to lead. But I can guarantee, son, it will never be you.”
The words were softly spoken, but they hit him in his heart as though someone were carving it out of his chest.
“What is the sentence of the tribunal?” Rakhshan asked.
“Permanent banishment,” Yalda spoke.
“Banishment,” Behnam spoke.
“Banishment,” Rakhshan said.
"What of the second charge?" A sister of a one of the villagers slain in the Halifian raid stepped forward. "Who will give justice to the eleven dead?"
His father looked down at the ground, unable to meet the woman's scorching gaze.
"Shahla's mind is broken," the Chief said. "She is the only witness to this crime, and it is her word against his. I am exercising my prerogative as Chief to deny trial on this issue and depending upon the tribunal to give the harshest possible sentence on the first crime to give your sister's spirit peace.
There was an angry buzz, angry at his father for denying them this final spectacle of entertainment, this pound of flesh for the families of the people he had wronged. His father met his eyes and Jamin knew. His father knew he was guilty, and he was exercising his prerogative as chief to avoid trial because he knew the sentence would be death.
“At midday today,” Yalda said, “you will be outfitted with supplies for a long journey and a small amount of tradable goods and sent on your way. For we are not a heartless people. But you are not welcome in Assur anymore. Runners will be sent to all allied villages informing them of our judgment and recommending you not be allowed to seek shelter there. Should you attempt to re-enter our village, the penalty will be death. Jamin … the tribunal decrees you are no longer Ubaid.”
He stood there, numb, as his father went back inside his house and shut the door. The sun was already high in the sky. The eviction order would occur immediately. This trial had been pre-ordained, his father's man having interviewed the witnesses and prepared the supplies to run him out of the village as quickly as possible so the families of the eleven people who'd died because of his stupidity would not haul him out of the hole and kill him.
His former warriors did not meet his eyes as they handed him several goatskins of water, a spare shawl and kilt wrapped to create a bundle for extra food, a few small trade goods in high demand, no doubt supplied by his father, and an extra obsidian blade. They escorted him beyond the outer ring of houses to the place the trading route disappeared into the western desert, and then handed him a spear.
"So you're just going to let them do this to me?" Jamin asked.
Siamek did not meet his eyes.
"The man standing before me now is not the man I once was proud to call my friend," Siamek said softly. "If that man ever finds his way home again, I shall be glad to take his hand."
Jamin got a lump in his throat as his best friend turned his back and walked away, the other warriors walking backwards in a line, never taking their eyes off of him because they did not trust him.
Jamin stared up at the two eagles circling above, watching everything that occurred. Their cry was a piercing taunt to just how far he had fallen. He waited for the wind to pick up, to slap him or caress his cheek or otherwise whisper that it cared, but it did not. Eve
n the gods had abandoned him. The eagles banked their wings and circled higher, letting the wind currents carry them back to circle over Assur, the village that was no longer his home.
"I swear upon All-that-is," Jamin shook his fist at the retreating eagles, "that I will rid Assur of the winged demon if I have to carve out my own heart and sell it to the devil himself!"
Chapter 50
From what heighth [Lucifer] fallen, so much the stronger proved
He with his thunder: and till then who knew
The force of those dire arms? Yet not for those,
Nor what the Potent Victor in his rage
Can else inflict, do I repent or change,
Though changed in outward luster; that fixed mind
And high disdain, from sense of injured merit,
That with the mightiest raised me to contend,
And to the fierce contention brought along
Innumerable force of spirits armed
That durst dislike his reign, and me preferring,
His utmost power with adverse power opposed
In dubious battle on the plains of Heaven,
And shook his throne. What though the field be lost?
John Milton, Paradise Lost, Book I, 92-105
Galactic Standard Date: 152,324.01 AE
Haven-3: Halls of Parliament
Supreme Commander-General Jophiel
Jophiel
A rock hit the back of her wings.
Jophiel whirled … just in time to get somebody's supersized frozen beverage in her face. She shrieked as the plastic lid popped off and dumped ice down her neck. A large, pink stain spread across her dress uniform, looking very much like she'd just been shot in the heart.
"Push that mob back!" Colonel Klikrrr shouted. Mantoid airmen swarmed around her, pulse rifles drawn and set to a non-lethal blast. They moved, slender green forms puffed out to look as intimidating as possible, but even with their gossamer wings flared they just did not look as unbreachable as she would have looked had she come surrounded by Angelics.
She glanced over to where a battalion of said Angelics kept the crowd pushed back just enough from the landing strip so no citizen would inadvertently be sucked up into the induction ports of a shuttlecraft or incinerated when it fired its engines. They did not let the larger throng pass, but they did not move to help her, either.
Sword of the Gods: Prince of Tyre (Sword of the Gods Saga) Page 52