A brief break from the monotony came from the frog-like arbiter, Pik, who languidly made her way to the center of the black disc and gave a slightly sleepy but insightful speech on the nature of proxies and how sentience of all kinds must be respected. This one was of some interest—she didn’t speak quickly or even very eloquently compared to the other arbiters but argued that many of those present had forgotten what it was to interact with beings that were not created by themselves and that were not under their command. She highlighted that she always insisted on creating her proxies with as much free will, independent thought, and rational reasoning as was possible, which she claimed had stopped her from becoming disconnected from such concepts herself. She said the fact that proxies were occasionally capable of developing such aspects of personality independently was a sign that they should be treated with more respect and should be valued, rather than being unraveled as soon as they were no longer convenient. It was a compelling argument, and her consideration for the proxies made me wonder if Pik could be a possible ally in the future—assuming we survived this sentencing—but she mentioned nothing about anything relevant to the trial before she finished.
I fought the hardest eye roll of the century. The only thing getting me through this was the fact that Dorian stood right beside me. We suffered together.
"Yes, thank you, Pik. Very informative," Un commented scathingly as the arbiter returned to her seat, obviously not a fan of the topic.
Above me, the weather continued to grow stormier, colors tangling in the mist. I spotted hot spots of red with hints of green and blue undertones swirling above our heads. Maybe Dorian's frustration was leaking more into the gray? I occasionally saw a strike of my yellowish anxiety, but it was few and far between. Mostly, I just felt as dull and gray and bored as the regular landscape around us. It would be my own personal hell to live in this place. No landmarks, no fun, no variety? I let my eyes briefly flicker to Gate Maker, whose jaw ground tighter and tighter as the trial progressed. Even though the other arbiters carried on civilly, the weather continued to grow darker.
Finally, the last series of arbiters set off a trend of more on-topic speeches. At least they actually started mentioning Gate Maker—well, Ruk—by name. I wanted to hear exactly what debts or sins Gate Maker had committed. Unfortunately, most arbiters appeared mostly in favor of forcing Gate Maker to pay back whatever debts he had accrued but gave me no more context for what exactly he was accused of.
"It's only fair," Fiz said with a huff, gesturing to Gate Maker. "He needs to pay by whatever means necessary, and we should keep him in the Higher Plane until he does."
Un lifted his chin in approval upon hearing this. The next arbiter followed along the same lines.
A lime-green orb floated up in his seat. "Ruk should have his powers kept away if he refuses to pay. Perhaps we left him too strong to begin with…"
The next offered some relief. "I think we’ve inflated his debt beyond what’s fair," a female humanoid muttered, tucking her braided hair behind her strangely skinny and pointed ear. "There have been no meaningful or dangerous consequences of his actions down in the Immortal Plane; life has gone on as it should. Therefore, I argue his punishment was disproportionately harsh. We should take this opportunity to reevaluate."
"I actually agree," said her neighbor, an orb of a burnt tangerine shade. "Let's bring him back into society by waiving the debt. Everything can go back to normal."
"No, no." The next shook his head fiercely. "He must pay something! If he doesn’t have enough energy, perhaps we should strip him of all abilities and banish him for good."
Un watched every arbiter—and occasionally us—with a steady gaze. His white eyes were intense and unnerving, but in a very different way from Gate Maker's violet ones.
At last, it came time for the final arbiter. I inwardly both cheered and dreaded this moment. It was almost time for our testimony—our chance to convince them and tell them what we knew—and then, the sentencing. How long would they take to deliberate?
Xiu floated toward the stage. “Before Ruk has the opportunity to give his testimony, I would like to say a few words. It’s no secret that I’m cautious, yet curious. I have given my own proxy to the newcomers to follow them around, to help them maneuver through this plane, and to report back on anything of interest.” She took a beat, making me sweat. So, she had been watching… or at least getting reports. “I’m inclined to agree with Pik about the good practice of not underestimating beings that we perceive to be a certain way. She used the examples of proxies, but I find equal interest in keeping an open mind on these interesting new developments. It appears that Ruk has brought us two creatures who have some things to say, but first we must hear from the very cause of this trial’s existence.”
Is she with us or against us? I can’t tell yet.
"It is Ruk’s time to speak." Xiu’s voice was calm and collected as she directed Gate Maker to step forward. "Make your case before a jury of your peers."
Gate Maker moved to the front of the black disc with a fierce look, his jaw set in defiance at his panel of jurists. I was still mad at him, but in that moment, I also admired him. He looked unafraid, despite being essentially powerless compared to his fellow arbiters. It must've been hell to know that his energy had been stripped away from him, making him weaker than the others. The crowd outnumbered and outclassed Gate Maker. His plain, hairless body and simple gray robe were nothing special, yet he looked a million times better than the others in their humanoid forms. He had mastered, even with limited powers, the art of a sharp-looking face that appeared more intriguing than uncanny. There was a manic energy bubbling beneath his skin. From the faces in the crowd, I could tell I wasn't the only one under that spell. There was something magnetic about Gate Maker’s presence.
"I stand here to address your grievances not because I want to, but because it has been forced upon me," Gate Maker said bluntly. His volume built like a rising wave in the distance, a tsunami coming to obliterate the shore. "I'm not sorry. I have no regrets about what I did to remain in the Immortal Plane. Following through with the Separation was your choice, and you were going to sever your connection with the lower planes anyway. I merely locked the main portal so that you couldn't retrieve me when I chose to stay. I had no interest in whether you forgave my actions or not—I only ever intended to return here in the most elegant fashion. I had planned to ease myself back in and then make my rounds with everyone. I admit I hoped you wouldn’t stumble across me before I had time to prepare myself, but I was foolish because you were waiting… and your anger is still quite hot. I see that now. You must forgive me." His lips curled with disdain. "After being stripped of energy for so long, one forgets the extension of their senses, especially if they’ve been altered by one’s own kin."
"So you admit that you didn't come back to answer for your crimes?" Un sliced in.
Xiu hushed him. "Let him speak. He has the right to do so, just as we all do."
Gate Maker snorted, the sound reminiscent of humor, an emotion I hadn’t seen expressed at all here in the Higher Plane. "I returned to conclude my business on this plane. And to that end, I request a confession from a thief during this trial. Someone has plundered my estate and stolen one of my unfinished projects. It is in that person’s best interest to confess now because I will tear this plane apart particle by particle, lack of energy be damned, until I find it." His eyes hardened with loathing. "After that, banish me if you like. But I have no desire or intention to stay in the Higher Plane or reintegrate into this society. This place is beyond repair, entrenched in stagnant attitudes. You need not worry about me meddling with your pretentious version of law and order by withholding my debt payment."
An unfinished project? My curiosity was piqued. Was that the she he had raged about being missing from the glass tank?
"And if you are concerned about me causing problems in the lower planes, I can assure you now that I'm done meddling in the Immortal and Mortal Plan
e situations. My years as the captive of a ruler have eroded my interest and fascination with the creatures of the lower planes. I don't care if you restore my energy. I just want my personal projects rightfully returned to me, and enough energy to fulfill my pact with these two, so that the magical fallout doesn't render me crippled for eternity. I'll disappear into the Immortal Plane for good after that."
He spoke in such a withering tone that the entire amphitheater should have been scorched by the heat of his hatred. It was clear to everyone present that he was truly done with this place, a place he had once called home.
"Whatever you arbiters decide to do about the fact that the lower planes are slowly melding together into one horrifying wasteland, I care little. As far as I’m concerned, all the planes can burn to ashes, and you along with them. I won't contact any of the Immortals. I won't make any more changes. I won’t interfere as you run the universe into the ground by ignoring your duties. I'll even open the barrier to the Immortal Plane for you so that you can come and go as you please… if you allow me the energy. This, and the banishment, can be the payment for my debt."
I listened, both fascinated and frustrated by his impassioned words. Gate Maker was utterly jaded and selfish, but the vein of bitterness in his voice struck my heart. If he truly didn't care about the tear, why would he be frustrated with the others for not caring about it? Perhaps I was reading too much into it, and Gate Maker only cared about fixing the tear because he wanted to avoid being hurt by the pact he’d made with Dorian and me. I studied his every expression, looking for clues in the tiny twitches in his eyes as he focused on Un and the others. His unconscious mannerisms—stance, gestures, sighs—were so mortal and Immortal that the crowd stirred with unrest.
Although I was angry, Gate Maker's speech and actions were like a breath of fresh air. The arbiters in their allocated positions moved stiffly, and those with faces frowned sternly, but none of their energy matched the volatility pouring forth from Gate Maker. The arbiters copied poorly what Gate Maker did well from his time spent observing and living among lower beings. They didn't know what to do with themselves.
Frustration flared inside me, hot and fresh. It was clear to me that Gate Maker had brought us to the Higher Plane for a reason, but it was far from a moral obligation to the universe. At best, it was to avoid the repercussions of breaking his side of our magical pact. It's more like he used us as bargaining chips with the arbiters or as something for his little projects. The full force of my disdain dampened when I again looked at Gate Maker's face and remembered him tearing at his skull over the loss of whoever she was. He held great sorrow about losing whatever, or whoever, was taken from his estate. What were those projects? Some sort of proxy? Pik and Xiu appeared open to acknowledging the complexities of proxies. Ruk might give off the impression that he cared about nothing, but there was still something that he cared about. Maybe there was still hope for him helping us escape.
Either way, Gate Maker was holding something back, and I suspected it was huge. Gate Maker—no, this Ruk—was unknowable to me. He had a story and a life larger and more complicated than I could have ever imagined. He had been there when the Mortal and Immortal Planes were first formed. He had seen the world change across millennia and had suffered more than I dared to think about. In all that time, there must be things he hadn’t told me and Dorian that could help our cause both here and in the lower planes. Whatever alliance I thought we’d had in the Immortal Plane threatened to dwindle to nothing. I needed him to be honest with us before I could trust him again.
Honesty was usually the name of the game in trials. That was the whole point of a legal trial, right? But the story he told the rest of the arbiters was specifically calculated to persuade them to let him go without too much interference. Was his testimony merely designed to appeal to their desire to be left alone, satisfied after taking energy, or was his strategy more than that? He was either entirely lost in his bitterness or holding out hope for the last thing he truly cared about in this world, perhaps this unknowable “she”.
Xiu floated closer to the black stage. "Are you finished, Ruk?"
Ruk lowered his head. It was not a sign of defeat, but a solid movement that meant he'd said everything he wanted.
"We will take a recess to discuss what we have heard so far." Xiu swerved around to regard her audience of arbiters with her faceless gaze. "And then we will proceed."
Dorian and I remained huddled on the platform as the arbiters gathered together. Orbs stacked on top of each other. Humanoid figures bent to hear one another's murmurs. My stomach sank slightly with dread. Ruk stayed on the stage, merely a few steps away from us, yet he said nothing. All three of us were excluded from the discussion. It turned into garbled speech that my human ears couldn't understand a word of.
Dorian glared at Ruk, but the arbiter didn’t rise to the challenge. He struck me as much smaller after his testimony. There was still a strength to the way he stood, but I couldn’t help pitying him, and the mist around me turned a soft blue. My frustration with Ruk waned, succumbing to his obvious pain.
"So that's it?" Dorian asked scathingly. "No wonder we had such a hard time convincing you to come with us in the desert. All the things we actually care about are meaningless to you. You've never cared for anything but yourself." Each word shot through the air like a knife aimed at Ruk's robed back.
"I told you that from the beginning," Ruk replied. “The only possible interest I had was in revenge and survival.” He didn't even bother to face us.
My anger swelled for a moment, taking over my sympathy for Ruk's mysterious plight. I was mad that he’d made a mistake… mad that he wasn’t the perfect being I’d imagined when I heard vague tales of him from the notebooks we found. Grief bubbled underneath my anger. Why had Ruk done the things he did? I wanted to scream at him, but it would do nothing. I was upset by his past, but even more upset when I saw how cold a homecoming he faced. His kin had chucked him to the side like a used tissue.
Dorian let out a bitter scoff. "Oh, forgive me for thinking better of you. I haven't given up all hope like you have. Tell me, does it feel good to forfeit any idea of your own agency in this world?" This fight would lead us nowhere.
"Dorian… stop," I said softly. Hitting Ruk with more of what he already got from his brethren wouldn’t help our situation. It was merely adding fuel to the fire. I understood Dorian’s anger, but there was something in Ruk’s sad story that I still wanted to understand.
Dorian's mouth snapped shut, but his anger still simmered. "When will we get to speak, Ruk?"
He tensed when he heard me call him by this name. Finally, he turned to look at me over his shoulder. His flat lavender eyes were hollow and void of hope.
"As you probably guessed from the general reaction to Pik’s speech about proxies and respecting sentience, most arbiters don't consider humans or vampires capable of complex thought. You understand that after everything you’ve been through, right? They think you to be incapable of taking part in this judgment. To them, you're more like an organism in a test tube than legitimate sentient beings."
I drew back, affronted by the idea that Dorian and I might not get a chance to speak at all. Oddly enough, however, Ruk's words also comforted me somewhat. His words suggested that he thought of us as sentient beings, and yet… he'd given up on us. I balled my hand into a fist at my side, feeling my muscles tighten with irritation. This world was driving me insane.
Ruk crossed his arms. "If you want to speak, you'll have to force them to acknowledge you… again. They won't voluntarily ask for your testimony or input, even if they implied that they would. Higher beings are fickle."
Dorian couldn’t contain himself, his eyes narrowing. "Oh, I'm aware of that."
A tense silence lapsed between them. I shot Dorian a glance, not about the jab at Ruk, but rather about the entire situation with the arbiters. "They're treating us like garbage. The whole point of interfering with the Games was so they would listen t
o us, but they’re still ignoring us, and now we’re being sentenced without being allowed to speak." My lament sounded hopeless.
A devious, determined spark flickered in Dorian’s stubborn eyes. "We'll get their attention. We just need to disrupt things again. But bigger. We need to hold their attention."
I glanced around. Short of dancing around Un while waving my hands in the air, I saw nothing that might offer a distraction. There were no Games anymore, only an amphitheater full of judgmental jerks deciding our fates. As I had that thought, accompanied by a spike of frustration, a flash of red sliced the mist above me, giving me an idea.
"You made a tornado when we were in the tower," I reminded Dorian. "It was destroying things. And remember the lightning? That came from us. We can't control our emotions like the arbiters can, and we’ve been viewing it as a weakness because it shows off how we’re feeling, but maybe we can use that to our advantage."
Dorian raised an interested brow. Ruk stared at me, the ghost of curiosity flashing across his sullen expression.
"You want me to feel my way into getting their attention?" Dorian asked, a note of skepticism in his voice. But an intrigued smile started spreading over his face.
"Yes." I raised a fist. "I want you to let out every repressed emotion of rage and grief inside that beautiful body and heart of yours. I'll do the same. Just feel… everything." We’d been struggling with our emotions for weeks now. It was time to put them to work.
Dorian sighed and glanced at the murmuring crowd. "Fine. Let's do it."
I gave him a hopeful half-smile. Maybe this would work.
At this point, Un and Xiu moved away from the large group of arbiters, who appeared to be breaking apart from each other. They took their sweet time giving testimonies, but now they’ve come to a decision so quickly? Something told me most of them had decided before this trial even began.
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