by Brett Vonsik
“Do not do that, my Evendiir friend.” Mithraam spoke hushed . . . if Aren could call his voice hushed.
Aren looked at Mithraam quizzically, not understanding what he was speaking at. Not wanting to show subordination to a Tellen, especially in front of a crowd, Aren smartly responded to Mithraam’s cautioning. “I’m well and capable without your help.”
“You are unsteady as things be.” Mithraam continued in his hushed tone, speaking as if Aren had not spoken. “Poor light and heights and your distraction will only make for a fall off this platform. I have no wish to see that.”
Aren made to give a snappy and snide answer to the old Tellen so others would know him not a child, but he was shoved through the door by one of the guardsmen before words left his mouth. Immediately, he stood on marble stone under bare feet. Aren looked up to find he was at one end of a wide doorless hallway with a gleaming marble floor. The walls were of large dark gray stone and brick. Oil lamps lit the hallway well enough so no dark places loomed. The guardsmen barked at him and the Tellen to get moving before giving each of them another hard shove. They walked the hallway with the annoyance of being prodded continually. At the end of the corridor they turned a corner into another hallway of more marble and stone, but with heavy doors of polished wood at regular intervals. A bustle of folks dressed in clean tunics and richer clothes hurried about this passageway. Without ceremony, the guardsmen ushered Aren and Mithraam into a chamber midway down the hall.
Inside, Aren found himself in an aromatic, well lit room large enough to sit twenty or more on benches before a large rune-rich, carved stone seat that sat upon a raised dais. Standing braziers with flaming oil stood to either side of the dais, giving light to the chamber. Nobody except for himself, Mithraam, and their escorts were in the room. More prodding forced Aren and the Tellen forward. A guardsman ordered them to sit on a wood bench closest to the elevated stone seat. When they were satisfied at Aren’s and Mithraam’s compliance, the guardsmen silently took up standing positions behind them. There they waited . . . and waited . . . and waited. Aren wondered why he was made part of this and in these chambers in-between shooing away those spinning puzzle symbols in his head. He started questioning his grasp of what was real and what wasn’t. Then, he wondered if last night truly happened. Were they visited by the dark warrior himself? It had seemed so real, but now . . . Aren thought it maybe his imagination, a dream while he slept since the old Tellen acted as if it had not happened. They waited some more . . . and more. His struggle with those symbols spinning and tormenting him reached new heights. Rich hues streaked across his mind’s eye as increasing numbers of spinning symbols filled his head. At first they kept him from boredom, but quickly came to be overwhelming. He tried and failed, several times, to will the symbols away. Growing frustrated at his vain efforts, Aren made a serious mental effort to focus at having the symbols leave him. His head started aching and mental fatigue gripped him firmly. In desperation, Aren yelled at his tormentors . . . those symbols. He wanted the symbols to go away, but in doing so, he took the expressions of all of those around him who heard his outburst that they thought him losing his mind. Maybe they’re right.
A group of the well-dressed emerged from a stout wood door in the far corner of the room off to Aren’s right. At first, he thought them more trickery by his mind, but realized they were indeed flesh and blood when a short, almost plump woman entered the room. She appeared with yellow and lavender flowers set in her shoulder-length blond hair, eyes outlined in black, and cheeks of rose and lips of ruby. She wore a clean white, below-knee-length dress held tight to her waist by a wide red cloth belt and high-calf sandals of fine hide. She walked commandingly to the carved stone tall-back chair where she promptly sat. She carried on with an air of that chair being her throne and the room her hall. Flanking her right was a young woman with red-brown hair complete with blond streaks and eyes also outlined in black. She wore light sky-blue armor, a red cape, and a long knife of a Tusaa’Ner junior commander. Aren recalled her face from the jail several days ago. Was it that long ago? The seated woman shot unapprovingly glances at the young woman to her right as if expecting something of her, Aren noted in between chasing away spinning symbols in his head. On the seated woman’s left were familiar faces to him; Lucufaar, dressed in a wrinkle-free blue shirt and pants and black polished hide boots, and Ganzer, dressed in a gray tunic over baggy black pants and boots, and carrying a black-hide haversack. They accompanied her closely. Behind them, Aren noticed two youngling girls, each carrying a bouquet of flowers, one with yellow petals and the other lavender. To Ganzer’s left stood two Tusaa’Ner guardsmen clad in their sky-blue armor, though of heavier make than the young woman commander. Each carried a sheathed short sword, though neither donned a red cape, marking them as the muscle of the troupe.
“Dismiss them,” the almost-plump woman spoke at the Tusaa’Ner commander with expectations her words would be acted upon immediately.
The Tusaa’Ner commander wore a passive face as her eyes fell upon Aren and those surrounding him. By the way she looked at him, Aren wondered if she was to unceremoniously send him back to the underworld of the arena.
“Kunza,” her radiant green eyes held one of the Tusaa’Ner behind Aren as she spoke sternly in that irritating, high-pitched voice, “remove yourself and your aguas to the hallway. I will send for you when these two need further escort.”
Aren heard the creaking of leather and the rapid movement of what he assumed was an arm in salute. The woman Tusaa’Ner gave a quick return salute of fist over heart that was followed by boots and sandaled feet behind Aren departing the chamber. At the echoed closing of the door, silence fell over the room. In the silence, those hued symbols still spinning wildly in Aren’s head couldn’t be ignored. He felt dizzy and tilted far sideways before catching himself. When he looked up, only Mithraam showed any sense of concern.
“Are you steady enough to sit without aid?” Mithraam asked in a serious tone.
“Of course, he is,” the almost-plump woman seated upon the dais sneered dismissively. “My question to you, Mithraam of Brigum . . . Are you to give us the confession required of your ill behavior?”
Mithraam held a stolid demeanor as he stared back at the woman. Aren tried, but honestly couldn’t read the old Tellen. Then, in a calm and even tone, he asked his own questions. “No, Gal, no, Areli, and no, Kurdi . . . Za Irzal? Am I to believe this to be a contestation to prove my innocence? A fair contestation?”
“You dare question me?” Irzal hotly rose from the stone chair. She realized immediately that she had lost control of herself and made to straighten her dress, tugging it down on both sides before reseating herself in a painfully slow movement. The woman Tusaa’Ner looked at her with concern while Ganzer wore an expression of surprised frustration, Lucufaar . . . disdain. “You have no right to question me, especially here, Mithraam Metalsmith. I will ask questions. You will answer.”
Mithraam returned a simple nod, but Aren saw in the old Tellen more than a prisoner being questioned. The old Tellen wasn’t fearful of this Za and those she commanded. He wanted something and was willing to do what he needed to get it. This appearance here was just part of that necessary to achieve his ends. Aren shivered. A hail of colored spinning symbols blinded him for a moment before he could focus and see past them. This Tellen is going to get me in much trouble.
“As you say, Za Irzal,” Mithraam spoke in a calm tone.
“Then answer my question,” Irzal demanded.
“No,” Mithraam replied devoid of emotion. Aren nearly jumped out of his skin. He’s going to get me questioned again, before getting me killed!
“No?” Irzal started to rise from her chair again, but caught herself and her temper and settled back down on the stone seat. She thought for a moment before turning to her aides. “Ganzer, read the transgressions Mithraam has committed against Shuruppak.”
Ganzer pulled
a clay writing tablet from his haversack, then cleared his throat. “It is announced that Mithraam of Brigum, metalsmith in trade, has committed transgressions against the State of Farratum and the greater Shuruppak Nation by withholding of proper taxes concerning valuables identified by Shuruppak as treasures. Further transgressions against the State of Farratum include the following: conspiring to keep treasures unknown, attempted bribery of Farratum officials, bribery of Brigum officials, insulting officials collecting taxes, insulting officials of the Low Court, insulting officials of the High Court, and failure to pay rightful taxes to Farratum and the greater Shuruppak as the appointed levy.”
Irzal displayed a wicked smile that Aren took as satisfaction. He concluded the struggle between her and the old Tellen was personal by their exchange. Yet, Mithraam remained calm, too calm by Aren’s expectation. Another pair of spinning symbols passed before his eyes. Go away!
“What do you say of these transgressions, Metalsmith?” Irzal sounded triumphant.
“You are no Gal,” Mithraam countered. “I see no authority in this room to give my words. No one impartial to hear my words . . . as the law is very clear.”
“I’m of the Zas . . . a Za . . . I make the laws, Metalsmith.” Irzal nearly lost control of her anger again as she spat her words at Mithraam. “I am best to understand the laws I see ushered in and judge if they are broken. Not some Gal.”
“You are not a judging authority,” Mithraam continued in his calm tone, though Aren could sense a hint of anger in his words. At the old Tellen’s display of self-control, the almost plump face of Irzal set in a simmer appearing close to boiling over. “I was there when the laws were first crafted . . . a best merger of the old Shuruppak Empire and Turil laws before they were proclaimed for this land.”
“You . . . ?” Irzal sarcastically asked. “A metalsmith, and a Tellen at that . . .”
“Yes,” Mithraam replied evenly. “You are no Gal and hold no authority here.”
I thought I was in trouble, Aren quipped to himself as another several spinning symbols taunted him. Go away!
Looking about nervously in the odd silence after that unfriendly exchange, Aren felt certain he would be put to questioning soon after this old Tellen. Is there a way out of here? Mithraam would be hanged or worse, Aren was certain of that. Challenging a Za as he did . . . Mithraam was dead as he walked. Za Irzal’s red face confirmed Aren’s conclusions. She looked as if she was about to jump from her stone throne at Mithraam. I’m doomed by this old Tellen by the way he’s angering the Za. Even the Ancients won’t be able to save me from this insanity. Another pair of spinning symbols passed before Aren’s eyes. They more than annoyed him; they angered him. Be gone!
“You’re the one without authority here . . . Mithraam, metalsmith of Brigum.” Irzal spoke with venom and measured frustration at Mithraam’s challenge to her authority. It appeared she regained some of her self-control as a wave of her hand at the Tusaa’Ner guardsmen on her left set them in motion. One of the guardsmen returned to the door she had emerged from, opened it, and then waved his hand to someone beyond. A moment later, a rounded Baraan dressed in white robes secured at the waist with a red cloth, entered the room. “I have a Gal to inform you of new laws and to hear you confess. You’ve kept riches from Farratum, Metalsmith. I say you have more than the trinkets we’ve found. Where’s the rest of it?”
Before Mithraam could respond, the Gal nervously stepped closer to her dais, clearing his throat as he stumbled before making a proclamation to the room. “Yesterday, at the authority of Farratum’s Anbuda’Za and at the council from the Farratum Saar, all Zas of the Farratum region are granted status of Utu’Me. At this proclamation, Zas now possess authority to make and judge all laws.”
Aren began to sweat fiercely at Irzal’s triumphant and angry demeanor after the proclamation of her new authority over them. This new law granted her power to make laws and judge them against others. Aren looked around the room. I don’t understand why I’m here, but it can’t be a good sign. I’m doomed. Looking to Mithraam for any indication he would become humble before the Za at this new proclamation and beg for his life, what Aren found was a face of contemplation instead of one bathed in fear. The old Tellen sat trying to work something out in his head. Did he not hear the proclamation? Aren stared at him, amazed. I’m SO doomed.
“Who lies speaking of my keeping unknown wealth?” Mithraam spoke while keeping his narrowed eyes scrutinizing Irzal and those surrounding her. Irzal glanced to her left at Mithraam’s challenge. It was quick, but authentic enough to make Aren suspect she unconsciously identified to the metalsmith her aide, Ganzer. The old Tellen’s crafty and relentless . . . and a fool to think he’ll survive this. To Kur with him . . . What about me? Mithraam continued on with an accusation the moment Irzal’s eyes returned to him. “This new law of yours will not stand, Irzal. It is against Shuruppak law and will be thrown down when reviewed.”
“Maybe . . . but until then . . . It’s the law of Farratum.” Irzal sounded triumphant and cold.
Silence filled the room at Irzal’s reply. The implications of her open intent to misuse authority and power so brazenly astounded him. Even Mithraam looked unprepared for her attitude as he wore a perplexed expression. Aren caught surprised faces on Ganzer and Lucufaar at Irzal’s openness, though Lucufaar’s expression turned angry almost as fast. The woman Tusaa’Ner wore an astonished expression that turned to disappointment as the moments passed.
“Mother . . .” the Tusaa’Ner woman started with an irritating high pitch to her voice.
“None of that, Dajil,” Irzal scolded.
Aren caught Lucufaar whispering a brief something to Ganzer followed by Ganzer nodding in agreement. The aide spoke directly at the Tellen, but with eyes glancing to Irzal for approval, “Tellen, you’ve not answered the Za . . . the Utu’Me question. Where’s your remaining wealth kept? Where is the gold, the silver, the guidebook, and the stones?”
Mithraam reacted to Ganzer’s question by cocking his head in a slight tilt . . . as if he wasn’t sure he heard something he was sure he heard. The Tellen’s braided beard looked odd twisting away from his face. A distant look appeared on Mithraam’s face as if looking distantly for answers in trying to sort things out. After a few moments, his stolid demeanor returned.
“We are done here.” Mithraam stood and stretched as best he could with his wrists still bound.
“You have naddles to spare.” Dajil’s high-pitched voice grated on Aren. “Utu’Me Irzal has not dismissed you.”
“Irrelevant,” Mithraam replied in an explanatory manner. “You continue to ask of that which does not exist. Za Irzal . . . Utu’Me Irzal will make judgment concerning my fate based on falsehoods. I need not be present to have these false judgments levied against me.”
“What of your son?” Irzal asked.
Mithraam made to turn away, but stopped cold at Irzal’s words. Dajil looked at her mother with that astonished face again. Ganzer stood impassive, though nodded in approval. Lucufaar simply smiled. The escorting Tusaa’Ner guardsmen and the flower-carrying younglings clearly did not understand Irzal’s implied threat or its implications that the exercise of raw, lawless power was on display.
“It would be unfortunate for him to be found guilty of taking life without good cause,” Irzal clarified her threat.
“All his actions had justifications the law recognizes.” Mithraam spoke in a manner hinting threat. “Leave him from this, Irzal.”
“Speak carefully, Tellen,” Dajil warned. Her astonished face turned angry. She made a threat to draw her long knife as her two guardsmen put their hands on the pommels of their short swords.
“You speak as if you have some authority, Metalsmith,” Irzal scoffed. “I see an old Tellen, jailed, and beholden to his transgressions against Farratum’s laws.”
“Try me not,” Mithraam warned. “I do not have a secret
treasure for your taking. What you have taken is my Imur’gisa, my family’s crest . . . no more. It does have value both in material and to our family. It is not yours or Shuruppak’s. It never was nor will be. To Rogaan . . . He is innocent of killing without cause. Your guardsmen meant to have their way with a youngling woman-child. They intended to brutalize her. Rogaan stopped their wickedness before she was gravely harmed.”
“Interesting choice of words. I will try you, Metalsmith,” Irzal responded with venom. “I find you guilty of your transgressions. You’re to remain jailed until you provide us that which you’ve hidden from Farratum and that your ‘Imur’gisa’ is declared property of the city. Your son is also found guilty of his transgressions and is to be jailed for the remainder of his days or until his status is reviewed after you provide what is demanded of you this day.”
Mithraam glared at Irzal with the heated eyes of a father whose son had just been wronged. Aren felt pity for Mithraam and his son, Rogaan. He’s innocent of committing this “transgression” . . . only guilty of having the wrong father and family. Aren looked at the others surrounding Irzal. Dajil and Ganzer looked surprised and nervous at Irzal’s declaration. Lucufaar appeared to be smiling to himself. He’s a strange one, Aren concluded. With the exception of the sweating and nervous-looking Gal, the rest appeared oblivious to what was happening. A series of colorful spinning symbols blurred past Aren’s eyes. His head no longer hurt, but these continuous distractions made it difficult for him to focus and catch small details he felt crucial to determining his future and what actions he needed to make it a favorable one.