When he heard the clang of metal and then the long scrape of heavy wood, he thought it was his imagination. A few times, he thought he heard the sound of dripping water or something speaking to him within his small cell, but when he felt around in the dark, he never found anything. Just as he was about to fall back asleep, a massive light filled the room and Kareth gasped. He was instantly blinded, as the white light burned his eyes. He covered his face, but a moment later felt gruff hands grab his arms, and he was dragged to his feet.
“Oh, he smells like Oses’ balls,” one man half gasped, half laughed.
“Time to see the tzati,” another one of them muttered.
He blinked in the light, wincing and trying to see who was there, but he couldn’t make out their faces before they dragged him into the hall. He tried to walk, but his legs were weak and he couldn’t stop shaking. He let them drag him along, wondering if his punishment was finally over.
The farther they went the more his eyes adjusted, until he could make out the grimy hall they ambled down, which was, in reality, only sparsely lit by torchlight, but it looked like daylight to him. He had no idea where he was. Dedelion’s guards had dragged him out of his home. That much he knew. They had thrown him into a small boat, but every time he had tried to raise his head to see where they were heading, someone would box his ears. They kept hitting him until he had curled up and stopped trying.
Once they had finally pulled up to a dock, he’d been handed over to another set of guards who had taken him down spiral stairs, leading to this place, and that was all he knew before the door closed and there was darkness.
Now, they went up the spiral stairs. When they exited, he saw it was morning, the light still dim and the shadows long, but it had that soft glow about it that only mornings had, and he couldn’t help but feel slightly reassured. They were in a small courtyard similar in style to the courtyard of the inn where he’d spent his first night in Nepata, back when he was still with Tersh and Samaki. A main house on one side, a canal on the other, and connecting them were tall stone walls. The main building was large and dark. They dragged him into the building, his feet now scraped and bleeding. If he looked down, he could just make out the thin trail of blood he was leaving behind. And then they entered a room and threw him to the floor.
For a moment he just lay on the dirt, his eyes closed, concentrating on his breathing. There was some shuffling around him—people moving, sheets of papyrus rustling against each other, and wind fluttering through shaded windows. Everything sounded deafening after the many days or months of silence he had experienced, and he felt his lips curl into a smile despite himself. It was wonderful to hear the world again.
“Who brings this case before the most literate Tzati Woser?” a bored guard asked, and Kareth slowly opened his eyes and pushed himself up on his feet.
There were a dozen or so people in the room, a few of them were guards wearing black menes and holding bronze tipped spears, but most of them looked like farmers or merchants. They were standing in a line going out the door, and Kareth could see more people outside were waiting. Obviously, they were all men who had brought a grievance for the tzati to settle.
The tzati himself was a plump man wearing a nice enough cotton tunic and had jewels around his neck and hanging from his ears. His eyes pulled all the focus, though. A ridiculous amount of bright azure powder had been caked on his eyelids, his lashes were speckled gold and bold black lines had been drawn from the sides of his eyes to give the impression his lashes reached all the way to his temples. He sat behind a small, gold gilded desk, most of which was covered in important looking papyrus scrolls.
A man stepped forward dressed all in black and placed another scroll on his desk before bowing his head and steping back in respect. Looking at the man, Kareth felt his empty stomach constrict, and for a moment thought he was going to be sick, but after a shudder, his senses returned to him.
The man spoke. “I do, Tzati Woser. Your most humble servant, the sorcerer Dedelion.”
“Oh, yes,” Woser muttered to himself, unrolling the scroll and barely reading it before depositing it onto the pile of other discarded scrolls on his desk. “Yes, the noble Tzati Imotah sent us word of this matter.”
Dedelion wore a smile on his face. “Yes, the noble Tzati Imotah has ever been a friend to me,” but from the way Dedelion’s jaw was set, Kareth could tell the sorceror was furious about something. Was Imotah supposed to deal with this matter himself? Kareth wished he could ask a question, but he instinctively knew any word out of his mouth would only result in a smack from one of the guards standing behind him.
“Is this the man you accuse of theft?” Woser motioned towards Kareth, and with barely a side glance, Dedelion nodded, then sighed deeply and dramatically.
“Yes, this is he. Kareth he is called,” his name sounded like an insult coming from Dedelion’s lips. “I took the young man on as an apprentice; I gave him clothes and food and shelter. I started training him in the arts of magic. He, in turn, tried to steal my most precious secrets, wanting to sell them on the streets for money. He betrayed my kindness and my trust!” Dedelion was clearly putting on his best air of performance, but his theatrics were wasted.
Woser obviously didn’t care. The tzati shrugged. “You have a witness?”
“Yes, his statement is in the scroll. He saw Kareth breaking into a locked room and trying to sneak out before the break of day.”
“One wonders why two of your apprentices were wandering around at night—” the tzati raised his eyebrows.
Kareth couldn’t but wonder himself what Natef had been doing up then as well. And more than once, he became convinced Natef was just looking for any excuse to raise himself in the opinions of his masters. Could Natef have just been lucky that night, woken by some dream, in order to hear him sneak away? Or had someone asked Natef to watch him?
Dedelion’s smile widened uncomfortably on his face. “I can send for him at once, as well as my guards who caught him fleeing from my home.”
“Yes, yes,” Woser waved a hand and a servant stepped forward, offering Woser a goblet full of wine. He took a long gulp and handed it back to the boy. “That won’t be necessary.” He hiccupped then looked at Dedelion’s scroll with squinted eyes. “You asked for the thief to be put to death?”
Kareth wanted to gasp, but suddenly, there was no air in his lungs. He tried to breathe in, but nothing happened, as if his body had forgotten how to obey him. His head snapped back and forth from the grinning eyes of Dedelion to the uncaring ones of the tzati. Did he say death? He tried to shout, but only a squeak came from his throat, and on the back of his head he felt the fist of one of the guards.
“Since you refused to share the scrolls with my court to prove their value, I am afraid I cannot grant the death penalty. The wise Tzati Imotah shared my belief that it would be without merit without proper evidence.”
A great breath of air finally made its way into Kareth’s lungs. He felt dizzy, and didn’t hear anything else for a moment, but then Dedelion’s voice cut through every thought in his head.
“But you understand I cannot share such secrets, even with an eminent tzati such as yourself,” Dedelion spoke through gritted teeth.
“Acting as judge, I must be fair to all. The theft is clear, but for all I know, he was stealing little more than empty scrolls of papyrus. He will be punished, but hardly with death.”
Something seemed wrong here, though Kareth couldn’t tell what it was. He didn’t believe what Tzati Woser was saying was true. His words sounded like they had been fed to him by someone else. He doubted very much if this Woser cared what a thief was caught stealing, but for some reason he was making an exception for this case. If he hadn’t believed it from the unconvincing way he was speaking, he would have believed it from the annoyance that had been clear on Dedelion’s face since the beginning, since Imotah was mentioned.
“I understand, oh, just tzati,” Dedelion bowed stiffly. “Pray, what is
to be his punishment then?”
And for the first time, Woser looked at Kareth, stroking his chin. It annoyed Kareth that the man who held his fate hadn’t even bothered thinking about it before this moment. Then another part was glad, because it gave him just a little more time. And time, now, felt like everything to Kareth.
“Ten lashings,” Woser said dismissively then nodded to the next man in line.
“Who brings the next case before the wise and just Tzati Woser?” asked the guard.
“What?” Kareth finally found his voice as the guards were grabbing his arms once more, dragging him out, not through the way they had come, but past the line of people waiting to appeal to the tzati. Ten lashings?…Ten lashings! What did that even mean? He had never heard that word. What did it mean? Ten punches? Hits or kicks to the head? He groaned and heard one of the guards snicker.
They were outside the building then. The front had two large pillars set in the ground. There were hundreds of people in the large square, which Kareth could see was lined with stalls. It seemed the farmers and merchants didn’t just come here to plead their cases, the market was busier than an ant hill. Kareth was so focused on the market’s manic energy that he didn’t notice they were heading towards the pillars.
They stopped and Kareth looked up at the pillars and noticed the ropes hanging down from them. For the first time since being dragged out of the cell he tried to pull away from the guards. He thought for a moment that if he could break away he could run into the crowd of people and lose any pursuers, but even though he kicked at the guards and flailed with all his strength, their grip didn’t weaken, and worse still they just laughed at him.
He could only watch as they tied the rope so tightly around his wrist he started to lose feeling in his fingers. Once his arms were spread apart, one of the guards stepped forward, and in a well-practiced and unenthusiastic tone he addressed the crowd of half-curious onlookers.
“The illustrious Tzati Woser, whose voice and authority are those of the great Paref Rama, has decreed this thief be punished in the sight of the gods and men of Mahat. Let his punishment be an example to you all,” and then the guard turned and nodded to someone behind Kareth.
Kareth tried to turn around and see who was there, and what they were about to do, but he couldn’t turn his head far enough, and then there was a crack of noise and Kareth gave out a startled cry. He felt like someone had drawn a line of fire on his back, or quickly cut him with a knife—but not a small cut, one that started at his shoulder blade and raked down and across his back to one of his lower ribs.
“One,” the guard called out, his expression saying that Kareth was making his day worse by forcing him to stand there and count out his sentence. “Two.”
This time Kareth screamed. The lashings crisscrossed, and he was sure he was bleeding. He pulled frantically on the ropes, trying to get away. This isn’t fair! He wanted to scream, but who would listen? A few people were watching him but most barely even noticed he was there.
“Three.”
“No—” His protest turned into a howl of pain.
In the crowd, he saw a man dressed all in black emerge and stand there with an amused look on his face. Dedelion had clearly gotten over whatever anger he had felt over being denied Kareth’s murder and was determined to enjoy the show he had been granted.
“Four.”
It was like a joke. He was already in too much pain. Could his body even feel more? But he felt the strike, felt the burning pain and knew his body could feel much, much more.
“Five.”
His legs gave out, and as he hung from his arms, he felt the skin on his back stretch, and that made the lacerations hurt even more savagely. He knew he was still screaming, but the sound seemed to have faded from his hearing. He could hear nothing, nothing save the guard.
“Six.”
The tears were hot and blurred his eyes, but even then he swore he could see Dedelion’s snarl.
“Seven.”
Had he stopped screaming? He thought he could hear himself whimpering.
“Eight.”
He felt like an animal was clawing at his back, stripping away his skin, the way he had stripped the skin away from so many lizards in the desert.
“Nine.”
He tried to stand up, but his legs were useless. His entire body was useless. His head lolled down. It was as though no part of his body existed now beyond his back.
“Ten.”
Kareth didn’t feel the last strike at first. He felt a sort of pressure, and for a brief moment thought he’d finally reached the limit of pain. But then he felt it, worse than all the others, a small fire that grew and grew until he was screaming again—whimpering and crying, and maybe even begging for mercy, though he had no idea what language he might have been begging in.
“Oh, poor little Whisperer,” the voice felt like another lashing. Dedelion cupped Kareth’s chin in his hand and lifted his head, as though he meant to lean down and give him a kiss, but all he did was smile. “You just can’t stay out of trouble, can you?”
Kareth wanted to say so many things, cruel and hateful things, but there was nothing in him now except for sobs.
“Was life with me really so bad? A little blood in return for a home and food and all the secrets of my arts?” Dedelion peeked over Kareth’s shoulder, his smile only growing. “Looks like you have quite a lot of blood for me today. And we do have all day,” Dedelion let his head fall and from the folds of his robe took out a large jar. “They leave thieves like you hanging until the next one needs to be flogged. And I made sure there will be no flogging sentences until tomorrow, at least.”
He walked behind Kareth, who only had a moment of respite before he felt something scrape along his back, and from then on, all he heard were his screams and the drip, drip, drip of his blood falling into Dedelion’s jar.
NESATE
HAVE YOU FIGURED IT OUT YET
Tersh hadn’t been happy to see Tuthalya again. Why she had been dragged into a dungeon and tortured while the former soldier had been paraded into the Queen’s Hall was beyond her comprehension. She knew the people of Mahat were weary of Whisperers, that some very much despised her people, but she had expected more from the Matawega.
“I have something they want,” Tuthalya had shrugged with his playful smile planted firmly on his face. Tuthalya was acting as translator while four guards marched Tersh to a small chamber with a tiny fire pit she could call her own while there. The guards left and finally, the two were alone and could speak freely.
“I have something they need,” Tersh responded vehemently but was more interested in the small fire that burned brightly. She practically stuck her fingers into the flames and gave a sigh of relief as she felt the cold seep away. The dungeons had been deep underground, and sometimes the ceiling glistened as ice formed in the frigid air.
“A warning from gods they don’t believe in,” Tuthalya waved his hands dismissively. “They don’t want warnings; they want information they think they can use to overthrow the kings. You should have realized by now, kings and queens are utterly unconcerned about your witches and visions. If you want to save them, if you want to complete your mission, you and I know there is only one true way to accomplish it.”
Kill the Queen. The unspoken words floated in the air. Even alone, speaking a language the people around them barely understood, they both knew it would not be safe to say it.
Meeting the princess was more than enough for Tersh. Whatever hesitations she’d had about whether their queen was good and just and deserved to rule over a united kingdom had been washed away in her own blood. Where the kings of Hattute had been vain and ignorant, the Five Sisters were cruel and spiteful. Locked in that dungeon, she had willed the gods to hear her. She had whispered to the shadows, pleading with the gods. Let there be someone else, let anyone else take the throne and unite the kingdoms. But there was no one else.
Tuthalya was just as dismissive at the ide
a there was another possibility. “We’re not king-makers, Whisperer. We are pawns.”
“We go where the sticks tell us.” Tersh muttered to herself, remembering that day by the side of the Hiperu River when the only problem facing her was getting a boat to take them north. How could she have known the trouble waiting for her in the mountain peaks?
She spent the next few days mostly by herself, regaining her strength. She washed herself in ice-cold water, brushed out her ragged black hair with a bone-tooth comb, and dressed herself in the warm thick wool tunic they gave her. They returned her cloak to her, and she gathered it around her shoulders for most of the afternoon in comfort, before taking it off, folding it carefully, and putting it away in the corner. If they hated Whisperers so much here, she did not want to hurt her cause by reminding them of what she was. She ate as much as they would give her, and they let her wander the halls of the old castle, though many halls and rooms were barred from her. And by the end of that time, she remembered what it was like to feel human again.
The Sisters granted her an audience, though once again only four, including the princess, were present. She learned from Tuthalya that one of them was resting in bed, about to give birth to her first child. It was strange for Tersh, looking at these hags, to realize that one of them was as young as she.
Hags was perhaps too strong of a word. The day she was thrown before them, fresh from the dungeon, she’d been so filled with bile and hatred that they seemed like demons sitting high on their dais before her. For her audience, she’d had days to relax and find herself again, and when she looked at the Sisters now, she saw them as being rather plain, but not all that disagreeable— in appearance anyway.
Pekari -The Azure Fish Page 24