by Gail Dayton
“Is this true?” Chani demanded, all sympathy gone. “Were you healing him? Could you have healed my mother?"
“I don't know."
The mist curdled, parts of it going gray-blue shadow, other parts staying white. Chani's scowl darkened with it.
“I mean—yes. I was healing Stone. I think—it's possible I had healed him. But about your mother—I don't know."
The mist cleared to white as Kallista went on. “I think perhaps I could have healed your mother, if I had known she was poisoned too. And if I had been closer. I could not have healed her without touching her, and I don't think I could have reached Habadra House in time. Once a person dies, there is nothing I can do. Their soul has gone to the One and will not want to come back again from that place.” She had learned this much through painful experience.
“Then how did you know this Stone was dying? How could you heal him from Shakiri House?"
Kallista didn't really want to explain, but given the situation, she didn't think she could avoid it. “I am Godstruck. Stone was godmarked. This is not a mere title. It is not a rank or official duty. It is magic, given from the hand of the One. We—I and my Godmarked—are bound closer than husband and wife by this magic."
The Habadra looked confused now, as well as angry and suspicious. Kallista sighed. What were these Daryathi thinking, to lock their naitani away in a temple?
“Most naitani,” she said, “magic users, draw their magic from the air, from the direction of their magic. I was born with North magic, with lightning.” Kallista called a spark of lightning to her fingertip. “It comes to me out of the North, from the cold, clean, earth-air-water power found there."
She flicked her finger and sent the spark to crackle with a tiny, staticky shock against the Habadra's shoulder.
“The Godstruck magic is more. It is shared out from the One to the Godmarked.” Kallista cast an eye to the mist. Pale pink again. She had some of the facts right, but not all of them. “I am guessing, and you can see that my guesses are not entirely correct. I call the magic from the Godmarked to use for the One's purposes, and when I am done, it goes back inside them.
“Because of this magical binding between us, I know where my Godmarked are at all times and I know their welfare. I know when they are injured or dying. And I am able to heal them."
The Habadra's expression changed very little, becoming more sullen and suspicious, if that was possible. She obviously did not follow much of the explanation, and didn't seem to believe what she did understand. “Are you satisfied with the truth you have heard?” she asked. “Is this ‘trial’ over?"
Kallista considered. If this was all the trial Merinda would get—and it appeared that it would be—they ought to at least attempt to follow the proper forms. “Is there anyone who will speak for the accused, Merinda Kyndir?"
She looked from one to the other of her iliasti. Most of them looked away, unable to meet her gaze. Leyja glared her anger back in defiance.
“I will,” Fox said, startling everyone. “I will speak for the wife of my brodir, the mother of his son."
“His murderer,” Habadra Chani said in a harsh whisper.
Keldrey took possession of the prisoner so Fox could speak unhindered.
“When Merinda left us,” Fox said, “a demon had possession of her. I cannot see, but I can tell when a person has been demon-ridden, after the demon has left her, or him. The longer the demon stays, the more ... twisted their presence becomes. As time passes without the demon, they begin to recover.
“The demon left Merinda some time ago—I don't know how long ago that was. But it rode her for a long, long time. Maybe most of the time since she left us. For years. She is so twisted, I ... Demon-driven madness has done this thing."
“Demons.” The Habadra's voice dripped with scorn. “Do you expect me to believe—"
“Demons are as real as magic.” Kallista's voice cut across the other's words. “If you do not believe me, believe the spell.” She pointed at the white opalescent mist overhead.
Chani snorted, refusing the possibility, but her eyes rolled to the mist, then to the corners of the courtyard, as if searching for signs of demons.
“Are you sure it has left her?” Kallista asked Fox.
“Search for yourself.” His sightless eyes held her gaze. “You're better equipped for it than I am."
True. But without Stone's joyous magic ... She fought back the agony of grief and called magic. It came willingly, but she had to fight it into the form she wanted and shove it hard to send it forth. The magic sauntered over to Merinda and hesitated, as if asking whether Kallista was sure this was what she wanted it to do. She gave it a hearty kick in its metaphysical backside, and the magic plunged into Merinda.
She shrieked, writhing in apparent pain in Keldrey's grip as the magic explored. She was changed, as Fox said. Twisted, stained, mad. No longer the woman who had married them six long years ago. But despite the lingering taint, the demon was gone. Kallista shared what she had learned. The mist glowed its beautiful white.
Chani snorted again, as if to say Of course the demon is gone, since it was never there to begin with, but she didn't speak aloud. Not about that. “So, is that all your trial?"
Kallista looked from one to the other of her iliasti. “You have all heard what happened. What Joh Suteny, Fox Varyl and Viyelle Torvyll witnessed. You have heard Merinda Kyndir's own words. What is your judgment?"
Keldrey cleared his throat and handed custody of Merinda off to Joh. “I have another question for the prisoner."
“Ask it.” Kallista tipped her head in Merinda's direction.
Keldrey nodded and turned to face the half-naked servant. “When you were told your husband was coming to redeem you, why didn't you just tell the Habadra you wanted to stay? Why did you poison the wine?"
“Because I wanted him dead.” Merinda's voice held vicious hate. “I want all of you dead."
“Even though murder is against the One's Law."
“I don't care. You should be dead."
Keldrey turned to face Kallista again and came to rigid attention. “Kallista Reinine, it is my judgment that the prisoner, Merinda Kyndir, committed these murders, and that she knew exactly what she was doing when she did them."
“Mine also.” That was Aisse, cold and hard.
“And mine.” Fox.
“I agree.” The voices of her ilian murmured assent together.
“So. This is my judgment as well.” Kallista took a deep breath and drew herself up to attention. She unclipped the Seal of Office from her belt. “Is there paper? Ink and quill?"
Habadra Chani stared, as if Kallista were more mad than poor Merinda, but she gave a hand signal. Someone at the back of the crowd trotted out of the courtyard. Moments later, the requested items were passed through the gathered champions into the hands of the Habadra, who handed them to Kallista.
In her turn, Kallista gave them to Joh—he had the best script of any of them—and Viyelle cleared a place on the nearby wine-stained table for him to write while Kallista dictated.
“As Reinine of all Adara, and in my role as Truthsayer and High Justice of Adara's Courts, I, Kallista Varyl, Godstruck of the One, find that Merinda Kyndir did murder Habadra Khori of Mestada in Daryath, and her own husband, Stone im-Varyl of Arikon in Adara and Tsekrish in Tibre. She did this in full knowledge of her actions, and without any influence other than her own will.” Kallista paused to let Joh catch up.
“Therefore, it is my judgment that, as these crimes were committed in the city of Mestada, in Daryath, and in the House of Habadra Line against the Head of that Line, Merinda Kyndir shall be given into the hands of the Habadra Chani to carry out judgment according to the laws of Daryath."
Joh finished his writing. Kallista took a candle from the holder on the table and poured a fat puddle of wax at the bottom of the judgment.
Then, as it cooled, she pressed the seal with its symbol of the compass rose into the wax. She returne
d the seal to her belt, took the quill from Joh, signed the document and dated it: Firstday, the thirty-fifth of Silba—the last day of the first month of autumn. Joh blew on the wax to cool it, and handed the paper to Viyelle.
“For our records,” Kallista said. “To make it official. Will you want a copy?"
“I have no need of such.” Chani sneered, as if obeying law was beneath her.
“Now about the child.” Kallista had promised. She could not leave Stone's son in this place.
“What child?” Chani looked blank.
“The son of my murdered Godmarked. The reason Stone was in this place.” Kallista held onto her temper with torn and bloodied fingertips.
“The child stays. His father is dead. His mother will be before the day changes. He has no kin to redeem him."
“He has me.” Fox stepped forward, his temper obviously more frayed than Kallista's. “I am his kin, his father's brodir."
“The boy is im-Varyl,” Kallista said.
“The boy is in the Line of his mother. He is—what did you say? He is im-Kyndir. You have no standing."
“I have the standing of the Reinine of all Adara.” Kallista couldn't stop herself, didn't want to stop. She grabbed the younger woman by the front of her dress and jerked her close.
The Habadra tried to knock Kallista's hand away, but she hadn't spent most of her life as a soldier. She couldn't break Kallista's grip. They scuffled, slipping on the paving. In Stone's blood.
The realization made Kallista let go, made her push Habadra Chani stumbling back a few paces. All around them weapons were raised, battle on the edge of breaking out. Goddess, what was she doing? And yet...?
“I will have that child,” Kallista snarled. “How much?"
“There is not money enough in all the world to purchase this child from me,” Chani growled back.
“You would make an innocent child pay for the crimes of his mother?” Almost, Kallista leaped on Chani again. Only Obed's quick grip on her elbow kept her from it.
“He is mine,” Chani said. “He will stay mine."
Then Obed stepped forward and slapped the Habadra Chani openhanded across her face hard enough to snap her head to the side. “I call upon the right of trial and the will of the One Who Rules Over Heaven, Earth And The Seven Hells to judge in the matter of the possession of the child Sky im-Kyndir."
At Obed's blow, the Habadra's champions seemed to relax, and his words backed them farther from the edge of violence where they'd been poised.
“Accepted.” Habadra Chani lifted her chin belligerently. “The justiciars will call upon you within the week."
It was only Firstday. That gave a possible eight more days for the Habadra to do as she pleased with Sky before the justiciars got involved. If they would even care what happened to a servant child.
“I will have guarantees,” Kallista said. “The child will not be harmed in any way. I will see him and speak with him daily to ensure this, beginning now."
“It is late. He will be asleep now. Morning is soon enough. And you will not enter this House again. Your people may see him, but none of these—” Chani sneered. “These Godmarked."
“If any harm comes to this boy,” Kallista said, quiet and fervent, “I will destroy this House brick by brick. And his uncle will see him to be sure you do not try to palm some other child off on us."
“Once,” Chani came back. “His uncle may see him once, then it must be another. One who has neither magic nor mark."
“They come together then, that once, so that the other knows the boy."
“Agreed.” Chani gave her single, sharp nod. “Who? Choose now. Who will come with this uncle?"
“Keldrey.” Kallista pointed.
He stepped forward and bowed. Keldrey wasn't marked, he had no magic, but he was ilias. Stone's son was Keldrey's as much as Fox's or any of theirs, though these Daryathi would not accept that argument.
“He is not marked? Is not nathain?"
“He's a bodyguard, one who protects the military naitani."
“Agreed. In the morning, no sooner than one bell after sunrise."
Kallista stepped close again to Chani who almost stepped back, then defiantly held her ground.
“I am not afraid of your threats.” Chani's voice didn't sound as firm as it ought, if she truly did not fear.
“It is not a threat,” Kallista said. “If that boy is harmed in any way, I will do what I have said. It is a promise."
Kallista turned away from the Habadra and saw some of her soldiers coming down the path through a gap in the clustered champions. They carried a stretcher, like those used to move the wounded—and the dead—from the battlefield. All of Kallista's feeble defenses, the things that had been distracting her, fell apart and grief crashed over her.
Stone was gone. He was not coming back, like Fox whom they'd thought lost to them twice over. Stone was gone and his son was lost and they had only—dear Goddess, how was she going to tell his daughter, Rozite?
Her knees almost buckled, but she didn't need Obed's supporting hand. She threw him off and went to take the stretcher from the soldiers. Fox and Joh took it from her.
They laid it on a clean spot on the paving, where the old Habadra had been. Keldrey and Leyja were already there, lifting Stone's body and head, placing them on the stretcher. They left the ornate robe in place over him as they moved the body, pulling it, once in place, gently over his head. Kallista watched, feeling helpless, useless. Lost.
Stone had been with them from the beginning. He'd hidden his grief over the brodir he'd thought dead in battle with teasing and laughter. Who would make them laugh now? Who would share his joy in living with the rest of them when they forgot, as they too often did, just how good life could be?
Fox and Joh, Keldrey and Leyja lifted the stretcher. Aisse and Viyelle gravitated together, hands finding each other to cling, following as the others bore their terrible burden down the path and out of the courtyard, leaving Kallista behind, bereft and alone.
“Kallista.” Obed touched her hand, slid his into it.
She twisted free. He wasn't Stone. Stone was lost to them, his blood spilled across this foreign courtyard in a foreign land under a foreign sky. It was soaked into their clothes so that they wore their loss, a badge of grief and horror.
“Kallista, it's time to go.” Torchay's familiar raspy tenor sounded in her ear. His hand in the small of her back gave a subtle but forceful push and she began to walk just to get away from him.
She didn't want comfort. She didn't want anything at all, except Stone. She would never, ever have him again.
And she had sent him to his death alone and comfortless.
Rumors flew all over Mestada. Of blood and death and armed foreign troops invading a House of one of the great Lines. Padrey heard them in the crumbling sector of the city where he lived, and he followed them, not sure why his heart pounded so.
He mingled with the crowd outside Habadra House, pushing his way forward to peer past the champions standing in the gateless gap into the outer courtyard, lit by dozens of flaring torches. He was so consumed by curiosity, by the need to know, that he only lifted one purse from a pocket as he passed. Once he reached his destination, the sight of so much blood slowly darkening to rusty brown on the white stone paving made him forget to merge back into the crowd. Padrey watched, and he worried.
He didn't want to worry. Who was the Reinine of Adara to him? What was the warrior woman Leyja but a source of income? He worried anyway. As if he had adopted these utter strangers as some sort of new family. He had to be losing his mind.
Padrey listened, but the crowd around him had no better idea of what had happened than he did, and the speculation grew wilder as they waited.
Only when the inner courtyard gate, which had been swinging idly on its well-oiled hinges, opened wide and soldiers in the brass-buttoned gray Adaran uniforms marched through did Padrey remember to fade away and pull up his hood. The soldiers gathered their horse
s, loose in the public courtyard, but only a few of them mounted. Those few rode at the gap in the outer wall, as if they meant to ride down the champions blocking it and anyone else who got in their way.
Their way cleared as if by magic, champions and populace melting away in the face of the soldiers’ resolve. The rest of the Adaran troop formed ranks, leading their mounts, and followed behind those on horseback. Padrey had to stand on his toes and stretch to see those who came behind the soldiers.
Bareheaded, queues unbound so that their hair spilled over their shoulders and down their backs, the men and women Padrey had seen yesterday in their glittering finery trudged through the gate and into the public courtyard. They carried a burden that seemed to weigh more than they could bear. Padrey squeezed through to the front again. He had to know what they carried.
Four of them, one in plain unadorned clothing, bore a stretcher. The body on the stretcher was covered, face and all, with an ornate overrobe, jewels glinting in the torchlight. The black-clad bodyguard Leyja was one of the bearers, her face stark with her grief, so much that Padrey's own eyes filled with tears. Two women, walking with upright solemn dignity despite the way they clung to each other, followed the stretcher. Behind them walked the Reinine, with two more men at each of her shoulders. Everything and everyone was smeared, streaked and soaked with the dark coppery-smelling stain of blood.
Ilian, Padrey thought. All of them together were an ilian, like the five parents he could never speak of. And one of the Reinine's mates was dead.
Whispers buzzed through the crowd. Murder in Habadra House. No, it was a duel. No, the Adarans had attacked and lost one of their own men. No—
“People of Mestada!” A voice boomed from behind him, from the open courtyard.
Padrey was caught between the need to follow the Adarans and to stay and hear this news. He stayed, but on the edge of the crowd where he could see the slowly retreating backs of the Adarans in the ghostly light of the full moon.
“Murder was done this night in the House of Habadra Line.” The Voice of Habadra had a fine carrying baritone. He stood next to a woman who was not the Habadra, but who looked very much like her, repeating the woman's words.
