“Robyn,” he gasped.
“I told you he—” Robyn began, but the magistrate silenced him with a gesture.
The man glanced around the room, taking inventory and control. “Sit down, please. Everyone.
“It seems we have a slight controversy on our hands concerning the behavior and treatment of one Michael, kiska.”
He used the term in its legal sense, but Michael found it no less diminishing and blushed at the word’s being applied to him. Officially, all of JhaPel’s inmates were kiska, but most people did not consider them so in fact since they had a place to sleep and people to look after them. But Sirra Avram, Michael understood, would only care about legalities.
The newcomers all found places to sit, pulling chairs Michael hadn’t noticed away from their niches along the wall. Michael sat back down on the edge of his chair, trying to keep an eye on Robyn while also fixing his full attention on the magistrate.
“We will first hear the charges against the child,” Sirra Avram began. “And then he and his defenders may speak on his behalf.”
“Against him?” Whiltierna bolted up from her chair with a look of shock on her face.
“As I said,” Sirra Avram agreed. “A slight controversy.”
Whiltierna shook her head as if dazed and sat back down as Avram inclined his head in a silent command for her to do so. He then nodded to Mabbina who stood up and began to tell her version of Abbess Ethene’s death. It ran very similarly to the version Michael would have told, but to every action and every look of Michael’s she ascribed an evil intent.
“He knew I guessed his true nature, so he wished to have Ethene—who trusted him blindly—back and whole so that he could continue his evil ways unpunished.”
Whiltierna sat rigidly in her chair, glaring at Mabbina with an utter loathing Michael had not believed her—nor any JhaPelan nanna except Mabbina—capable of feeling.
“And so he healed her,” Sirra Avram prompted.
“Yes he did, sirra. Using magic. I have several witnesses, all nannas. When he entered the room, Abbess Ethene was nearing her last breath. When I returned after leaving them alone together briefly just as Ethene had requested, she was plainly altered. She stood up! She hadn’t been able to feed herself in well over a moon, and she stood, sirra!
“After I made her realize the peril in which he’d placed her soul by using his accursed magic, she did the only thing she could. The manner of her death is proof of his heresy.”
“But you—!” Michael half-rose from his chair, distressed that Mabbina would dare suggest Abbess Ethene had killed herself.
Sirra Avram would have none of this, though, and he held up a silencing hand. “You will have your turn to speak, boy,” he said, evenly. “Please do not interrupt.”
Michael’s mouth closed slowly, and he subsided back onto his chair. He caught Robyn looking at him—an unguarded, passionate look in the man’s eyes—and he blushed crimson.
The magistrate turned back to Mabbina. “Thank you, Abbess. You may sit.”
Michael was shocked. She’s abbess now? How can she take Ethene’s place? She’s a murderer!
The magistrate next turned expectant eyes toward Robyn who almost flinched at the sudden attention. “Magister Vaznel?”
The man cleared his throat and stood, casting a practiced, flinching glance at Michael. He cleared his throat again, fixed his eyes on a spot just slightly above Sirra Avram’s head, and began to tell the most blatant string of lies Michael had ever heard.
“I was trying to be of help to Nanna Whiltierna, an old family friend. I was acquainted with the boy from when I did some charity work with him—he shows a little promise as an artist—but it was Whiltierna’s request that led me to him.
“When I found him, he was obviously cold and hungry, and I hurried to his side to see what help I could be. I felt I must. More than just duty, you understand, sirra, I felt impelled to help him, as if something outside of me were coercing me into it.”
Michael bit into his lip to keep from screaming. His mind flashed back to that night and all the fear and pain and misery he’d been put through afterwards.
“He fell asleep in my carriage on the way to my house, so I had little choice but to give him a bed for the night. But he slept through until the next night, and it was far too late to find another place for him. He’d seemed so exhausted, and I feared he might be ill, but he came down to the evening meal with no apparent difficulty, and he ate a great deal. He seemed very eager to hear all about me, though I couldn’t imagine my dull life being interesting to such a child.
“After we finished eating, he made a great show of being tired again, and due to the lateness of the hour, I suggested he stay another night. He agreed at once and asked me where his room was. Naturally I escorted him back, but then he asked me to help him undress. I was uncomfortable with this request, as you can understand, but I felt compelled, again, to do as he said.”
“I see.” Avram arched an eyebrow as his eyes swept over Michael. He looked back at Robyn. “Continue.”
“Yes, sirra.” Robyn cleared his throat yet again. “By this time I had become very concerned both by his behavior and my own. When I was not with him, I found myself wondering why I had behaved in the ways I had when I was with him. I was frightened—”
“Of such a child as this?” Sirra Avram inquired, both eyebrows raised in astonishment.
“The evil power of magic is strong regardless of its shape,” Mabbina intoned.
“He isn’t evil!” Whiltierna turned on her titular superior, her expression savage.
“Abbess Mabbina, Nanna Whiltierna. Please.” Avram never raised his voice. “It is Magister Vaznel’s testimony.”
Both fell silent at once but glared at each other. Michael shrank back into his chair, terrified by Robyn’s smooth, twisted retelling.
“I stayed away the next day, trying to figure out what to do about him and fearing returning home and losing my own wits again in his presence. When I returned home, he was waiting for me, though it was very late, and I decided to resolve the situation. I suggested we go to find the friend he had mentioned once, but he pretended to be afraid of going out so late into Fensgate even though, as I told him, I had been out that late there before without mishap. He became hysterical and begged me not to make him go. I tried to give him some brandy to soothe him, but he refused it and clung to me instead.”
Michael went chalk white and had to struggle for each breath. He felt Whiltierna’s eyes on him and felt her fear for him.
“He kissed me, sirra, and—Vail have mercy on me!—I felt an answering desire I couldn’t resist. I kissed him back! He pulled at my clothes and kept kissing me. I was terrified but could barely think! I tried to fight the coercion—I even struck him, tried to push him away—but it was no good. He had enchanted me!
“We ended up in my bed, sirra, and did evil things! Accursed things. I am ashamed of my weakness.” He stopped and took several breaths. Michael realized he was trying—or pretending to try—not to cry. “When I awoke the next morning, he was gone. I thanked Vail for delivering me from his evil influence, but then your secretary came to my house yesterday, and I understood what that child had done to me. Entrapped me. Ruined me.”
Silence followed for several beats, as if everyone was waiting for Robyn to add something. When it became apparent he had finished, Avram thanked him and instructed him to sit, just as he had done with Mabbina. Finally, he turned his attention fully on Michael.
“It is your turn to speak, child.”
Shaking, Michael rose to his feet. He clenched his hands together and stared wide-eyed into Sirra Avram’s cool, expressionless face.
“It—it wasn’t like that, sirra,” Michael began. “He twisted it all. Changed it. Some of those things happened but not like he said.”
“Then tell me what happened as you remember it.”
Michael told his story haltingly, blushing at several points, and speaking so sof
tly that Avram often interrupted him to ask him to repeat something. By the time he came to the end of his miserable narrative, his eyes were fixed on the floor, and he wanted desperately to cry.
“And Abbess Ethene’s healing?”
Michael bit his lip again, feeling wrung out and sick and empty. “I don’t know,” he admitted.
“You don’t know,” Sirra Avram echoed.
“No, sirra. I thought it was a miracle from Vail. I didn’t think it was wrong to help someone get well, but I didn’t think it could be anything but a miracle. How could I do anything like that by myself?”
“Indeed,” Sirra Avram said, an eyebrow raised. “And you never thought it might be magic?”
Michael hesitated. “The first time, with Cyra, I thought it might be. But then I thought that magic was evil and helping someone couldn’t be evil. I thought it must be the will of Vail.”
“The first time?” Avram prompted.
“Cyra’s a cat,” Michael said. “She’d been hurt by some kiska—by some boys. I thought she was dying. She was bleeding pretty badly. But then I felt kind of funny, and the next thing I knew, she was well. It scared me.”
“So you guessed it wasn’t magic,” Avram said.
“Yes, sirra. I didn’t think it could be anything bad.”
“But at first even you thought it might be magic.”
Michael’s mouth went dry. “Yes, sirra,” he rasped. “At first.”
“And you did it anyway.”
“It seemed to be what Vail wanted me to do.”
“You guessed it was a miracle. It seemed to be the will of Vail. You thought it couldn’t be evil! Did you never think to ask your betters? Did it never occur to you that something so dangerous should not be decided by such a one as you: an amnesiac, kiska child?”
The sudden harshness of the magistrate’s voice made Michael stare at the man. He felt as if he’d been slapped again, and the comprehension that his foolish, trusting honesty had sealed his fate ran through his body like ice water. Judgment had been passed, and only a true miracle could save him now.
Whiltierna interrupted the silence that had awaited Michael’s answer. “Sirra, I would speak for this child.”
“You have nothing to say, Nanna Whiltierna.” Sirra Avram waved a dismissive hand toward the woman. “You were not present for any of the events under consideration here.”
“But I saw him after he left Magister Vaznel. I took him to Landsend Charity myself. The healers said—”
“And how soon after he left Magister Vaznel did you see him? Hours? Days? Anything might have happened in the meantime. He might have done himself injury in order to ruin Magister Vaznel’s defense. No, Nanna. I cannot allow you to plead your feelings as facts.”
Avram turned away from Whiltierna, shifting his attention back to Robyn and dismissing her as completely as if he’d said the words.
“Robyn Vaznel, for your part in this child’s corruption, I fine you one thousand crowns to be paid to the Order of JhaPel. You are also forbidden to set foot in Fensgate for the next twenty moons. I shall have you escorted to Fensgate Bridge as soon as arrangements are made to Abbess Mabbina’s satisfaction for the fine’s payment.”
“Yes, sirra.” Robyn bowed his head.
“In light of the fact that your actions may not have been entirely of your own volition, I mitigate your sentence by forbidding any within this chamber from ever speaking of this incident. Your name shall bear no taint of this event. Once the fine is paid and so long as you avoid Fensgate for the next twenty moons, it shall be as if it never happened. If you fail to comply with either of these punishments, I shall see to it that your ignominy is published throughout Camarat and shall personally see to it that the queen is aware of your actions.”
“Thank you, sirra,” Robyn whispered. “I shall not fail to do as you command.”
“Please, sirra!” Whiltierna rose from her chair. “I’ve known this child since he first came to us. He is not evil! I would swear it before Vail Herself! Please, don’t do this to him!”
The magistrate gave a curt nod to his secretary who rose and crossed to Michael’s side. The boy still stood, staring at Avram, shocked by the utter waste of effort his speaking the truth had been. The man took hold of his arms, gently enough but too securely for there to be any chance that Michael might escape him. He had only vague impressions of feelings—no thoughts—and realized he was too stunned to sense much of anything.
This isn’t happening please this isn’t happening please they wouldn’t really do this please Vail please—!
The secretary guided the boy over to the fireside, and Whiltierna screamed. Michael craned his neck to find her and saw Mabbina and Sirra Avram’s other secretary, who’d materialized from somewhere, holding Whiltierna back though she struggled against them.
“No, sirra! Don’t do this!” Her scream went ragged at the end, and she dissolved into wracking sobs.
A hand caught Michael’s chin and pulled his attention back to the fire. Sirra Avram stood before him, his hand dropping away from Michael’s face. He was as expressionless as he’d been during most of the testimony, but his eyes were filled with an odd light.
“Michael, kiska. I find you guilty of the charges against you. Do you understand what that means?”
Michael stared into the magistrate’s frightening eyes for a long, silent moment, before managing to make his response.
“Yes, sirra.” He’d seen what happened to witches. Mabbina had made certain he knew the punishment for this ultimate sin.
I was so stupid.
“Have you anything to say for yourself before I pass sentence?”
.:You did nothing wrong! Healing is a miracle. A gift from Vail!:.
A thousand pleas crowded in Michael’s throat, but he wanted to believe the Voice. As he stood frozen, trying to organize some sort of reply, an unfamiliar, angry pride welled up from somewhere deep inside of him and stiffened his backbone. All the pleas faded away. He lifted his chin and raised a defiant eyebrow, never looking away from the magistrate’s eyes.
Sirra Avram blinked then looked away, abruptly and obviously flustered.
“By the laws of Her Gracious Majesty Queen Grania of Camarat, I find you guilty of heresy in the second magnitude.” He turned toward the fire, pulling on a heavy cloth glove, and selected one of the long pieces of metal that had been heating there since before Michael and Whiltierna’s arrival.
“By the Queen’s Mercy, your life is spared this last time. Any new offense against the laws of the queen or of Vail, and your punishment shall be death by fire. So that all may know the evil you have committed and the mercy by which you continue to live, the queen has ordered that those guilty of your crime be branded with the symbol of the witch. You are required never to hide this symbol lest you be found guilty of your final offense.”
The secretary held Michael’s left arm out from his side, his strong fingers encircling the boy’s slender wrist and holding his arm and hand still. Sirra Avram pressed the glowing, red-hot brand against the back of Michael’s left hand at the base of the thumb.
Michael tried not to scream, rasping in air as if breathing his last breath. That breath turned into an odd, animalistic moan as he went limp in the secretary’s arms. He felt something run down his leg and realized he’d wet himself.
Let me die please let me die now please let me die please—
.:Hold on! You have to hold on!:.
“Leave me alone!” Michael struggled free of the secretary’s hands. He’d thought the brand was still being held against his hand, but he saw that it was back in the fire. His hand still burned as if the magistrate had set it in the fire, too, and if he’d thought it would end his agony, Michael would have cut it off.
Though the room still whirled around him, and he thought he might throw up at any moment, he refocused and found himself sitting sprawled on the floor of the magistrate’s office. He searched dazedly for the magistrate, determined to look
one last time into the eyes of the man who had committed this injustice.
A faint glint of revenge winked in his brain when he saw the man’s disquieted face.
“I told the truth, Sirra Avram.” Michael choked out the words. “May Vail judge you the way you’ve judged me.”
“Blasphemy,” Mabbina gasped.
“Take him outside and leave him in the street,” Avram ordered, but he did not look as certain as he had at first. Michael guessed it was all the justice he was likely ever to have.
“Don’t believe them!” Whiltierna shouted as the Magistrate’s secretaries carried out their master’s orders. “You are not evil! Never believe that, Michael! Never!”
# # #
CHAPTER TWELVE
“I wish they could get the trains running everywhere,” Flannery said, her eyes still bright with excitement from the experience.
The train from Karona City to SouthPort only took two days. Jarlyth almost wished he’d never boarded the damned thing in the first place. It will make the rest of the trip seem interminable.
The southwestern part of Serathon, however, had offered the only stretch of land both untouched by the Raids and flat enough not to need wizardly assistance during the building. Even so, it had taken years to complete.
They gathered up their packs from the baggage car and caught a series of three trolleys to reach the docks. There, the next leg of Jarlyth’s “mad quest,” as everyone called it, would begin.
My “insane waste of time.” With King Teodor’s complete and very public abandonment of Nylan’s cause, help had been hard to muster. Everything had taken longer than it should have, and each delay only made Jarlyth feel more useless. He’d been silent and morose during the entire train ride and now felt foolish for allowing himself to behave in a way he considered so childish.
Flannery, who’d learned to recognize his tumbles into bitter self-recrimination, tapped him with her pack to catch his attention. “We’re here,” she said.
They leapt for the street, packs banging against them as they ran to a stuttering stop. Once they figured out which way to go, they rushed on, crossing the cobbled street ahead of oncoming traffic. Shouts and brassy squawks from cart-horns called abuse after them. Flannery turned and gave a small, apologetic bow.
SanClare Black (The Prince of Sorrows) Page 16
