by Dora Machado
Hungry, stiff and sore from her night in the cell, Sariah recognized the accents of people from a dozen different settlements. It was a chaotic gathering, like a fair or a market, where people came to chat, laugh, shop, and in this case, watch the killings. Nothing attracted the curious as surely as death.
Although the water was still calm, the nets were fully cast. They were anchored on four of the executioners' decks. The edges of the nets were marked by brightly painted buoys which floated above the water line, connecting the decks and marking the square perimeter. Sariah and the other two prisoners were poled to the nets’ center. Three tiny platforms bobbed on the dead water at equal intervals. Sariah cringed as she stepped on the creaky deck. It was small, no more than two paces on each side, flimsily built with thin twine and rotting wood, and disturbingly unsteady to the sensibilities of her inner ear. She planted her feet apart and found her balance. The little deck wasn't very reliable, but then again, it wasn't intended to be.
Strong and athletic, Enita managed well enough, but the man was less assured. He squatted on the little deck like a pig stranded after the floods. He wouldn't last very long that way. None of the prisoners wore weaves, and that bode badly for them. A brief contact with the dead water burned, but a few moments in the rot's brew meant the excruciatingly painful dissolution of skin, muscle and bone, the loss of a limb or two, and shortly thereafter, death.
Business was booming on the decks gathered around the nets. Some of the executioners were collecting the watching fees from the crowd. Others were crying out the odds and recording the wagers. A wager for death always held the better odds. Enita was the favorite to last to the end. She flashed Sariah a defying grin. Sariah gave the woman credit for her poise because at the moment, fear was rattling her knees rather violently.
But even Enita paled when the executioners pulled the nets taut. The water boiled with life. The parts of the nets sticking out of the water were piled with astonishing numbers of long contorting creatures, some brown, some black, some mottled or streaked. The larger ones were splotched with algae and encrusted with barnacles. They were as thick as Sariah's legs and as long as she was tall, with elongated snouts equipped with quivering suckers and serrated teeth.
She'd had nightmares about the giant eels, rulers of the Barren Flats. These were bred and raised for the executioners' purposes, made ready with days of hunger. Maddened by the brutal exposure to air, they flapped and slithered in the nets, convulsing and contorting around Sariah like a sinister garden.
An eel sank its teeth onto the squatting man's shoe. The man stomped and screamed. The beast bit through his shoe and tore off a chunk of his toe. The scent of blood unleashed a rave. The water boiled with a frothy surf of eels.
Sariah rode the swells as well as she could. She concentrated on keeping her balance. The crowd was laughing and clapping, pelting her and the others with chunks of refuse, egging on the eels. The executioners dropped the net, allowing the beasts additional depth to launch. Sariah slapped the things off her legs as they came, but one of them latched onto her calf. It took her several attempts to get rid of it. She finally snatched it by the tail, swung it over her head, and slammed it on the water, but not before the enterprising eel ripped off a chunk of her legging, leaving a bloody trail behind.
On his teetering deck, the man tilted from one side to the other, swinging wildly until he lost his balance to the barrage of eels fastened to his feet. The crowd cried in horrified delight. He staggered in the water, tripping on the nets, gaining his footing briefly, only to fall back into the dead water. The eels tore into his legs voraciously. At the same time, his skin began to crackle and ooze. He wailed a continuous shriek of agony. Sariah didn't know how she could help him, but she reached out for his outstretched hand anyway. That's all she grabbed, a scalded hand which she dropped in shock as soon as she realized it was no longer attached to his body.
His death was a flash of blood, suckers, teeth, chunks of flesh. The eels dug into his belly and wriggled in place as if his guts were his body's choicest portion. Every part, every particle floating in the bloody water was snatched and consumed.
Meliahs help her. If she was going to survive this day, she had to act now. She groped for her plait and found the stone she had hidden there tangled in her hair. It had been a shrewd precaution, the only one of her weapons undiscovered by the executioners' search. She pushed and pulled and managed to untangle the stone just as a huge eel bumped her deck.
She staggered and almost fell. She barely kept her balance. Like a veritable leviathan, the huge eel lunged out of the water and chomped down on the side of her hand. Her fingers went into spasms. Her hand opened reflexively. Despite the crowd's uproar, all she heard was the sickening sound of her stone as it dropped in the dead water with a final plop.
Still, she tried to make the damn stone burst. But her mind couldn't reach through the water's thickness. Swaying violently on the deck, Sariah stared at her empty hand. Curse her rotten luck. She had done what no stonewiser had done before. She had forsaken her lease, quit the Guild, escaped the keep, traveled to the Domain, wised the forbidden seven twin stones to reveal the Guild's deceit, and joined in kin with Ars. And now she was going to be dinner for a bunch of eels?
A vicious hit struck her hard in the ribs. Sariah managed to stay on her feet. What now? She craned her neck to look at the crowd.
“They're upping their profits,” Enita shouted from her wobbly deck. “They're adding stones to their game.”
A line was forming to purchase the right to shoot at them. To load the sling with the bigger stones cost more, but there were plenty of takers ready to pay. She had to do something. Rocking from side to side, she shuffled her little deck to the farthest point away from the shooters. Enita followed Sariah's lead, grunting every time a slingshot hit her. With her heart pumping like a pewter mallet, Sariah could have shuffled her deck all the way to the wall. But the executioners acted quickly, lifting the edge of the nets high above the water, an impossible barrier between her and the Barren Flats. Sariah's knee smarted with a well-aimed blow. Could she manage to jump the net?
Enita must have been thinking the same thing. She was an amazing jumper and a fit marcher with formidable legs whose strength Sariah could never hope to match. If anybody had a chance at jumping the nets, it was Enita.
Still, Enita asked, “Do you have any other tricks up your braid, wiser?”
A stone. Sariah needed another stone. The sling shooters. Could she catch one of the stones they aimed at her and transform it in time?
Sariah focused on the next shooter. He was a burly fellow with a stubbly beard and a nose as thick as a cudgel. He bought four shots. He took his time twirling the sling. He snarled when he released the shot. The stone came at her with incredible speed. Sariah tried to snatch it in the air. It missed her hand altogether.
The shot that struck Sariah on the side of the head darkened the day for a long moment. The pain. It flared down her spine like a raging fire. She stayed upright out of pure wiser discipline, teetering in the spinning darkness. She couldn't die just now. Not yet. She forced herself to look at the crowd through watery eyes.
“Triple my bet,” the bull-nosed shooter shouted. “I'll take her out with my next shot.”
The executioner counted the man's coins. “Go ahead.”
Another shot from him would kill her. Sariah cringed when he loaded a fist-sized stone in his sling. He didn't waste any time. He whirled the sling above his head and aimed. Sariah whispered a prayer and braced for the lethal impact.
Three
ONE MOMENT THE shooter was on his feet whirling his sling. The next instant he was on his knees, crying a string of obscenities, clutching his mangled hand. Balancing precariously on the rickety deck, Sariah couldn't quite understand what had happened, until she registered the man standing in the dead water halfway between the nets and the spectators’ decks. The familiar figure was tall and broad of shoulders, dangerously poised and h
olding his sling ready for another shot if necessary.
Meliahs curse him. No, nay, no, Meliahs bless him. Sariah stomped on the eel that landed between her feet and kicked it off the little deck. How dare he endanger himself for nothing? He couldn't beat a full tribe of executioners. He couldn't make war on them either. She would have his hide for this, despite his damn good timing.
He didn't spare her the slightest look. He stood there like a petrified giant, drawing the crowd to silence with his wordless presence's defiance. The noise of laughter and chatter died out. The deadly day came to a standstill.
Enita had shuffled her little deck close to Sariah's and now stood next to her, gaping. “What is he doing here?”
Sariah held her breath.
The newcomer unwrapped his scarf, baring his face for all to see, breathing heavily, although when he spoke his voice was steady as the morning's calm breeze. “I'm Kael, Son of Ars. Forgive the interruption, executioners. I mean you no harm or disrespect. I regret the shooter's pain and offer retribution.” He nodded at the squirming man and then returned his attention to Petrid. “We acknowledge your rights to collect these fees and to kill this woman. Everyone has a right to make a living in the Domain, and yours is no less than ours.”
The chief executioner hesitated before sheathing his sword, but Kael's words had their intended effect. The other executioners, who had taken to the water and surrounded Kael, followed Petrid's example and lowered their weapons. That was all very good progress, but not fast enough. Sariah's views about her need of rescue were changing rapidly. Since Kael had come despite her warning, and given that she didn't have any stones and the eels were industriously chewing at the deck's unraveling twine, he might as well hurry up and get her out of the nets.
It was only then that the others arrived, making their way between the crowded decks. Marcher Metelaus, Kael's older brother, and Lazar, his younger brother, were wheezing like busted stallions after what must have been a desperate run. Lazar carried a basket strapped to his back, and in it, Sariah recognized half-man Malord, the Domain's gathering wiser and her advocate before the justice gathering. Sariah couldn't guess at their plans, but whatever they were going to do, they needed to do it quickly. The eel rave was in no waiting mood.
“If you don't come to challenge our rights, why are you here?” Petrid asked.
“I'm here to purchase the right of atonement for this woman,” Kael said.
The crowd gasped. Sariah had no idea what Kael was talking about, but she wished he would talk faster.
“Atonement?” Petrid looked dubious. “The woman wishes to beg forgiveness from Meliahs’ nine sisters?”
“She does.”
“That's a mighty expensive right.”
“And highly profitable, I understand. For you.” Kael flashed his ferocious smile, the one capable of freezing Meliahs’ rot pits and chilling a raging fire.
“What about me?” It was Enita speaking. “Are you going to purchase atonement for me? You've known me a lot longer than you've known Sariah. You and I, we share the same Blood. I know things, about Atica, about the Shield, things that can help you rule the Domain.”
Kael spoke to Petrid exclusively. “What will you lose if you take the stonewiser out of the nets for a few moments while we talk? If you don't like what I have to say, you can return her to the nets and finish feeding your eels.”
That was a grand idea for a rescue. Sariah would have to congratulate him for the brilliant thought later. She slapped another eel from her ankle. Hurry now.
“Why would you want to save her?” Enita said. “She lies. She cheats. She betrayed you. For Meliahs’ sake, she delivered you to the Shield's quartering block!”
Kael's stare skewered Enita like a killing arrow. “You'll never understand an oath.”
Enita flashed a bitter grin. “May your damn oaths kill you.”
She leapt, powerful, agile and lithe, a spectacular showmanship of the Domainer art of the jump that Sariah couldn't help but envy at the moment. She somersaulted high over the nets and shot sideways. Sariah thought she was going to make it.
She heard the shooter's telltale grunt at the same time the stone whizzed by. The shot hit Enita at the base of the skull. Her neatly tucked body unraveled in the air. Her arms and legs flung out convulsively. Sariah hoped Enita was already dead when she plummeted headfirst into the water and got tangled at the edge of the nets. Her body quivered like a fly caught in a giant spider web. Her head bobbed limply at the waterline. The crowd was going wild, celebrating the killing shot, exchanging wagered money. A new bet began. How much longer could Sariah last?
The eels fell on Enita's listless body, fighting among themselves for chunks of her face. A few sported beards of Enita's fair hair as they scurried away with scalp hunks between their fangs. In the feeding frenzy, the eels stirred the water into a turbulent rage, buffeting Sariah's little deck with the strength of a sudden gale. Sariah slipped, lost her balance and almost fell. It didn't seem possible she would last another moment.
“There's no deal for carcasses if the stonewiser falls.” Kael's voice carried clearly across the water. “Those eels of yours are blood-mad and she's just a Goodlander weakling looking feeble on that deck.”
Weakling? Sariah reclaimed her balance and stood erect on the deck. Feeble? As if she hadn't endured for a good two hours against the eels and the crowd, outlasting two others? She held on out of pride and spite.
The chief executioner took his time making the decision. Kael matched his equanimity without the slightest show of haste. It seemed to Sariah that a hundred chills had turned before Petrid finally spoke.
“Fetch her,” he commanded. “We'll talk, Son of Ars.”
The crowd started to boo, but the jeering wilted as Kael's terrible glower swept over the chastened spectators. The executioners who were coming to fetch her seemed to pole with the speed of lame tortoises digging uphill. Sariah used the last of her strength to jump to their deck as soon as it came within her reach. She landed on her knees, because now that she was away from the eels, her legs refused to stand her weight.
Free of its load, the little deck overturned and bobbed in the water briefly. The beasts finished ripping it apart. Sariah watched the eels’ ferocity with a sense of numb horror. She wiped the sweat from her brow and breathed what felt like her first real gulp of air in two days. It struck her then that Kael's taunting had had a clear purpose—her wounded pride had lent her the strength to endure a few more moments.
“I haven't had a good reason to sell a right of atonement in, let's see…” Petrid's forehead furrowed. “Thirty chills or so.”
“The wiser there, she's no danger to Domainers,” Kael said. “Two chills living in Ars without trouble prove that. She's a good reason for you to sell atonement and make great profit.”
After a life of despising the Guild's mercenary ways, had Kael turned into a Guild trader overnight?
“But the scope of her offenses…” Petrid's pregnant pause said it all.
“Atonement is not granted based on the gravity's scope but rather on the valuable nature of the proposed reparation.”
“I see that you know a great deal about my business.”
Kael flashed his fierce grin. “I've made it my business to learn about yours.”
Sariah was glad he knew what he was talking about, because she understood only a little about the Domainers’ ways and even less about the executioners and their business. The two men spewed technicalities at each other, a slow deliberate dance over the fragile notion of her life.
Kael was a sight to behold, imposing, proud, maybe even arrogant in his stance. She had to will herself to look at him without shuddering in fear for his life. His fair hair was plastered against his skull and his black and green stare scoured his surroundings with lethal competence. She didn't have to be close to him to recognize the determination on the stern lines of his face. Under the broken eyebrow, the discordant black pupil dominated his glare, gle
aming dangerously with a promise of violence.
“I don't understand how you can claim atonement,” the executioner said. “She betrayed us. She revealed the location of our demesnes to the Shield. She started a war. She loosened the rot on good land. She broke the wall. Do you contest these charges?”
“Her intent was good,” Kael said. “Atonement is her right.”
“Who knows the witch's purpose?”
“I do.” There was no hesitation in Kael's voice, no doubt and no allowance for disagreement or protest.
“Yet the justice gathering found her guilty.”
“Ah.” It was always an infuriating sound coming from Kael. “A point of law. And one which must be addressed.” Kael motioned to his brothers. “Stonewiser Malord?”
Malord somehow rose, although his legs had defected long ago in deference to the quartering block's ax. He was the gathering's lead, the most knowledgeable wiser in the Domain, the only man Sariah knew who could rise without legs, looking dignified and superior while stuffed in a basket strapped to another man's back. Cinnamon dark, long of face and sharp-featured, his deep voice carried the weight of his authority.
“The justice gathering had no means at its disposal to spare her life,” Malord said. “It can only declare innocence or guilt, but you know that, Petrid.”
“So what?” The executioner spat to the side. “You expect us to take up your burden?”
“You have your trade's leeway,” Malord said. “Don't be fooled, the gathering realizes this wiser's importance to the Domain. Didn't she wise a tale of Domainer redemption out of the seven twin stones? Is that not enough to grant her atonement?”
“Redemption?” Petrid scoffed. “How can you call this state of catastrophic disaster redemption? There's war in the Goodlands and it threatens to spill over to the Domain. Has the Shield gone away? No. It has gotten crueler and more savage. Has the Guild stopped hunting us? No. It kills us with ever more pleasure.”
