by Scott Rhine
“The resulting flow was too much even for him to contain. Have you ever seen a goldfish that keeps eating after it is full? Or a dry kernel of corn placed too long on a frying pan?”
Brent narrowed his eyes and tilted his head, trying to understand. “He died?”
“No. It’s more accurate to say that his form and information transformed into energy. Nothing was destroyed, only converted. But it’s fair to say that Osos burst rather spectacularly in a display that could be seen on at least three planes.”
Brent interrupted. “What’s a plane?”
“That’s another math term. Pretend I’m talking about a house and use the word floor.” Jotham waved away further digression as he continued with the heart of the lecture. “Now, the burst was so intense that it leveled all the moutains in the central kingdom and created a huge, bowl-shaped crater in the ground. The matter of this bowl contained not only dirt, sand, and rock fused into glass, but all living things caught in the blast. Because of the multidimensional aspect of the fire, their spirits were trapped as well, even after physical release. At the center, where the crater was deepest, the god made deep wounds in our world and the blood of the earth poured out as magma. Volcanoes darkened the sky and the world shook. Soon the rivers flowing into the central kingdom filled this bowl and cooled the earth’s blood, forming what you know today as the Inner Islands and the Inner Sea.”
Brent shivered at a cool breeze. “All those people and animals gone. I’m sure the Traveler didn’t mean for that to happen to them. He’s not a killer is he?”
Jotham put an arm around the boy to help warm him. “The Traveler sought to trick Osos into doing to himself what no other god could. You already knew he was a trickster. I’m certain he tried his best to ensure that only Osos would suffer, but even the ascended can’t think of everything. Some sages think that Calligrose has aided our Empire often in repayment for that mistake. However, I prefer to believe his actions to be out of loving charity rather than guilt.”
Brent asked in a small voice, “What happened to Osos?”
“He still exists after a fashion. The power from the differential tap still flows through his nexus; Osos just can’t control it and must release it in all directions equally. To those attuned to see, his spirit looks like a giant orb, a star hanging low in the sky marking the location of his folly. Do you know now what Osos became?”
Slowly, the revelation rose in the boy’s eyes. “The Compass Star,” he whispered, staring at the sky toward a light he couldn’t see but knew existed. They sat in silence again until the guards came for them near sundown.
Chapter 35 – Trial by Ox
The ceremony had been timed to culminate as the sun sank below the horizon. Normally, such
an event would call for a solemn procession. However, the guards were running a little behind schedule and trying to hurry matters along.
Jotham opened his mouth to address the head guard and the man stuck a loaded crossbow up to his throat. “No talking from you, mister, on the High Gardener’s orders. You’ll keep quiet through the whole ceremony or we’ll put a shaft in you and clamp the silencer back on your yap. The arrow won’t kill you right away, but you’ll be ready to jump off the wall just to end the pain. Are we clear?”
Jotham nodded and handed the guard his legal brief to exclude Brent from the proceedings. The guard laughed and ripped the folded document into shreds. “Heretics aren’t allowed to write either. You weren’t supposed to get any parchment to spread your lies. Your door guard will be punished. Now stop wasting my time. I don’t get supper till after you’re dead.”
As they manacled the priest and led him down the winding stairs of the Green Tower to the waiting ceremony, Jotham mouthed one word to the boy. “Pray.”
One of the guards jabbed him with a spear butt to prevent further communication.
The Trial was set to take place from the top of the River Gate. Guards were already stationed between the flanking staircases, awaiting the guests of honor. Behind them a semi-circular, raised dais, sat all the major nobles and clergy still supporting the crown. The young king and his cronies were arrayed in their best finery, adorned with as much jewelry and pomp as they could muster, with Renald as the centerpiece. These seats offered the best view of the upcoming event. The two remaining members of the heresy tribunal sat on either side of the king.
A thick beam on a swivel protruded over the center of the gate into the courtyard. The sizable block-and-tackle at the end of the beam was normally employed to load and unload river barges inside the castle. In times of war, the rotating mount could hold a giant ballista used to rain destruction down upon the enemy. That evening, a wooden cage dangled from the beam like an oversized lantern on the prow of a ship. The cage, containing a blindfolded ox, was suspended half over the river and half over the ground. Barricades kept everyone at least thirty paces from the monarch or the ox.
Unable to decide on just two traditional punishments, the event coordinators had arranged at least four possible fates for the prisoners. On the off chance that the fall didn’t kill the ox instantly, the ground below the animal had been covered with long, sharp spikes set almost a pace apart. If the ox avoided being impaled, the ground was covered with black pitch and dotted with lit candles. Any candle knocked over would light an intense fire that would engulf the victim. Even if the victim avoided toppling any candles, a fall from such a height would surely break a leg, making any movement slow. Because of this, torches set at the corners would burn down and light the tar if the trial went on too long without resolution. Rabid dogs had been considered, but they couldn’t be sufficiently starved on such short notice. Finally, a portcullis and another set of spikes faced inward from the banks of the river to prevent anything from climbing out before drowning.
But the extensive list of possible deaths was not what shocked the boy. The open courtyard seemed to be lined with more people than Brent had ever seen. They swarmed along the wall tops. Layered, wooden benches were propped against three of the four walls and covered the grassy expanse between so thoroughly that no evidence of vegetation could be seen. The great gates leading out of the trial arena had even been left open so that the breeze might help cool this sweltering mob.
Musicians and jugglers passed hats, and bakers sold warm meat pies to this sea of hungry people. When Jotham’s snowy head appeared on the walls, the crowd began chanting, “Jump!” The closer the prisoners got, the louder the shouting became. The things he heard people shouting about them made Brent shudder. Worse still, the monk who suggested this ordeal was standing supportively at the left hand of the king. Fear of betrayal made his stomach churn.
By contrast, the closer Jotham got to the ox, the calmer the teacher became. The frenzied roar reached a crescendo when the prisoners were placed before the suspended cage. Just when he thought there would be a riot, the king’s heralds blew their trumpets. The silence that followed was spectacular.
From his raised seat in the center of the balcony section, King Renald shouted, “My subjects. I welcome you to the most ancient of our ceremonies. The verdict of the gods is absolute. Whatever fate befalls the ox befalls these heretical traitors. In a day where many fall away from the truth, we return to the virtues of our ancestors. The minds of these fools have been clouded by superstition. Despite our gentle guidance, they have refused to see the error of their ways.” The king strode back from the edge and loudly commanded his guards, “Lay the offenders’ hands upon the sacrifice.”
One at a time, the prisoners were herded forward to the edge and forced to walk a narrow plank, reach through the bars of the cage, and touch the animal. The hungry guard made sure that Jotham returned to solid ground quickly. However, Brent closed his eyes and stroked the ox he had befriended and named Red.
“Any last words?” asked the king.
Archers reminded Jotham that he had none. The boy, however, said boldly, “By the promise of the Traveler, let the strength of mountains inhabit his
bones.” Unfortunately, only those closest could make out any of this as the crowd had begun to chant and rumble again.
The boy was dragged back to the wall and the prisoners were held at the very edge awaiting the verdict. A few guards began pushing the cage with long poles. Soon the cage was turning and rocking at a dangerous rate. One last time the king shouted, “I bring you justice!”
At this proclamation, he pulled a rope and the cage door fell away. The crowd cheered as the blindfolded ox staggered to maintain its balance, slid out, and plummeted an impressive distance to the ground below. They held their collective breaths as they watched the ox. The front hooves led the rest of the body slightly but there was no flailing or lowing.
Several factions in the crowd had been clamoring for one fate or another. None of the factions were disappointed. The ox fell half in the river and half out, its fall broken by both the water and the splintering of the horizontal spike.
“It worked,” muttered Brent, giddy at his success.
Men in the front rows gripped betting slips eagerly. The contest wasn’t over yet. Next, the frightened animal climbed out, splashing water over all of the nearby candles, extinguishing them. The people “oohed” at the unexpected rally.
Unable to see, the ox sniffed the air for the familiar scent of the field other side of the gate. It stumbled about, knocking over several vertical spikes. Eventually, Red the ox staggered through the open gate—he’d successfully navigated all of the hazards, winning his way to freedom. While the audience waited in stunned disbelief, the scribe at the king’s side whispered, “Kill them or the people will say the gods support the heretics.”
“Let them go or the people will call you a liar who defies the Judgment of the Gods,” countered the monk.
“This isn’t the way it was supposed to turn out,” pouted the monarch. “Either way, my sister benefits.”
“The people have witnessed a miracle; we must claim it for our own and use it to forward our cause,” explained the scribe with the twisted body.
“Claim what you wish, but the prisoners must go free immediately. Say that we saw the ox wander onto one of the barges bound north or west out of the kingdom. This should be easy to arrange. Say that the judgment the gods revealed in their mercy was immediate and permanent exile.”
Panic-stricken, Renald considered this. “It could work.”
“We’d need guarantees that the exile was permanent,” the scribe emphasized.
The monk nodded. “I’ll take care of the task myself and provide the escort you require.”
Both other men nodded in agreement and the scholar hurried Jothamd the boy down the grand stairs while the announcement was being made. Two of the king’s personal guards accompanied the prisoners and the monk to the nearest, outbound barge and gave the owner orders to depart immediately. The passengers weren’t allowed to disembark on Semenosian soil. When the owner grumbled, he was given a roll of gold coins sufficient to buy his ship several times over.
They left without delay.
Once underway, Jotham asked their benefactor, “Do you know where to find the Answer?” When the monk seemed puzzled, Jotham changed topics. “Was this your plan all along?”
The monk wiped sweat from his forehead and confessed, “Actually, I slipped one of the pole-men money to aim for the water and loosened the bars of the old portcullis. The miracle was unexpected.” The scholar nearly glowed from what he had witnessed: evidence that the gods still listened and cared. He turned to the tenor and said, “But in repayment for my efforts, I have one question. Why did the Myranosos dynasty end? What caused the Great Scattering? I know that one of your high priests visited the island shortly before the end. Surely, being an Imperial and a high priest, you must be aware of what transpired in the last days.”
Jotham looked down into the murky water. “Ask the one you’ve befriended, whose prayer was answered by today’s miracle. Only his reply would have merit in the scales of fate.”
All eyes turned to the boy, who suddenly felt great pressure to be profound and omniscient. “How could I know? I hadn’t even been born yet.”
Jotham gestured around him. “We ask merely your opinion as an impartial and enlightened observer of history. What do you think happened to Emperor Myron? What do you think became his fatal flaw?”
The boy mused for a while and then answered, “I think that he wanted to be too much like his god Osos.”
At this, both the scholar and tenor nodded in agreement.
Chapter 36 – Nigel’s Tune
Days later, Nigel and Tashi were having an argument. Or at least Nigel was arguing. The sherif
f seemed to be walking, humming happily, and ignoring his companion’s attempts at persuasion. “We’re only half a week from Reneau, the new center of culture for the Empire. For a traveler and an entertainer, missing this city would be a tragedy. Every time I visit, the buildings get more fantastic: the great, arched bridges, the domed theater, and especially the palace. You’ve never seen marvels like these.”
“Our way lies straight to the ancient temple along the Old South Road,” Tashi repeated, not opening the floor to debate.
“But that brush-clogged, rock-strewn, over-glorified deer trail isn’t straight. That’s the problem. It’d be faster and safer to cut through the capital and use the new thoroughfares,” the actor pleaded.
“This tune had a special meaning to me at some point, I’m sure.”
“At least let’s go a day closer before turning so that we can stop at a civilized inn. I haven’t heard the latest court gossip or had a decent cup of wine for over two months now.”
Distracted by the constant bickering, Tashi didn’t notice the man behind them until he said, “Hand over all your money.”
Two robbers were close behind them. When the travelers stopped, three more sprang out from the ditch near the column-like milestone. Tashi shook his head to clear it. No one had ever managed to surprise him like this before. Both traveling companions drew steel and stood back to back. All five assailants were male teenagers dressed in animal hides and carried daggers. Upon examination, they appeared shorter and stockier than the average denizen of this land. Their wide noses and fierce eyebrows alone should have tipped him off. “You’re not from around here, are you?” guessed Tashi.
“Our family is a noble line of smiths, banished from the homeland. We hunt fat oppressors such as yourselves, so that we can one day throw off the yoke and restore the legitimate ruler of our kingdom!” ranted the lead revolutionary, standing nearest to Tashi.
Nigel grunted in realization. “Lugwort’s Lackeys.”
“We’re the Forge of Kiateros!” countered the red-faced revolutionary.
When Tashi looked puzzled, Nigel said, “You really ought to take the trouble to learn more about the territories you’re traveling through. They rob people on the major trade routes to pay for their subversive military activities. These fellows started as a religious sect among the most skilled craftsmen of the north. Always a bit untrusting of outsiders, the smiths, commissioned to make all those famed steel Honors for the emperor, took a precaution. Allegedly, no blade forged in Kiateros can be used to harm them.”
“It’s true,” said the revolutionary. “Ours is the strength of mountains and iron. Now will you yield your purses or do we take them? Your sword will not help you.”
In formal tones, the sheriff said, “Justice needs only a good man to manifest itself, and no weapon but his mind. As High Sheriff, I command you to surrender in the name of the Traveler.” He posed with his sword raised in guard position.
His attackers were not impressed. Growling in anger, the revolutionary charged. “Two each,” Tashi told his companion.
One of the robbers facing Nigel said, “But there are five of us, and this one doesn’t even have a real weapon.”
At the last second, Tashi side-stepped the revolutionary’s dagger and spun in such a way as to smash the leader’s shoulder into the stone road mar
ker. The sick sound of the man’s jaw snapping momentarily paralyzed the other members of the Forge cell, and the sheriff followed through with a kick to the dazed man’s head. The second impact with the column knocked the head robber cold.
Nigel had his stage rapier raised under the nearest man’s throat. “Hold, both of you. This foil wasn’t made in Kiateros and it would open your jugular quite handily. I’m willing to call a truce between us three so we can continue engaging in philosophical discussion. Perhaps you may convince me of the rightness of your cause, and I might see my way clear to a small donation.” The pinned Forge member and his friend nodded. Both sides took a step back and lowered weapons.
During the struggle, Tashi’s headband shifted, revealing his unusual tattoo. His second assailant recognized the symbol as the sheriff drew his blade. “Is that real?” Tashi parried the distracted robber’s dagger so hard that he dropped it. The disarmed man felt the ringing in his teeth.
When his third opponent bent to pick up the valuable dagger, Tashi kicked his head so hard that helmet flew off. The unarmed robber immediately tackled the sheriff, aggravating Tashi’s earlier rib injuries. The two rolled in the dirt, grunting while the man with no helmet staggered a step in each direction, trying to remember what he was doing.
One of Nigel’s opponents looked over at the scuffle, vaguely considering what he might do to help. Nigel warned, “You’re only hurting yourself with that one. If the kingdom of Kiateros is so important, why aren’t you robbing people there?”
The man with the red dot on his throat answered. “Most people there are poor, and we could never steal from our own. That would be wrong.”
“And stealing here isn’t?” Nigel said, incredulous. The two members of the Forge looked sheepish. “You would ruin another man’s home rather than fix the problems in your own? What kind of logic is that?”
