by N E Riggs
Shouts sounded from outside, and the bar door slammed open. Sword Priests raced inside, wearing a lighter version of the armor David had. They pointed stun guns at Malmis, their eyes going wide at the sight of his wings. “You’re dead,” David said, preparing to throw Bramira again.
“I think not,” Malmis said. He glared at David. “Don’t think you’ve gotten away. I don’t need you. I will find you, and I will kill you. I promise you.” He clasped his arms over his chest, and the air around him shimmered red. The glow formed a rectangle, turning into a small gateway. Malmis stepped back into it. Then he was gone, the red gateway vanished with him.
David finally lowered Bramira and slumped back. He forced himself to Alosh’s side. With a trembling hand, knowing what he would find, he felt for Alosh’s pulse. Nothing. He lowered his hand as tears filled his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he whispered to Alosh’s body. “You were my only true friend. If you hadn’t been, you’d still be alive right now. I’m so sorry.” He swallowed hard, looking around at the carnage that filled the bar. How many people had Malmis killed? How many people were dead because of him?
If only Brigid had let him stay on Earth, none of this would have happened. He laughed bitterly. It took him a few moments to notice his laughs had turned to tears. He buried his head in his hands and wept.
11
The Mercy of the Law
David’s steps dragged as he walked inside the Mitra Judiciary Building in Jod. Portraits and statues lined the atrium, all of people wearing the white thigh-length uniforms – former Law Cardinals. Intricate whorls and mosaics covered the ceiling and floor, most featuring chains. David paid the building and its decorations little mind. His vision was blurry, and he couldn’t focus. He hadn’t slept last night. He wondered if he’d ever sleep again.
A large desk sat in the center of the atrium. David wandered slowly over to it. He dug his summons out of his pocket and placed the letter before a woman wearing a brown Law uniform. She smoothed out the creases on the letter then checked her com pad. “Oh dear,” she said. “Ah, your hearing is in room 12, Brother Kemp. Just up there, on the left.” She pointed up the large staircase behind the desk.
He nodded and took his paper back. It seemed to take him forever to climb the stairs. Other people hurried past him, some giving him odd looks. David barely noticed. Eventually he found room 12. The large doors stood open, and David shuffled inside. Rows of hard, wooden benches filled the back of the room. Kemi, Keri, and their people filled the benches, looking nervous. At the front stood a chair on a high podium. A man wearing a thigh-length brown jacket with white accents sat there. He had hair so pale it was nearly white and a severe expression. “Brother Kemp?” A nameplate sat before him, identifying him as Law Steward Diket Varun. “You’re late.” A women sat with a com pad on the side of the room. As Diket spoke, his words appeared on her screen.
David sat at the front beside Kemi and Keri. “Sorry,” he said, sounding very far away.
Diket pursed his lips. He placed both hands palm down on his desk. “This hearing has now begun. The people of world 1247 will stand.” Keri, Kemi, and their people stood slowly. “You stand accused of genocide, having dealings with a Nephil, and stealing weapons. How do you plead?”
Keri stared up at Diket, not flinching before his stare. “We plead ignorant, Steward,” she said. “We do not deny the charges, but we were deceived. Tenin, who we later discovered is a Nephil or a Nephil collaborator, told us lies about Eternism and Aeons. He convinced us that killing our neighbors for not believing in Aeons would be considered a noble act. We did not know he was a Nephil.” Staring at her, David thought Keri brave, being able to talk that calmly. Then he remembered Alosh, and his thoughts ran away.
“Ignorance of the law is no defense,” Diket said.
“Steward Rolan Duran of the sixth traditional Sword division told us you would be merciful,” Keri said, spreading out her arms. “He said that Aeons loves everyone, even those who do not know him. Even those who sometimes make mistakes.”
Diket scowled. “Under other charges, I might show mercy. Ignorance, however, is no excuse for genocide or dealing with Nephilim.”
Keri lowered her shaking arms. Kemi wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “If there must be a punishment, let my sister and I bear the brunt of it. We were the ones who stole the weapons. We were the ones who met Tenin and brought him to our village. We were the ones who started the genocide.”
“Step forward, that I might determine the truth of your claim,” Diket said, motioning them forward. Together Kemi and Keri walked up to stand before his raised chair. He had to step down to reach them, because they were so short. Diket placed two fingers on Kemi’s forward, closing his eyes and standing still for about a minute. Then he repeated it with Keri. He had them return to their seats and proceeded to touch the foreheads of all of their people, save for the toddlers and infants – the handful that had survived Tenin’s escape.
David watched but didn’t really see any of it. Every time he blinked his eyes, he saw Alosh die again, his body contorted and part of it missing. He saw the other people Malmis had killed, and the sea of blood that had filled the bar. Bile rose up in his throat, and he barely choked it down. His hands shook so he stuffed them under his thighs.
Finally Diket finished with the last Lipsipan, and he returned to his seat. He placed his palms on his desk again. “Your memories of the past confirm your ignorance,” he said, “and also your guilt. Here is your sentence. You will move to Lilipan, to the Law farming facility. You will work there for five years for no pay, though food, clothing, shelter, and medicine will be provided for you. After that, you may return to your home world if you wish. Keri and Kemi Fandrel, tomorrow morning you will be exiled to Jahan. From Jahan, there is no return. You may spend the rest of today saying your farewells to your people.”
Keri buried her face in her hands, and Kemi held her tightly. Three Sword Priests entered the room, and two escorted them out. The last one stayed behind. David stared at the Sword Priest, thinking he looked vaguely familiar. He had brown skin, slanted eyes, and wavy dark hair. The word ‘WATCH’ rested on the left breast of his uniform.
“Sword Brother David Kemp, stand,” Diket said. David rose slowly. He held the back of the bench when he swayed. Before, he’d thought Diket looked severe when he spoke to Kemi and Keri. Now, Diket’s face could make stone look soft. “You stand accused of associating with Nephilim, of not meaning your vows, and of abetting in the crimes of the previous party. How do you plead?”
He closed his eyes as the room spun. “I didn’t know,” he said. The excuse hadn’t been enough for Kemi and Keri, and he knew it wouldn’t be enough for him. And that was only right. What did his lack of knowledge really matter when weighed against Alosh’s death? He remembered the way Alosh’s blood had spurted out when he’d been ripped in two. A choked cry escaped him before he could stop it.
“Manas Katta, Vicar of the twelfth watch division, you saw the Nephil?” Diket said.
“I did,” the man said. David opened his eyes and squinted at Manas. He might have been one of the Sword Priests to come to the bar. David hadn’t paid them much attention. “It was definitely a Nephil. I saw his wings.” He glanced at David, looking as if he wanted to apologize. “The Nephil seemed to know Brother Kemp.”
Diket nodded. “I have a statement here from Lost Sister Brigid Dana. She made it earlier this morning.” He peered down at the paper. “She says she does not believe you meant your Sword Priest vows and that, when given the chance to return to your home world, you tried to abandon Bantong.”
“Would that I had gone home,” David said. “Then Alosh would be alive.”
“That is irrelevant,” Diket snapped, slapping the paper down on his desk. “Any excuses are irrelevant. Do you realize, Brother Kemp, that if found guilty, you may be sentenced to exile or even death?”
A shiver ran down David’s spine. Maybe he deserved it, though. What good had he don
e in Bantong? Because of him, Alosh was dead. Because of him, Cethon was dead. Because of him, dozens of people had died at the bar. Because of him, Keri and Kemi had met Tenin, which had led to the genocide. After all that, surely he deserved to die.
“Death?” came a voice from the back of the room. Recognizing the voice but not really believing, David turned around, blinking rapidly. Rolan strode into the courtroom, wearing his formal uniform, the fabric looking flimsier than ever. Rolan glanced at Manas and motioned for him to leave. Manas did, looking grateful. Rolan stopped in front of Diket’s tall chair. To the woman with the com pad, he said, “I am Rolan Duran, Steward of the sixth traditional division.” He placed his hands on his hips and glared up at Diket. “Is this trial supposed to be a farce, Steward Varun?”
Diket stiffened. “Are you questioning my judgment, Steward? The Law applies equally to you.”
Rolan didn’t bat an eye. “We just held Alosh Popovitch’s funeral. At the very least, you could have rescheduled the trial for later. David was his friend and should have been allowed to attend the funeral.”
“Priests who disregard their vows do not deserve consideration,” Diket said. “You should consider your words more carefully lest you insult me by accident.”
“I assure you, when I insult you, you’ll know,” Rolan said. Despite his misery, David very nearly cheered. He’d always known Rolan was awesome, but this went beyond his expectations. Rolan’s eyes flashed, and he growled, “Why are there no Beloved Priests here?”
Diket laced his fingers together. “There are very few Beloved Priests left to us. They cannot be wasted on minor trials such as this.”
“Minor! You spoke of exile or death!” Rolan slammed a fist into his palm. “This trial is anything but minor. You cannot sentence anyone to death or exile without a Beloved Priest!” Diket looked away from Rolan. Hope welled up inside David. Maybe he wasn’t going to die. His stomach churned as part of him still thought that maybe he deserved death. He wanted to live. He wondered if Alosh would hate him for his selfishness.
After rearranging the papers and com pad on his desk many times, Diket finally looked back at Rolan. “Very well, Steward. Your words are heard and considered. David Kemp, you are banished from Pardis and stripped of your priesthood. You must turn in all your equipment. You are forbidden from rejoining the Sword or any other sect in the future. You have two days to move out of Valal.” He held out a hand. “I will take your weapons and com pad.”
Slowly David handed over his com pad and agitator. Until Diket asked, he hadn’t even realized he wore his agitator. He thought he’d had it yesterday, but he couldn’t remember for certain.
“All of your weapons,” Diket said firmly.
David blinked up at him. “That’s the only agitator I have, sir.”
“You have another weapon on your belt.”
His hands shot down, and he clasped Bramira tightly. “I had this before I became a Sword Priest,” he said quickly. “Bramira is mine.”
“Civilians are permitted to carry weapons,” Rolan added.
Diket’s hand never wavered. “If that was regular weapon, perhaps you could keep it. But Bramira belongs to the Beloved Sect. A criminal does not deserve such a weapon.”
David didn’t let it go. “No. It’s mine. Bramira lights up for me.”
“If you do not comply, you sentence will be changed to exile on Jahan,” Diket snapped.
“Give him Bramira,” Rolan said softly. David turned to him, feeling betrayed. “I’m sorry, David, but even Bramira isn’t worth exile. There’s no returning from Jahan.”
Mechanically, he unfastened Bramira from his belt. His hands moved slowly, as if of their own accord. David watched as he handed Bramira to Diket, feeling like he was watching through someone else’s eyes. Bramira lit up at his touch, brightening the entire room. When Diket jerked it from him, the light vanished like a candle being snuffed out, and David felt like something inside of him had also been snuffed out.
He might have stayed there for some time, staring at Bramira as if it held the key to his salvation. Rolan took his arm and dragged him from the room. David couldn’t look away from Bramira till the heavy doors shut, cutting him off from Bramira forever. A soft whimper escape his lips, and he felt like someone had punched him in the stomach.
Rolan pulled him towards the stairs. David finally turned away from the door and stumbled after him. Tears clouded his vision, and he’d have probably fallen down the stairs without Rolan’s help. Had his mind been clear, he might have looked for Kemi and Keri and their people, but all David could see was the way Diket had held Bramira. In his mind, Diket stroked it lovingly and laughed at David.
He blinked and noticed he was back in his room in Valal. He couldn’t remember walking through Jod or Valal or passing any gateways. His bag was still packed from his aborted trip to Earth. Rolan stared at the bag for a moment but only said, “What can I do to help?”
David shook his head. “I don’t need any help. Thank you for your help, sir, but I’m no longer your concern.”
Wincing, Rolan said, “You will always be my concern, David. If I can ever help me, give me a call.” He slipped a card into the front pocket of David’s shirt then stepped from the room.
David pulled out his uniforms and armor from the bag and left them on his bed. He stared in surprise at the agitators packed with everything else. He’d forgotten he’d taken them along with warm clothes. For a long time, he stared at the weapons. He should leave them behind. They weren’t his. But then he’d have no way to defend himself. He wasn’t a Sword Priest anymore, and he could barely imagine what he was supposed to do with himself now. A weapon or two was always useful.
He zipped the bag up with all the agitators still inside, wishing he’d stolen com pads too. Without his armor and uniforms, the bag was only half full. He pulled it on his back and left. Crossing from Oisin Tower to the Inda Administration Building, he found the bank and withdrew all his money. He had twenty-five hundred dollars. He had no idea how much that could buy, but he stuffed it in his jacket pocket and left the building. Once outside, he stood there, looking around.
What was he supposed to do with himself now? He couldn’t go back home. He had to leave Valal. Brigid wasn’t about to help him find another job. Even if she would help him, he wouldn’t accept it. He was all alone now, without a home or friends or any idea how to make a living. He shivered and wrapped his arms around himself, trying to fight down panic.
He’d be fine. He could easily find a job. Maybe not a good one or one he’d enjoy, but he’d find a way to take care of himself. Anyway, he was used to working crappy jobs. He’d be fine.
Glancing down the street, he noticed a bar. Moving slowly, as if in a dream, he walked inside. He sat down at the front of the bar, dropping his bag at the foot of his stool. “Give me the strongest stuff you’ve got,” he told the barkeeper.
The man – reddish skinned with thinning blue hair – squinted at him closely. “Bit early in the day for hard drinking, isn’t it?”
“Just give me alcohol,” David said. The barkeeper shrugged and placed a bottle before him. David popped the cap and took a large gulp. He nearly gagged as the drink burned its way down his throat – it was stronger than he’d expected. After coughing for a few seconds, David scowled and took another drink. He really didn’t want to be sober right now.
He finished the first bottle off quickly and soon had another. He worked his way through that and onto a third. The room began to spin around him, but it had been doing that long before he started drinking. The alcohol just made it worse. By the fourth bottle, a haze dropped over his mind, almost strong enough to make him forget the way Alosh had died. Distantly he wondered how much he’d have to drink to make the memory go away forever. Four wasn’t enough, so he started into his fifth.
“Just when I thought you couldn’t get more pathetic, Kemp, I find you like this,” came a familiar voice from behind.
David turned
slowly, gripping the bar to keep from falling off his stool. Bellon stood a few feet away, scowling at him. He wore his dress uniform, and his dark hair had been neatly combed; he looked dashing and heroic and perfect. He was the perfect Sword Priest, everything David had wanted to be. David had never disliked Bellon before, but in that moment he hated him with every fiber of his being. “What are you doing here?” he asked, the words coming out only a little slurred. Clearly, he hadn’t had nearly enough to drink.
“I just came from Alosh’s funeral I didn’t feel like drinking there, so I came here. What happened to Bramira?”
Instinctively, David’s hand went to his belt, where Bramira always hung. It was gone, and he remembered that Diket had taken it from him. His stomach lurched at the loss. How could that hurt more than losing Alosh? “Leave me alone,” he said, taking a long swig from the bottle.
“You were stripped of your priesthood, weren’t you?” Bellon said. He shook his head. “I always knew you weren’t cut out for this life, Kemp. You should be glad you’re still alive, unlike Alosh.” He sneered. “Fucking traveler. You manage to keep yourself alive but get better people killed along the way.”
“Shut up,” David hissed, shaking the bottle at him. Surprised, he noticed it was empty.
“You’ve no right to get off so lightly after everything you did!” Bellon bunched his hands into fists, his massive frame tensing as it readying an attack. “Why didn’t you just find other travelers from your world and ruin their lives! We’d all be better off!”
David threw himself off the bar stool, swinging his empty bottle at Bellon’s head. He missed, hitting Bellon’s shoulder, then crashed into the bigger man. They landed on the floor, Bellon’s arms trapped beneath David. “Bastard,” David said, punching Bellon’s chest. Red tinged his vision as the world swum around him. He rained punches down on Bellon, hitting him as hard as he could. Bellon finally freed one of his arms. He slugged David in the face. David rolled off him, grabbing his jaw.
