by Jeff Altabef
“The Tools of Justice,” said Eamon. “If Dermot suspects someone of lying, he can light the end of the spear and burn the truth from the witness. He rarely uses them, but just having them ready is usually enough to get the truth.”
Eamon excused himself and moved to stand beside Dermot along the Circle’s edge.
Aaliss thought of Eden’s High Court, with the High Priest as judge and six Priests as jury.
Advisors help both sides, but is there any justice in it? If Wilky and I stood before the High Court, what chance would we have?
She’d rather take her chances here with Dermot. Although crude, she thought this Circle simpler and closer to justice and truth than the High Court in Eden.
Dermot started the proceedings. “May the herd forever be strong!”
The Masters repeated the prayer.
Dermot continued. “The accusers will recite the crimes.”
“Yes, my King.” Maeve faced Fintan and stared fearlessly at him. “I accuse Prince Fintan and Cormac of murdering my sister, Cattie. They also ordered a Horseman named Scotty the Snake to retrieve the red berries, so they could poison our rightful king.”
Aaliss detected no deceit in her voice, and from the expressions on the Masters’ faces, they believed her.
Fintan chuckled. “These accusations are ridiculous. It’s some ill-conceived plot by my brother, Eamon, to take over the Tribe. If he believes he’s worthy, he should throw his sword into the Circle of Destiny. We can battle in combat the way it is written. I’m innocent of these baseless charges. We should be planning our attack against the Painted Ones, not wasting our time with fairytales!”
A few Masters turned their gaze toward Eamon, who remained silent in the face of the accusation.
If he accused me like that, I’d kill him before he could say another word!
Aaliss wanted to defend Eamon, but caution held her tongue. Still, she realized that it was an effective argument, adding an element of doubt, creating a motive for false charges where none would have existed.
Dermot addressed Maeve. “What proof do you have of your accusations?”
“We have this note written by my sister, which explains everything. Cattie has gone missing, and I’m sure she’s dead. We grabbed Scotty when he entered the Stronghold earlier today and he had these.” Tears brimmed in her eyes as she pulled out a handful of red berries from a leather saddlebag.
One of the masters gasped.
Maeve pointed at Fintan. “He’s a murderer!”
“Why would I murder this girl?” interrupted Fintan. “I don’t even know this Cattie.”
“Because she overheard you and Cormac plotting to kill the King the night of the full moon! She tried to use that information to force you to couple with her, but she knew too much to live. You wanted her dead, as if she didn’t matter! As if you could just throw her away!”
“If only she were here to accuse me herself! I deny all of it.” Fintan laughed. “This is a scheme to put Eamon the Handsome in charge of our tribe. Without a witness, I cannot be judged guilty. This is all a waste of time.”
Fintan sounded arrogant, and Cormac kept silent with a confident smile plastered on his face.
Aaliss knew fear from her time in the Zone. She had smelled it, tasted it, even welcomed its ice-cold embrace. No fear oozed from these two, and that meant trouble.
Eric spoke for the first time. “Scotty the Snake is in the Basement. He’s a witness to your crimes.”
“Bring him here then, and let’s see what he has to say.” Fintan shared a confident look with Cormac, which bordered on smug.
Dermot ordered two of the King’s Guard to fetch Scotty from the Basement.
When the two Guards returned alone, the taller of the two was red-faced. “My King, Scotty is dead. He hanged himself in the Basement.”
“They killed him!” accused Eric.
Fintan ripped a clump of glass from the ground. “And what other crimes are you going to accuse me of without evidence? I was nowhere near the Basement. There are many witnesses to my whereabouts. I don’t know why Scotty killed himself. Maybe he killed your sister too. It could have been a lover’s quarrel, but there’s no evidence that links me to this girl. Perhaps she tired of her work in the Nursery and ended her own life? We have more important things to do than waste our time on false accusations.”
***
Eamon thought back to the morning after the Counsel meeting and the full moon. He remembered the brown eyes that followed Fintan into the Feasting Hall. Those eyes belonged to Cattie, and she did work in the Nursery.
“How do you know she worked in the Nursery, Brother?” Eamon’s words lingered in the air.
Fintan looked nervous for the first time, his eyes jittery as they danced around the Circle. “What are you talking about? Who said anything about the Nursery?”
“You just said she might have tired of her life in the Nursery. If you do not know this girl, then how did you know she worked in the Nursery?”
“You see how this is Eamon’s plan.” Fintan waved his arm toward him. “I don’t know anything about this girl. I had just guessed.”
A murmur rose among the Masters.
Dermot grabbed the Spear of Justice and everyone grew quiet. He held the tip to the fire until it blazed bright orange. “And you, Cormac... what do you have to say for yourself?”
Cormac looked as if he had woken from a trance, his eyes locking on the tip of the spear, his face covered with sweat. “I’m innocent just like Fintan says.”
Dermot stepped toward him, bringing the glowing point of the spear close to his face. “Did Fintan know this girl before she died? Tell me the truth of the matter.”
Cormac focused on the point of the spear as if frozen in place.
Eamon nodded. He’ll break if Dermot uses the spear.
Cormac’s voice shook, and sweat rolled down his face in rivers. “I’ve never met... her before.”
Dermot brought the tip of the spear inches from Cormac’s face, close to his eyes. “I’ll give you one last chance to speak the truth. I will be very harsh if you lie to me.”
Cormac glanced at Fintan, who shook his head slightly. He returned his gaze to the glowing point of the spear and locked onto it. “We’re... innocent of these... crimes.”
Dermot lifted the spear over his head and thrust it down sharply. The point dug into the ground an inch before Cormac. “Without Scotty there are no witnesses against my brother. I have no choice but to judge him innocent. Let this settle the matter. May the herd forever be strong! Now go.”
The Circle broke. The Masters left first, their steps heavy and grave.
Fintan and Cormac followed, but not before Fintan shot a murderous look at Eamon.
Eric consoled Maeve, who wept in his arms.
“You know he’s guilty of these crimes!” Eamon growled at Dermot.
“Guilt could not have been written more plainly across their faces,” Aaliss added.
“What would you have me do?” Dermot leaned against the spear. “I cannot judge him guilty without a witness. I cannot throw our laws away now! Let the matter end for the good of the tribe.”
Eamon leaned close to him. “What of the cure, Brother? Will you take it?”
“I will not.” Dermot looked away. “You take it.”
“You leave me with no choice. Tomorrow, I throw my sword into the Circle of Destiny to fight Fintan.”
Dermot flinched as if he had been struck. “You promised me you would not face him! You swore it!”
“He just accused me of being a liar. I can’t let that stand. Everyone will think I am a coward. Better to die in combat than live as a coward.” Eamon’s face flushed with heat. “You leave me no choice.”
Dermot hunched his broad shoulders and stared hard at his younger brother. “Give me the skin.”
Eamon handed him the leather pouch.
Dermot stared at the potion long and hard before lifting it to his lips and tipping it back.
***
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Chapter 45 – Aaliss
Aaliss watched Eamon hover nearby. He refused to take his eyes off of Dermot for more than a few moments, except to occasionally glance at Gemma and sigh.
“He looks pale. Is that what’s supposed to happen?” Eamon asked Wilky for the third time.
After Dermot drank the cure he became dizzy and complained of a splitting headache. They helped him to his room, where he fell asleep.
Wilky shrugged.
“The Circle of Destiny closes tomorrow by midday. Will his eyes clear by then?”
Wilky shrugged again.
Eamon groaned and waved his arms in the air, looking a little like a large bird that was having a problem taking flight. “Against long odds, we finally succeeded, made him the cure, forced him to drink it, and now this. I don’t think I can take much more.”
Aaliss took his hands to distract him before his head exploded, and led him toward the windows. “So tell me about this Circle of Destiny. How does it work?”
“Once a king suffers the red eyes, he draws the Circle in the Courtyard from calf’s blood. He sends news of the Circle throughout the kingdom. Three days later, the Circle closes. Any eligible heir can throw his or her sword into the Circle. Whoever does, fights to the death. The winner rules.”
She frowned. “So the fastest sword rules the tribe?”
“It’s the way we have always done it. Past rulers in the heavens influence events and help the most suitable person become the next king. Often only one sword stands in the Circle, so no combat is needed.” He brushed hair off his face. “How does your tribe select a ruler?”
In Eden the President is elected every four years by general election. No term limits existed so Aaliss’s uncle had served for the last twenty years. Even so, the real power lay with the High Priest, who was appointed for life and must be a Blood Relation. When she boiled it down, it didn’t seem any better than the Circle of Destiny.
Thinking it best to leave out the details, she simply replied, “We have a similar process.”
A sly smile swept across her face. “Is it only those with royal blood who can toss their sword into the Circle. Can anyone do it?”
Eamon grinned. “No, Aaliss, you cannot throw your sword into the Circle and fight Fintan.”
“I was just checking.” She slapped her palm against the stone wall. “I’d love the chance to pay him back.”
“Don’t underestimate Fin. He’s been practicing his whole life for this contest. His sword is quick and his shield strong.” He averted his eyes and gazed out the window, a defeated look darkening his face.
She guessed at his thoughts and frowned.
Self-doubt in a fight will kill him. He has to believe in himself.
She claimed both of his hands. “You fight well. I’ve seen it. You are quick and strong.”
“Not as quick as you. I would have died if you hadn’t saved me with the tribeless outlaws. And then Kalhona’s poison dart saved me again.”
She dropped his hands. With the fight scheduled for tomorrow, she had no time to coddle him. “No, you’re not as quick as me, but if we can find someplace to train, I can teach you how to move faster. With a few changes to your footwork, you’d give me a run for it.” Her smile broadened. “Are we going to wait here and hope Dermot wakes, or increase your chances with Fintan just in case? By the time I’m done with you, Fintan won’t stand a chance.”
He gazed at Dermot with an uncertain look in his eyes, and then turned to his sister.
“Go with her,” said Gemma. “Dermot would want that. Wilky and I will stay with him. We’ll let you know when he wakes.”
***
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Chapter 46 – P’mina
P’mina stood on the Ancient Road, the sky dark, the moon dim.
How did I get here?
The last thing she remembered was the Tribal Mother’s reaction to the cure.
Did they banish me?
At least she had her spear. She glanced down both sides of the road, uncertain which direction to travel. Her breath froze in her throat.
A red wolf stalked toward her. Red wolves were smaller than their brothers but more vicious, and way smarter. Add a red wolf into a regular pack and it transformed them into an efficient killing machine.
The wolf howled and P’mina turned and ran. She raced recklessly forward, but a pack of wolves charged her from that direction. Luckily, she spotted the turn-off from the road that led to Santra’s cabin and barreled along the path.
If I can make it to the cabin, I can lock them out!
She ran as fast as she had ever run before, the wolves gaining on her with each step. She could almost feel their teeth bite into her flesh.
She turned around a bend and found the cabin. A small fire burned in front of it, and a cloaked figure stood by the door.
It can’t be Santra. She’s dead.
Her heart froze. She didn’t want to face the witch again, but with the wolves closing in on her she had no choice. She raced until she was four paces away, lifted her spear, and aimed it for the woman’s chest.
Three paces and the woman lowered her hood.
Two paces and P’mina realized it wasn’t Santra at all, but her sister.
One pace and Kalhona lifted her right hand to block her spear.
P’mina tried to stop but couldn’t halt her momentum, and the steel tip ripped through Kalhona’s hand and plunged into her chest.
P’mina cried “No!” and the world spun.
She came out of her haze and found herself chained to the Holding Tree like a dog. A tall wooden fence circled the ghost tree to keep out large predators. A howl drifted across the darkness and she shuddered. The fence bent inward as something large threw its weight against the wood. It held, but P’mina scooted backward toward the trunk of the tree. She had no place to run.
Another howl and this time a red wolf jumped over the fence and landed gracefully on the other side, not more than a dozen paces from her.
Her heart raced. She shouted for help, but no one came to the Holding Tree at night. That was part of the punishment.
The wolf raced toward her, its red-tipped fur burning in the moonlight.
P’mina balled her hands into fists.
The beast opened its jaws, and its sharp teeth and red-tinted eyes gleamed.
P’mina lowered her shoulder and charged at it. If she were going to die, she’d go down fighting.
The beast leaped, and mid-pounce transformed into a witch, laughing as she passed right through P’mina’s body.
***
P’mina bolted upright and gasped for breath. Her head ached. She lifted her hands and found them weighed down by heavy chains. She was chained to the Holding Tree, after all, but the wolf and the witch must have been bad dreams.
She yanked on the chains, to no avail, and sighed. It would be a long night.
Her imagination created all types of monsters lurking just beyond the fence. One time, the fence shook as something crashed into it. P’mina would have cried out, but her head hurt too much to shout.
Still, the larger creatures were not as bad as the flying bloodsuckers that swarmed around her whenever she stayed still. Rats also scurried back and forth all night, growing bolder whenever she nodded off. All in all, she preferred the butt of Santra’s spear and the inside of her cabin—at least she’d gotten some sleep.
At daybreak, V’ronica strode stiffly toward the fence, tired bags under her eyes. “What did you do to our Mother? She cannot be woken.”
P’mina pulled hard on the chain. “I gave her a cure for the Red Death. It’s just a mushroom and a flower combined.” She knew the ingredients. They were harmless. She had eaten the mushroom herself and used the oil from the small flowers to keep the flying bloodsuckers away.
Perhaps when they are combined they become poisonous, but Wilky was so ce
rtain. He would not lie to me.
“Let me see her,” she pleaded. “Have you tried the rousing plant?”
“You don’t think we’ve tried that already!” V’ronica sneered at her. “You’re not going anywhere. The Vestals see the hand of the Dark One in this. If she fails to wake soon, we’ll burn you as a sacrifice to Mother Earth. Maybe then the Dark One will loose his grip on our Mother. A life for a life.” A sly smile slowly replaced V’ronica’s sneer. “Unless you can wake her now, witchborn. Maybe then we’ll just banish you.”
All the years of shabby treatment because of her mother bubbled up inside of her and exploded. “You can pound dirt! My mother was good. She never cursed anyone! If I could find a witch, I’d have her curse you!”
“Is it the Butcher Tribe then? Have you sold us out to them? You persuade us to form an alliance while they attack us, all because of some northern invaders we’ve never heard tell of.” V’ronica folded her arms over her chest and glared at P’mina for a long while.
For a heartbeat, P’mina forgot about Kalhona, the Tribal Mother, the northern invaders, even the chains that held her. She lunged forward to scratch out V’ronica’s beady black eyes, but the chains jerked her back.
V’ronica laughed. “You have a few more hours, but the next time you see me, I’ll be leading a witch-burning party. You had better pray that the Mother wakes unharmed. Even that may not save you. Your time is numbered, witchborn.” V’ronica huffed haughtily and left her alone.
Time languished slowly. P’mina closed her eyes and sleep came, but it was a troubled sleep and there was no rest in it. She dreamed of fire and laughing amber eyes and spears and V’ronica.
She had no idea how much time had past when Merina rattled the gate.
“They’re building a Witch Pyre.” Merina frowned. “They say you’re a witch and in league with the Dark One. Some say your witch mother cursed our Tribal Mother. Others say you’re a traitor and secretly in love with one of the Butchers. No one knows where you go to collect your plants. Maybe you met a Butcher during your wanderings. Either way, they mean to burn you.”
