by Jean Johnson
He opened his mouth to reply, but before Kodan could speak, the blaring of an an-kat sounded in the distance. Everyone held still, listening to the pattern of the notes. Tava frowned, not quite catching all of it, but Kodan nodded.
“. . . Good. Tailtip has returned, with no deaths.” Rising from his chair, he glanced at Rahala, then looked at the other shifters gathered inside the vertically striped tent, many of them multerai, the rest elders. “You’ve already heard my opinions on the points still waiting to be discussed. I think it best if I remove myself from these proceedings and go welcome our last warband. I wouldn’t want my past interactions with the accused to have any bearing or influence on the outcome of this hearing.
“I leave Atava in charge of sentencing, with the provision this Council advises her on the appropriate Shifterai laws and precedences, whatever the outcome may be. She has no history of dislike for the accused.” Bowing, Kodan strode out of the geome, letting the door bang shut behind him.
“I still would like to know what I have been accused of,” Rahala stated in the silence following his departure.
“Deian, please continue,” Tava directed her husband’s friend. She shifted the book on her lap to a more comfortable position, checking to make sure the title was not visible from the other woman’s position, seated on the far side of Kodan’s empty chair.
“Did you travel earlier this summer with the West Paw Warband, accompanying a trading caravan headed west across the Plains?” Deian asked Rahala.
“Yes, I did. And farther west with a warband providing further escort from Clan Dog, Family Malamute,” Rahala added. She displayed the disc in her hand, showing her honesty.
“Did you converse at any point in time with a certain Painted Warrior of Mendhi who was traveling with that caravan?” Deian asked.
Rahala gripped the Stone for a moment, then smiled. “Of course I did. Everyone spoke with him. He was an affable fellow with many amusing stories to tell.”
“Did you at any point in time ask bribe, coerce, or in any other way convince him to bestow upon you any sort of variation of the tattoo-based magics of a Painted Warrior of Mendhi?” Deian pressed as soon as she gripped the all-white Stone once more.
Her fingers tightened until her knuckles were as white as the marble they curled around. If Tava hadn’t been looking at the Truth Stone, she wouldn’t have noticed the other woman’s display of distress, for Rahala’s smile hadn’t slipped. Even her voice was calm when she spoke. Not quite lighthearted, but not tense, either.
“Why would I do such a thing? I am Shifterai, not Mendhi.”
“That doesn’t answer the question,” Deian reminded her. “Did you in any way request, coerce, or otherwise convince the Painted Warrior to give you Mendhi tattoo magics of your own?”
“I will admit that I questioned him about how Mendhi tattoo magic worked, but a lot of other people asked him about it, too,” Rahala stated, shrugging. Again, the Truth Stone was unblemished when she displayed it. “Is it suddenly illegal to try and satiate one’s curiosity about foreign ways and foreign lands?”
Deian folded his arms across his chest. “You didn’t answer the question I asked.”
“How about a different question?” Kenyen offered. “Arahala, do you currently possess the power of Mendhi-style tattoo magics? Whether or not you are actively using any, and regardless of what kind they may be, do you possess Mendhi tattoo powers?”
“. . . Yes, or no?” Deian prompted her when she didn’t answer. “Yes, you possess Mendhi tattoo magics, or no, you do not possess Mendhi tattoo magics. The answer is simple; we await your reply.”
This time, her fingers weren’t the only thing that tightened. Mouth pinching, brow furrowing, Rahala glared at Deian. She didn’t answer. Unfolding his arms, the multerai braced his palms on the armrests of her canvas-slung chair, bringing his face within a hand length of hers.
“Be mindful, woman, that the honesty of your answer will correlate directly to the leniency with which this Council will judge your actions. You sit accused of using foreign magic to duplicate natural-born Shifterai shapeshifting magics. As is the law in many a land, including this one,” Deian reminded her, “failure to answer a direct, Truth Stone- verified question will be considered a tacit admission of guilt.”
He stayed there a few moments, then straightened.
“As the second-ranked multerai in Family Tiger, I accuse Rahala, self-styled Princess of the People, of using foreign magic to duplicate natural-born Shifterai powers. I further accuse Rahala, self-styled Princess of the People, of plotting openly to use her foreign-bought powers to subvert the rightful place of true-born Shifterai princesses, and thus overthrow the rightful government of the Shifting Plains, an act of treaso—”
“—Alright!” Rahala shouted, cutting him off. “Yes, I paid that Painted Warrior to give me Mendhite tattoo magics. Because I love this land, and I have every right to see it ruled properly. If it is a sin to want the best possible woman to rule over the Plains, then yes, I have sinned!”
“You’re not the best.”
Rahala looked at Tava, her glare shifting into a sneer. “Oh, and like you are? You’re a foreigner! I, at least, am native-born! Where do your powers come from?”
Rising from her chair, Tava crossed to Rahala. She held out her hand, waiting until the other woman dropped the disc into her palm.
“My shapeshifting powers are inherent and natural-born, and are not triggered by spell, rune, tattoo, amulet, potion, or other external force. They came to me in puberty when I fancied what it would be like to be a cat, and found myself, my flesh, shifting shape from the strength of my imaginings . . . in the exact same way that a native-born Shifterai imagines a new form into his or her flesh.” Uncurling her fingers, she held up the Truth Stone, displaying its all-white sides not only to Rahala, but to the others on the Council of Shifters. Gripping it again, she added, “. . . My name is Agatha.”
This time, the sides of the disc were mottled with the blackened imprint of her fingers, proving the Stone was still working perfectly. Dropping the disc back into Rahala’s hand, Tava returned to her chair. But she didn’t stay silent, nor did she seat herself. Lifting the book she had abandoned on the fabric seat, she opened it and displayed the pages to Rahala.
“This is a book of stories following the adventures of Mendhite Painted Warriors. It contains several illustrations. When you yelled at young Dannika, she came out of the geome and encountered Akodan and me. We were on our way to see you because we were concerned that you hadn’t yet shift-healed the wound you received yesterday when you fell on that broken pottery. Dannika said she had offered to bring you some water to wash your wound . . . and to wash the paint from your stomach.”
Flicking through the pictures, Tava pointed at one of the female figures.
“Dannika identified this mark, which has been drawn identically on every female Painted Warrior illustrated in this book, as being the same mark she saw on your stomach. We have proof enough that you lied about your powers, between what she saw, the sudden manifestation of your powers, your inability to shift-heal a simple cut, and your refusal to speak.” Closing the book, Tava seated herself. “As a true Shifterai princess, it falls to me to decide what to do with you. Give me a reason to be lenient, Rahala.
“Give me a reason not to ask you other, more dangerous questions, further compounding your transgressions.”
For a long moment, Rahala stayed silent. Then she lifted her chin slightly. Proudly. “. . . I confess. I deliberately accompanied that caravan, seeking to gain Mendhite tattoo magics in order to simulate shapeshifting powers and thus promote myself as a Shifterai princess. I did so because I love the Plains, and believed I could rule it better than any other . . . and I confess I did it in the hopes that Kodan Sin Siin would finally pay attention to me, believing that he was holding out for a Shifterai princess as his future bride . . . which he did.”
She paused between each statement, displaying the
Truth Stone.
“I confess I intended to use my Mendhite tattoo magics to apprentice myself to Ailundra, for the express purpose of becoming the next Queen . . . but not to overthrow our government. I am loyal to the Plains and loyal to its people, and that is the truth.”
A final display of the disc proved her words were as pure as the enchanted marble.
“Your loyalty may not be questionable, Rahala,” Kamar, one of the warband leaders stated. “But your ethics are. The law is the law. The Queen must be a natural-born shapeshifter, and by correlation of the laws of inheritance, all Princesses of the People must be natural-born shifters as well. You may be native-born, but you are not natural-born. By faking your powers, you have lost the right to claim you are a Shifterai, because you have insulted our laws and our ways. Your betrayal of our people deserves the sentence of banishment from the Plains. So say I, Kamar Lu Tieth.”
“So say I, Deian Bar Shou,” Deian stated, stepping back from Rahala.
“So say I, Siinar Sid Quen.”
“So say I, Jumaj El Sui.”
“So say I . . .”
Rahala kept her chin up as the members of the Shifter Council voted, but her eyes glittered with unshed tears. Watching her struggle to maintain her composure, Tava wondered what price the other woman had to pay to gain her ill-advised abilities in the first place. She thought about it while the men around her stated their agreement on the proposed verdict in turn.
“The Council is unanimous. Rahala Jen Liu’s actions deserve banishment from the Plains,” Deian stated. “Atava, it is up to you to decide what her punishment is to be. Akodan asked that we advise you in this matter, so I will tell you that banishment is standard for acts of treason and other high crimes . . . but the kind of banishment varies.”
“The most lenient of banishments simply casts the accused out of the Family and Clan to which she would normally belong,” one of the older men stated. “She would then be free to travel with all of her belongings to another Clan and Family. I do not think she deserves such leniency.”
Several of the others nodded. Kenyen, the youngest of the men inside the geome, explained the other end of the spectrum. “The harshest sentence casts her out with nothing but the clothes on her back, the shoes on her feet, and a single waterskin for sustenance . . . but no coins, no cloak, no animals, nothing but those few things permitted by law . . . and a brand burned in bluesteel upon her forehead, scarring her permanently with a rune proclaiming to both the Shifterai and our cross-kin the Centarai that she is banished and cast out forever from living on both Plains.”
“She did confess her crimes . . . eventually,” Jumaj pointed out. “So the harshest punishment should not be applied. But she did confess an intent to fake shapeshifting powers in order to claim the Shifting Throne. I do not think she should be allowed to continue to live on the Shifting Plains, even in some other Clan. She doesn’t deserve it.”
“I say, give her a horse, some food, some clothing, and half the coin she is due in payment for her in-camp goods . . . but brand her forehead so that all who see her know she can never return to the Shifting Plains . . . and will find no shelters on the Centa Plains, either,” someone else said.
From the nodding of the men around her, Tava gauged they thought it was a fair punishment. Her itch of curiosity wouldn’t leave it at that, however. Tapping the book on her lap, she addressed Rahala.
“Tell me what price you paid to gain these magics, and how they work, when everyone knows you weren’t born a shifter and weren’t born a mage . . . and I will be more lenient than that with you. Use the Truth Stone,” she added as Rahala narrowed her hazel eyes in speculation. “Speak the truth, satisfy my curiosity with your honesty, and I will be more lenient. Stay silent, or lie, and get no more than your deceit deserves.”
Rahala blushed, but spoke after only a moment. “. . . I paid two prices. He wanted . . . intercourse . . . in a manner which would not ruin my virginity. That was the price he demanded for tattooing my skin. As for how they work . . . I had to pay a second price. The same price that all Painted Warriors who were not born mages must pay. I had to sacrifice my fertility so that the life-energy that would normally go toward such things would instead be channeled into empowering my . . . shapeshifting ways.”
Resisting the urge to squirm at both pieces of news, Tava asked, “And how did you hide all the tattoos necessary to be able to take on so many shapes?”
“With another tattoo, of course.” Lifting her left hand, which still had the bluesteel bracelet clasped around her wrist, Rahala ran her fingers over her hair. “It was hidden on my scalp, and in turn, it hides all the rest across my body. The only one it cannot hide is the empowerment tattoo centered around my navel. If I hadn’t grown lax, if I had kept my stomach covered in fur, none of you would have known.”
“Actually, your disguise slipped the moment you fell and injured yourself,” Tava told her. “Even I, who hadn’t realized it was possible until a few years after my first shapeshifting experiments, learned just how quickly and easily I could shift-heal my injuries. This you should have known as a native-born. You should have included the request for a tattoo that would rapidly heal your injuries.”
Rahala clenched her teeth. “He didn’t know that one. It had been applied by another Painted Warrior on his back, and without having learned it, he could not duplicate it for me. I didn’t think it would matter, because a Princess of the People is never asked to fight. She may choose to do so, but she does not have to. Now, is that honest enough for you? Or is there more you wish to know?”
The question of her tumble into the bonfire hovered in the back of Tava’s mind. She kept it there, however. “There are many questions we could ask you. Some of them might be even more damning than an accusation of treason . . . but you have satisfied enough of my curiosity, and I thank you for it.
“I agree with the others on the Shifter Council that you do not deserve to live among the same Shifterai you tried to deceive. Nor should you be free to take shelter among the Centarai, for I will not inflict your arrogance upon our cross-kin,” Tava added. It was odd that she finally felt comfortable saying we and our in regard to the Shifterai at this moment in time, but she did. With the eyes of the men upon her, silently awaiting her judgment, she gave it. “You will therefore be branded with bluesteel. But you will be given a covered wagon with two horses, and all your personal belongings that you can pack into it to carry off the Plains.
“I know what it is like to be forced to flee the only home you’ve ever known. I will not treat you like the Alders of Five Springs treated me. I will not steal away your belongings, nor will I beat you for your insolence . . . and you have been insolent, Rahala,” Tava added bluntly. “You may take whatever of your belongings you can fit onto that two-horse wain. If you do not own two horses and a wagon, I will gift them to you out of the ones I gained when I left the Valley . . . because I want you gone. You have lost the right to claim the Plains as your home.”
“What of my things in the City?” Rahala dared to ask, lifting her chin just a little bit more.
“They are forfeit to the crown, as payment for the harm you would have done through your deception, had you succeeded. You may take only what you possess here in this encampment—and Rahala, if you try to flee or disguise yourself before you are branded and packed off . . . you will be stripped of everything but the clothes on your back and a waterskin for your survival. This is my judgment for your punishment,” Tava finished firmly.
Deian cleared his throat. “How long will she have to pack?”
“She will be considered packed by sunrise tomorrow. Hobble her in bluesteel chains and set guards to watch her every hour she remains so that she cannot flee . . . but give her assistance in loading her things. She will sleep in the ageome, too, so you can keep an eye on her all night long. Just in case.”
Jumaj rose from his chair, his expression grim. “I will go heat the branding iron,” he stated. “She is o
f the Right Flank, and its members are my responsibility this year.”
“Fetch Yemii while you do so. She’ll need a potion for the pain,” Tava explained. “This may be a justly earned punishment, but there’s no need to make it excessively cruel.” Rising from her own seat, Tava tucked her book under her arm and plucked the Truth Stone from the other woman’s hand. “You brought this upon yourself, Rahala. You chose to deceive your own people. You chose to fake the things which you knew by law had to be natural. You made the wrong choices. I hope you will learn to make the right ones, wherever you go in the future.”
Kodan found her in their geome, sitting at her scribe’s desk with the Truth Stone in her hands. Closing and latching the door, he crossed the felt-strewn floor and gently cupped her wool-clad shoulders.
“Are you all right?”
Tava lifted the disc. “This is what sent me into exile from the only home I’d ever known . . . and I’m happy that it did. This is also what is sending her into exile. I don’t know if she’ll ever be happy. Period. I know that telling everyone the news of the hearing and my judgment made a lot of people in the Family unhappy with me . . . but if I hadn’t had this on hand to prove my words were true, it would have been that much more difficult to send her away.”
“She was popular, in her own way. It’s possible all the admiration she garnered from her kin and her friends went to her head at an early age, and so she just craved more,” Kodan offered. “More recognition, more admiration, more power. But her worst offense wasn’t craving more. It was craving it for her own selfish ends. If she had made it all the way to being our Queen, we would have suffered as a whole. We need people in charge who honestly care about others. Rahala mostly just cared for herself.”
