by Holly Lisle
“Undress,” one of the seru said, and pointed to the table where I should put my clothes.
I took off my robes slowly and carefully, folding each piece of clothing and placing it neatly in a squared stack. Even in that moment, I could not cast off Ossalene training and toss my clothing in a pile. I must act like I would be coming back to wear it.
When I stood naked before them, one of the Seru Onyx bound my wrists behind me, and then bound my elbows together tightly enough that my back arched and I had to breathe shallowly. While she tied my arms, one of the others tied my ankles and my knees.
And then we stood there.
Out in the Arena, I could see the raised gray stone tiers filling with slaves and penitents and seru. The oracles would come in last, marching across the sandy arena floor from the gate opposite the one where I stood. Oracle Hawkspar would announce the reason we were gathered; I was her acolyte, so she would have that right. None of the other oracles would speak. Doing so would be a breach of etiquette. No matter how my oracle chose to portray my situation, the rats—and through them Vran Vrota—would decide the case, proving all she said either true or false. I expected nothing more, therefore, than a bare recounting of facts from her—that question of my legitimacy had been raised, and that I had volunteered for this trial.
That truth, at least, ought to provide everyone present with a few moments of amusement.
“I don’t want to do this,” I whispered.
I had not intended anyone to hear me, but someone did.
“I don’t blame you,” the Sera Onyx closest to me said under her breath. “But you can’t change your mind. Once the oracles have decided a thing, you cannot un-decide it for them.”
The rat-keepers, four brawny Seru Onyx garbed from head to toe in hardened leather, with close-woven iron-wire cages over their faces to protect them should the rats escape, wheeled out the cart that held stacks of tiny individual cages, and parked it beside the cage where I would be placed.
Starving rats cannot be caged together, for the strongest will eat the weakest until only one rat is left. They’ll not eat each other if any other food is provided, though. And ours were fed—when they were fed—bound live animals so they would know what to do when thrown into the cage.
I could hear them squeaking. Tiny hairs on my arms and the back of my neck rose, and my eyes filled with tears. I stood there, naked and tied and helpless, with the six Seru Onyx around me waiting for their cue to take me into the Arena and throw me into the cage, and all I could think of was the expression on my mother’s face when I was torn from her arms. She’d wanted me back. At that moment I could see her again, clearly, reaching for me.
Maybe I would find her when this was done. Maybe she would find me, and wrap her arms around me, and I would be home again. I did not think the universe could be that kind, but I wanted my mother, and I could hope.
My throat ached, my nose clogged, tears ran down my cheeks that I could not wipe away.
The rat-keepers took up their positions at the four corners of the cage, and from three points along the top of the arena, three seru began to drum. To the slow, steady booming, the oracles stepped across the sand floor of the Arena in single file. All talking within the Arena ceased; all eyes focused on the marching avatars of Vran Vrota; Hawkspar, Tigereye, Ruby, Windcrystal, Amethyst, Sunspar, Sapphire, Emerald, and finally Raxinan moved slowly and steadily toward the center of the stage, where cage, rats, and keepers awaited.
My bowels knotted, and I feared that I would lose control of them as the seru carried me to my fate; that I would shame myself and then die horribly.
When the procession reached the center, the drumming stopped.
Oracle Hawkspar lifted a hand. “The Holy Dyad has been questioned, Vran Vrota’s choice impugned by some of my fellow oracles. My acolyte has been called false, and I have been called false with her.”
I doubt that anyone in the Arena breathed. I know that I did not. I had never expected Hawkspar to take such a confrontational approach toward her colleagues.
“My acolyte has volunteered to undergo the trial of rats. If she dies, I will be proven false, and will step into the rat cage after her. After my death, the Eyes I wear will choose another to replace me.”
We all gasped. This was a thing unprecedented, that an oracle should volunteer to follow her acolyte into the rat cage.
“Should my acolyte be shown to hold Vran Vrota’s favor, and my honor be proved intact, it shall be my right to declare the consequences.”
Here, I thought, she would call for the acolytes of those who had doubted her to face the trial of rats, which was not truly fair, since only two of the four had acolytes. Fairness, however, is a thing never seen or even considered within the walls of the Citadel.
However, Hawkspar broke with all custom and all history with her next words. “I therefore decree that, should my acolyte be found to be the true choice of Vran Vrota by surviving her trial unharmed, the following oracles will immediately be stripped and bound to face the trial of rats this very day and hour: Oracle Ruby, Oracle Windcrystal, Oracle Sunspar, and Oracle Emerald.”
Pandemonium erupted in the stands at this decree. No one had ever—ever—suggested a situation in which four oracles would be thrown into cages with starving rats to test Vran Vrota’s devotion to them. It wasn’t likely to happen. Odds favored the Citadel getting a new Oracle Hawkspar. But Hawkspar was the highest ranked of the Nine Living Goddesses. She had the right to command others, even her equals, to do anything she was willing to face herself.
Which should serve as a reminder for the truly stupid, if nothing else: Enraging a living goddess of war leads to unhappy results.
The oracles were visibly stunned. The four Hawkspar had publicly accused stepped apart from those not named, and gathered in a furious knot to one side of the cage, whispering at each other. Their words did not carry, but the hissing did. Had one of them drawn a knife and cut Hawkspar’s throat right there, I do not think anyone would have been surprised.
But I only had a moment to consider their discomfiture. The drums started up again, and the six Seru Onyx who had guarded me and bound me pushed me to the ground, face-up, and took their places beside me; two at my knees, two at my waist, and two at my shoulders. They linked hands beneath me, counted three, and stood. I was marched out to the beat of the drum, feetfirst, head dangling, into chilly air and hot sunlight and the stares of all the Citadel.
No one spoke. It is a solemn thing, the trial by rats, and faced in silence. The oracles permit no cheering, no jeering, no cries of sympathy. Those who attend are there for their own betterment; it is their duty to experience the discipline meted out to their colleagues so that they do not fall into the same error.
I had no idea what they were supposed to learn from my death. Not to be chosen by an oracle to be her successor? Not to volunteer?
That latter would probably make a good lesson, in truth.
We reached the cage, and two of the leather-clad rat-keepers undid the heavy locks that would keep closed the iron gate.
I wanted to scream, “Don’t put me in there!” I wanted to beg for rescue with everything in me. I did not.
Hawkspar had said, To the damned, courage is better than truth. She had sent that message to me at who knew what risk. I had done my best to interpret it. I had made my choice. I had chosen the path of courage—or madness—and it was too late to turn from it. Why, then, shame myself and Hawkspar before I had to? Screaming would not save me, would not change a single second of my fate. It would only offer comfort to those who wanted my death. They’d have their comfort soon enough, when the rats dropped onto me and began to gnaw. I’d scream enough to satisfy them then. The women fed to rats always did.
All I could do as the Onyxes slid me in and my bare skin touched rough, cold metal was close my eyes and pray. To Jostfar, who did not know me, who was the god of a people who had once been mine. Through Ethebet, his warrior, she of the path of sword an
d sacrifice. I had been born Tonk, and I would die Tonk. And if I did not shame myself, perhaps my mother would know me as her daughter in whatever place I might exist after death was done with me.
When I lay with my knees jammed into my chest and my head barely inside the box, the door closed behind me, and I heard the sickening click of the padlocks.
The beating of the drums quickened their pace. All four rat-keepers marched to the cart, and each picked up four rat cages. They returned, set down three of their four cages at their feet, and placed the connectors over the openings that would lead into my cage. Each placed a hand on the lift-up door that would permit the rat inside to move from the back of his cage into the front portion that contained the connector.
The drums beat faster and faster, but never as quickly as my own heart. It hammered against my ribs as if trying to escape.
And then, at their peak, the drums abruptly fell silent.
Hawkspar’s voice echoed throughout the Arena. “On my command …”
I clenched my jaws closed, squeezed my eyes as tight as I could—as if those feeble attempts would keep the rats from my eyes or my tongue—and silently begged my mother to find me.
“ … first rats now!” Hawkspar said, and I heard the scraping of four metal doors, and the squeaking grew to screeching as claws skittered down four metal tubes.
Four heavy bodies dropped onto me. Sharp points dug into my skin and scrabbled over me, and I felt cold, wet noses press against my flesh, and greasy fur sliding across my breasts and belly and face, and scaly, heavy tails draping along my skin.
I heard gnawing.
But I did not feel gnawing.
“Second rats … now!” Hawkspar shouted.
And more rats screeked and scratched and landed atop me.
Followed by more.
And more.
I made no sound, kept my eyes tight closed and my jaws locked, and the rats did whatever they were doing.
“They’re eating the ropes,” I heard one of the seru whisper.
“Will they go for her when they’re done with them, do you think?” another one whispered back.
I, too, wanted the answer to that question.
Already, though, this was a trial of rats unlike any I had ever witnessed. Usually, the screaming started the instant the first rats landed on their victims, and stopped by the time the fourth round of rats hit.
Though I was terrified, I had promised myself I would wait until the pain became too much—worse than being whipped—before I screamed. But there was no great, terrible pain.
There were the little pains that came from lying on top of my tightly bound arms—the wires of the cage dug into my skin, and my weight pressed down on the muscles and bones of my arms, twisted so tightly behind me. Both arms were starting to feel like they’d caught fire. There were pains from the constriction of the ropes.
In the stands above, I heard whispering that neither the oracles nor the seru stopped.
I felt the ropes around my knees and ankles fall away, and it occurred to me that if I moved very carefully, I might be able to get the rats to eat away the ropes that bound my arms. I did not want to roll onto a rat and get bitten however—the smell of my blood might start the feeding frenzy I had so far avoided.
I rolled, a finger’s-breadth at a time, and the rats moved around me and over me, digging with their claws, prodding with their noses, squeeing and squeaking. I felt their weight start dragging at the ropes on my arms and around my wrists moments later.
I sat up cautiously, and the rats kept eating the rope that coiled on the floor, paying me no attention. The whispers in the Arena grew louder.
Suddenly Oracle Windcrystal screamed, “You’ve only thrown four rounds of rats in there with her. More rats! Throw in more rats if this is to be a true trial. And not rats that have been fed—who are you trying to fool with this charade?”
Hawkspar said, “Are you sure that is what you would wish? All that you demand of my acolyte may be demanded of you in turn.”
“Of course I’m sure,” Windcrystal shrieked.
“On my command, then …” Hawkspar said, her voice even and unworried. The rat-keepers went after more cages, and brought more rats. I moved myself away from the corner of the cage because I did not want any rats to drop directly on my head. I sat hunched along one wall of the cage, my back to the rats, my arms around my breasts, my knees to my chest to protect my belly, my heels jammed tight against my buttocks.
“Let me see that rat!” Windcrystal snarled, standing at one corner and inspecting a cage. She pulled a hairpin from her hair and poked the rat with it. I could hear that rat squeaking and snapping. “That’s better,” she said, and poked the other three rats at that rat-keeper’s feet. She stalked to the next sera and prodded her rats until they were frantic. In like fashion, she visited the other two seru.
“You’ll be sure to let me borrow a hairpin for your rats,” Hawkspar said. “Since I have no need for hairpins of my own.”
Windcrystal just laughed.
“Fifth rats now!” Hawkspar commanded, and the rain of new rats began.
They were different than the first four rounds of rats, because they were angry. I hid my face as the snarling and screaming began, as bodies twisted against mine, fighting and scrabbling.
Then they were eating each other, and the air around me grew thick with the stink of blood and offal. They fought atop me as well as beside me, and I became smeared with bits of their fur and skin and flesh. But not a single creature bit me. Or scratched me.
At eight rounds, Hawkspar stopped. She walked over and stood by the cage, waiting in silence.
“Why are you stopping?” Windcrystal demanded. “The trial is not yet over.”
“We have tried her with eight rounds of rats,” Hawkspar said. “Eight.”
“We have more rats.”
“We do indeed. But the longest trial of rats in history has been twelve rounds.”
“We’ll go twice that if we must.”
“No, we won’t. Vran Vrota has spoken. The Blessed Dyad has chosen this girl as my acolyte, and as my successor.”
“That is not for you to say.”
“Oh, but it is. The girl volunteered for this trial, Windcrystal. Therefore, while I have thus far humored you, you exceed your authority. She has been proven by twice the usual number of rats. I now require her removal from the cage. And when she has been removed, four clean cages will be brought out, and you and the other three who called me a liar and unfaithful to the Order will prove your own faithfulness.”
The leather-clad rat-keepers cleared the Arena of all save themselves. They opened the door to my cage once both gates at opposite ends were shut.
I stepped out carefully. The few surviving rats attempted to escape, but the rat-keepers caught and caged them.
Windcrystal barreled out of the gate and over to me the instant the rats were out of the way. Her hand clamped around my upper arm like a vise. And she shook me, screaming, “She isn’t untouched! She’s scratched and bloody. This is no choice of Vran Vrota, Hawkspar. This is a fraud! She has not passed the test. Throw her back in and I’ll select the rats to try against her.”
She slapped me, and I felt her fingernails slash across my face. I felt them dig into my arm as she shook me.
Hawkspar turned to one of the rat-keepers and said, “Fetch pails of water.” She walked over to Windcrystal slowly and stiffly, but watching her, it did not seem to me so much that Hawkspar was old at that moment as that she was livid.
She said, “Take your hand off my acolyte.”
Windcrystal did not; instead she tightened her grip, and her nails bit deeper. “Did you think you could fool me with your stunts?” she said.
“I think that your hand is still on my acolyte, and Vran Vrota wells up inside me. I think we shall see how Hawkspar, Living Goddess of the Eyes of War, will do loosed against Windcrystal, Living Goddess of the Eyes of Justice. Provided, of course, that Vran Vr
ota will still stand by you to lend you power after all your many betrayals.”
“You’re nothing but sticks and gristle, Hawkspar,” Windcrystal said. Her grip didn’t loosen in the slightest.
“My faith is greater than my flesh,” Hawkspar said.
My head started to hurt. She looked at me, still gripped by Windcrystal, and on her lips a deadly smile curved.
Around me, the world grew suddenly dark. Pain stabbed behind my eyes, and from a distance, fading away, I heard screaming.
And then, with a snap, the darkness was gone, though the screaming remained. Windcrystal knelt on the ground at my feet, the stump of her right arm jammed against the black silk of her robes, while wet black stains spread across them. The screaming was hers.
The rat-keepers returned, lugging two buckets of water.
“Pour them on my acolyte,” she said. “Make sure no spot of blood is left on her.”
The sera doused me with the first bucket of water. It was icy, and with the crisp wind blowing in the Arena, I felt my teeth starting to chatter.
“Now the second bucket. Get the back of her this time.”
The second bucket of water hit me and I yelped. Not that anyone would hear me, since Windcrystal continued screaming.
One of the Onyxes had raced across the Arena. Now she ran back and handed me a warm, thick towel. “Dry off,” she said.
On the ground at my feet, Windcrystal writhed and howled and commanded Vran Vrota to give her back her hand.
The Holy Dyad did not.
I dried myself, stunned by what had happened, and by what was still happening. I could not believe I was still alive. Hawkspar had said she had marked me as chosen by the Eyes. I wondered, though, how the other Oracles had studied me and had not seen what she had done.
