by G. R. Lyons
Mutters erupted around the table, and the chairman shook his head dismissively. Everyone knows that was deemed perfectly legal due to the vague wording of the old Constitution. What else?
Point two: He claims the officer made use of one of his wives.
Officer's privilege, the chairman spat, gesturing dismissively. Anything else?
Yes, point three: The wife is now pregnant with the officer's get, and the citizen is seeking assistance for its keep.
Chairman Elder Moaba heaved a weary sigh. Does no one care for the glory of our great nation?
We could have him brought in under the Patriot Code, Elder Tanlis suggested.
Yes, Elder Rethil agreed, nodding. We must rebuild our population. Does the citizen not see that the officer has done nothing but aid in that cause?
The council members all looked toward the chairman, who waved a hand. Grievance denied. Next?
Elder Carsot crumpled up the sheet from which he'd been reading and tossed it blithely over his shoulder while Elder Gozden shuffled through a few sheets lying before him.
A report from the chief officer of the Sonekha prison, Elder Gozden began, holding up one of the sheets. He tapped the page with a fingertip as he listed off the main points of the report: He gives the latest prisoner count…says they're on budget for this term…ah, and he's recommended one of his officers for commendation and possible promotion.
Reason? the chairman asked.
The man, Elder Gozden said while scanning the sheet, Officer Benash, as it says here, apparently made one arrest on his way to the prison Solday morning, worked a normal shift, and then made another arrest that evening and took the criminal straight back to the prison.
Duty first, Elder Shesinu said, nodding. Very commendable of him.
Elder Gozden continued, According to the arrest report, Officer Benash overheard the man committing thought crime—something to do with a plot against the Council—and immediately hauled the man in.
We'll want to pull more information from this prisoner, Elder Soluminus put in. Torture him if need be. Perhaps he's part of this gods-damned rebellion that's been slowly building. If he has any information about it, all the better. It must be put down before it has any more chance to grow.
The chairman nodded and looked at Elder Gozden, the man's pen poised for taking down orders. Tell the chief officer to put the man to torture at his own discretion. See what they can get out of him. As for this Officer Benash, we would like any further reports of his exceptional duty, to help determine if he's worthy of promotion. Tell his ranking officer to watch him and keep us regularly informed.
Elder Gozden nodded to himself, his rapid scrawl flowing across the page before him.
Next?
Chapter 8
BY THRYSDAY morning, Benash still didn't feel quite caught up on the sleep he'd lost Solday night. It wasn't so much the extra trek to the prison and back that night, as the hours he'd spent lying awake each night since, hearing the prisoner's voice echo through his mind:
Haven't you ever just wanted to have a choice?
With abbreviated sleep and a mind full of conflicting thoughts, Benash fumbled through the morning prayers and made his bleary-eyed way through town. Once under the shadows of the trees, he stopped and leaned against a trunk with a heavy sigh.
A moment later, he caught himself nodding off, and roughly pushed himself away from the tree, forcibly putting one foot in front of the other as the familiar path crunched almost unnoticed beneath his feet.
Benash yawned mightily, not bothering to cover his mouth with his hand. He was quite certain he'd be falling asleep at his post within the hour, no matter how much noise the prisoners decided to make throughout the day.
It was the first time since he could remember that he'd not sprinted to the fork, so with his sedate stroll he wouldn't have even a moment to pause there without arriving late at the prison.
He stopped anyway.
It had become part of his routine, and he couldn't fathom passing the fork of a morning without so much as a hesitation. The moment he stopped, though, the words came back to him.
Haven't you ever just wanted to have a choice?
Benash stared at the right fork, his weariness forgotten as the words sent his heart racing. They struck to the core of him as he stood facing the choice he thought he'd never be able to make.
Then again, there was no choice in the matter, just as the man had implied. The path lay there before him, but he didn't even really have the choice to take it. His life was planned out and regulated by the Elders' law, down to the very route he was required to take to work, so the right fork truly wasn't even an option to consider.
He had no choice.
But he wanted a choice.
Benash put his hands on his hips and let his head fall back with a sigh. He was going to be late unless he took off at a run, right that moment, but he couldn't make his feet move. Instead, he looked up at the clearing on the mountainside, seeing the temptation of the sunslight sparkling off the grass there, and wondered again what kind of view he would have from such a place.
Such a simple thing, but his entire being cried out with the desire to take the right fork. He knew his routine was necessary, that he had to play his part to keep the ordering of society intact, but the monotony of it all was just so gods-damned irritating.
A simple, meaningless choice, yet taking the right fork could be tantamount to shaking the very foundations of the world.
Well, not the whole world, but certainly my own world, at least.
He clenched his hands into fists and growled at himself.
You don't have a world. You are nothing more than one piece of a whole. Nothing special.
But–
He wanted to argue with himself, but the logic just wouldn't come. He had a nagging suspicion that, despite whatever the Elders said, there was something more, something he was missing.
Benash closed his eyes and rested his fingertips over the lids.
Lady be praised, he thought. Inaria, show me truth, I'm begging you. Help me decide. Help me choose–
His hands fell to his sides as his jaw fell open. Of course he had a choice, and he'd been trying to make one all along, simply deciding whether to stick to his routine or risk his life breaking it.
He'd been making that choice every single day, and had chosen safety over freedom, duty over desire, the dictates of others over the wants of his own heart.
Haven't you ever just wanted to have a choice?
The words seemed to come at him from all directions, floating on the warm breeze that danced through the leaves, as though they'd been spoken by the very voices of the Seven themselves. He stared up at the clearing, realizing that he was making a choice just by standing there.
His eyes dropped to the right fork, the wild tangle of weeds calling to him and wiping away all his weariness. He was already going to be late to the prison—a few more minutes wouldn't make much difference. If he was going to be punished either way, he was damned well going to make it worth his while.
And what if one simple choice could change everything?
The words filled his mind, and the air hummed as though the Seven were there, surrounding him, watching him, tempting him.
Without so much as a glance at his usual path, he charged down the right fork, brushing aside low hanging branches and weaving his way through the undergrowth, and never looked back.
* * *
“ALRIGHT, LITTLE one,” Vorena said while helping Asenna out of her coat. “Bath time.”
“No, no, no!” the girl whined. “I don't want a bath!”
“Asenna.” Jevon leveled a look at his daughter while he filled a water skin, sending up a murmured prayer to the Seven for having finally reached clean water. “What did I tell you about using that tone?”
“Please, Daddy,” she begged.
Vorena crouched down beside her and pointed at Jevon, his wet hair still dripping onto his coat collar.
“But, look. Your daddy was a good boy and took his bath. Don't you want to be just like him?”
Asenna eyed her suspiciously. “What about your bath?”
“I took one,” Vorena answered.
Jevon coughed and muttered, “Last week.”
Vorena narrowed her eyes at him, and turned back to the girl with a smile. “Tell you what: You get a quick wash, like a good girl, and I'll tell you an extra story tonight when we reach camp. How does that sound?”
The little girl's eyes lit up. “Even the special one?”
“Especially the special one,” Vorena told her with a wink, and the little girl hurried off the rest of her clothes, handing over the oilskin package into Vorena's safe keeping while she writhed in the cold water of the creek, a small tributary of the Upper Pascatin, where the water still ran clean.
Vorena tucked the precious book page into her own coat and helped Asenna back into her clothes once she was more or less clean. A few minutes later, the rest of their camp was packed up and they continued their steady progress through the woods, heading ever closer to the mountain and the rendezvous point of the rebel camp.
We need to be careful through here, Jevon told her.
Vorena shrugged. We're making good time. I bet we reach the camp long before sunsdown.
That's not what I meant, he said, looking back over his shoulder at her. There's a prison nearby. That means Hawks. We'll have to be as quiet as possible.
Vorena made a pointed glance at the back of Asenna's head, and Jevon grimaced.
I know, I know. He sighed. That's my job.
They crept along as quietly as they could, alternately listening and sending out mental feelers to check for any possible discovery.
In the silence between footsteps, Vorena choked out a cough before she could stifle it.
Jevon whirled to face her, his expression closed as he scanned the forest. After a long, tense moment, he took a few steps back toward her and steadied her with a hand on her shoulder.
You alright? he asked.
Vorena slowly inhaled, testing her throat, and nodded.
You're sure?
She nodded again and gestured forward. Jevon gave her a searching look, but finally resumed their march through the woods. Vorena took a deep breath and followed him, hoping she could hold off an attack until they were a safe distance from any possible encounters with an officer.
They circled around one low hill and looked up. The mountain was closer, but they still had a long way to go before they could stop for the night.
Vorena swallowed hard, trying to fight down the urge to cough.
How are you doing?
She looked over at Jevon, who gave her a concerned, questioning look while Asenna was distracted, looking away at a bird flitting through the leaves.
I'm alright, she told him. Just exhausted, and it's getting worse.
We're almost there, he reminded her. Just one more day of walking. Tonight we'll be back with the camp and you can rest.
I don't have time to rest. We've got a Gate to find.
Jevon's step faltered, almost as though he meant to stop and chastise her, but they kept moving, not wanting to arouse Asenna's curiosity.
You need to rest, Vor. You know you do. And once the camp is reassembled, we'll have more men available to start looking for the Gate.
She knew he was right, but it rankled nonetheless. She wanted the freedom of Agoran so bad, she could taste it.
They continued on, picking their way through the dense forest, heading toward the mountain where the rebel camp had planned to meet. Progress halted when they came upon an old path that wound its way between the trees, but a quick look and a few mental feelers told them the path had been long abandoned, so they pressed on.
Vorena looked up through the trees, trying to gauge the position of the suns by the way the light slanted, and guessed it to be about the seventh hour of morning. They'd gotten a good, early start that day, so hopefully they'd reach the rebel camp long before supper.
Gods be damned! She'd never admit it, but Jevon was right: She most definitely needed a rest.
Then she felt it, the same moment she saw Jevon lurch to a stop just ahead of her.
Someone near.
Yes, she agreed, trying to sense out the other presence.
It was close, but she had trouble tracking precisely where. From the feelers she sent out, she got the impression that it was only one person.
Still, it was one person too many.
Hurry!
They stepped up their pace, moving as quietly through the underbrush as they could, and stumbled right upon the same unused path they'd crossed before.
Seven help us, has no one ever heard of a straight line?
Not funny, Vor, Jevon barked. Not the time.
They froze where they were, Jevon listening while Vorena sent out feelers with her mind, since she was more practiced at it. Asenna clamped a hand over her mouth, knowing from their furtive movements that danger was near and that she had to be utterly silent.
You go first, Vorena told them, handing Jevon her pack so he'd have extra supplies in case she fell behind.
Without looking back at her, Jevon shouldered the pack, gave a curt nod, glanced up and down what short length of the path he could see, and darted across, diving into the underbrush on the other side. Vorena watched him move farther away into shadows and then stop.
She held her breath while she waited, watching him as he studied the area. Asenna tucked her face against her father's throat, stifling the mental whimpers that were threatening to make themselves audible.
It's alright, little one, Vorena told her. You're strong. Just be very quiet and we'll be alright.
Vorena clenched her hands into fists, and finally Jevon told her all was clear on his side. She waited until he was so deep in shadows that she could no longer see him, then crept closer to the path.
The other presence was much closer now, but she couldn't tell precisely where.
Gods be damned, I'm more tired than I thought.
She strained her ears, listening, but only the faintest rustle came to her as the approaching person moved through the weed-choked forest. Taking a deep breath, Vorena stepped out onto the path.
She was halfway across when a man rounded the nearest bend in the path and froze, staring at her. Vorena felt the urge to flee, but she knew she didn't have the strength: If she ran, her lungs were sure to fail her. Not to mention, the man before her was quite thoroughly armed.
Vorena did the only thing she could do. She mentally screamed.
RUN!
The command was directed strictly at Jevon, and she felt his acknowledging thought as he moved away. Vorena stretched her senses, searching for any other mental presence, and almost sighed with relief when she was certain no one else had overheard her mental shout.
Her search also confirmed that the man on the path was alone, and that, more importantly, he assumed the same of her.
A faint and rapidly-fading rustle was the only sound to reach her ears as Jevon crept away through the forest, and while she silently prayed that he and his daughter would reach safety, Vorena turned and faced the officer.
His hand hovered near one of the weapons on his belt, but he stood frozen, staring at her, giving her plenty of time to assess his presence.
He was pale, tall, and lean, and his crisp grey uniform fit him perfectly, giving him that particular air of authority that all the officers carried. The Hawk badge suited him, she realized, because his features resembled the bird, his blue-green eyes piercing hers with an intense gaze as he looked at her down his long, straight nose.
The officer lowered his hand to his side, away from his weapon, and adopted a more relaxed stance as he continued to stare, his lips parting slightly while his eyes studied her. Vorena raised an eyebrow as she stood still, waiting for him to come after her, and had to swallow down an unsettled feeling when he continued silent.
He just wouldn't
stop staring at her, and she'd never known a man to behave in such a way. The gods only knew how few people had been able to meet Vorena's eyes, but never had she faced a gaze with such intensity. She got the impression that he was reaching into her very soul—for what, she couldn't imagine—but there was no way she could miss the sudden spark of life that flickered across his eyes through the dead haze that certainly always settled there.
That flicker gave her hope and bolstered her courage, and she shifted her posture just slightly, more at ease but also drawing herself up to her fullest, most confident stance. She leveled a look at him, raised an eyebrow again, and smiled as she waited.
Chapter 9
BENASH OPENLY stared at the woman. He just couldn't seem to wrestle his gaze away, confounded as he was by the sight of the strange figure standing before him.
She broke every rule of womanhood simultaneously, and it left him feeling shocked, unnerved, and—if he was being honest with himself—thoroughly intrigued.
Her posture was far too confident. It struck Benash that he'd never actually seen a woman's eyes before, since women knew better than to ever raise their eyes from the ground. He thought of his wives, going about their domestic tasks with their heads down, backs bent, and shoulders rounded, thus making them easily ignored. This woman before him, with her straight back and squared shoulders, commanded all his attention.
She was utterly filthy, as though she'd been living out-of-doors for some time. For all the credence given to female cleanliness, he couldn't fathom a woman being willing to suffer so much dirt. As far as he knew, his wives bathed thoroughly at least twice a day—as all women were trained to do—but this woman appeared to have gone without that routine unashamedly.
And her clothes! Benash blinked at the sight.
Twice.
And then blinked once more, for good measure.
Seven hells, she's wearing men's clothes!
The woman standing before him defied all convention and law by wearing a brown shirt and trousers. The shirt was slightly overlarge for her, while the trousers hugged the curves of her hips and formed to her shapely legs in a most scandalizing way. The revelation of her legs and the mystery of her upper body—indeed, the very backwardness of it all from the way a wrap covered the female form—sent an unexpected burst of heat to Benash's core.
