by J. D. Sonne
“Maybe,” Landman said, pulling Rane through the door, out of the overlook. “But a small pour of freedom is worth many lifetimes of slavery, rituals, wildings or even execution. We will thrive in our new world. But you leads and your titleds. . .you will spend your energy upon hating us and by extension, yourselves—for we are all the same. That is a thing you must come to know, or you will wither and perish.”
“You are the ones!” Sondrae shrieked, the sound making her words all but unintelligible. “You are the ones who will wither and perish! And if you don’t, we will make it so!”
“Landman! Rane!” They heard Shad’s voice from the exercise yard. “We must go! Those that squirrel lured away will probably be back any minute!”
Scout suddenly appeared at the door. He asked, “Where’s Saruah--”and looked down and saw her, head and face bloodied. He cried out and threw himself down next to her. “Saruah!”
Time hovered, not moving forward as everyone shared Scout’s moment of chill. Then Saruah moved, murmuring as she weakly lifted his arms to him, and time resumed its slow clank forward.
Rane had been so busy with Sondrae and Landman that she had not been able to see to Saruah. At Scout’s entrance, she had stopped breathing, thinking her best friend was dead, so when her lungs inflated, the rush of air surprised her, and she gasped loudly. That slight movement set her arm to screaming. The pain was terrible, but the wash of relief at Saruah’s survival acted as a very effective anesthetic. Rane looked about her: Scout had heaved Saruah into his arms and was about to move through the door, her sister was lying unconscious where Rane had deposited her, and Sondrae was trussed like a goat against the railing of the overlook. Rane was fairly certain that Landman had arranged for Sondrae’s arrest to be as ridiculously awkward as possible, for her head lolled backward from her body, her feet and hands tied so that she hung about six fir lengths from the planks.
It was impossible, but they had lost no one in the rescue. At least not yet. Satisfied that all was as good as it was going to get, Rane said, “Let’s go!”
“Farewell,” Landman said to Sondrae, then led Rane Through the doors. Rane turned to look back at her sister, still insensate and snoring loudly through a broken nose. “At least she is alive,” Landman said to Rane, perhaps thinking she was worried about having killed her.
“Yes. That’s too bad, we should have killed both of them.”
“Well, why didn’t we?” Landman said, as if just thinking of it for the first time.
“Rane and I agreed that we couldn’t kill a Lead, no matter what,” Saruah said weakly. “It was a decision we made going into this.”
“And, that,” Rane said between gasps as she tried to adjust her shoulder so that the screaming in her sinews would stop, “is a decision that we will probably live to regret.”
“If we live at all,” Landman said. “Look!”
By then, the entire rescue party had congregated outside the doors of the prison cube where they had entered not a hundred pours before. And it wasn’t the chill of the night air that assailed them at that moment, but rather the horror of seeing a hundred Leads rushing at them, Titled Larad and Titled Tollichet at their head.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Rane was surprised at the silence. You would think that the moment when the destroyer gods upended a life, her life, would ring forth with a clamorous tumult, an explosion of action, violence, tears, yells. But it was nothing like that.
The group of rescuers and the rescued simply watched as the huge group bore down on them. Rane later wondered that their instincts allowed them to just stand there and wait, their fates rushing at them like a looming wave about to crash on their heads. It was not that Rane employed it as a strategy. The others kept their expectant eyes upon her as if she could just will the onslaught away like the magicians on her world who conjured water art out of their bare hands. The hope in their eyes trusted Rane that this was just another one of her plans, that they would escape, and all would be right in their lives again.
The Titled Larad Rane knew had always been measured and even in her discipline of Leads. Rarely did her voice rise in anger, no matter the infraction a Lead may commit. So, the spit and hiss of the water demon screaming invective into Rane’s face was rather stunning, not only to the recipient, but to all present. Tollichet and the Leads in the huge party actually backed away from Larad, shock making their features freeze, their eyes creating the only motion in their faces. In fact, Titled Larad brandished her verbal weapon so adroitly that Rane could have sworn that she was actually striking her, the effect was that violent.
“Never have I seen a Lead drawn into such treachery!” Larad opened and closed her fists, alternating with an occasional fidget with the dagger at her belt. Rane could tell that it was the dearest wish of the Titled to use it. “These viruls! These unwashed females! Consorting with Leads! Leads born, trained and bred to be Titleds! Saruah! Rane! No! I do not want to hear it!” She exploded at Rane who had opened her mouth in an attempt to explain. “Yes, we will have a wilding and execution tomorrow, and it is not only viruls who will die.”
At that Tollichet stepped forward and put a hand on Larad’s shoulder and whispered something. As strange as Titled Larad’s loss of control was, stranger still was Rane’s mother’s uncharacteristic docility. Rane had always thought of her mother as an archeraptor, a fierce flyer with sleek brilliant feathers, calm while dipping with the air currents, but ferocious on the kill. Now, she seemed more like a cowed hind, shaking in the shadow of Titled Larad like an invertebrate herbivore too frightened to emerge into the light of confrontation.
“Yes! Tollichet!” Larad snapped. “I know we must have a Titleds’ council to decide such a matter! And, let me assure you that you and Titled Wruhl will recuse yourselves from sitting since your daughters are involved in this betrayal!”
“Of course, Titled Larad,” Titled Tollichet said, stepping back. “It shall be as you say.”
Rane’s mouth dropped open, not at this pronouncement of Larad’s, but at Tollichet’s complete and total acquiescence to Titled Larad, who was superior only because she sat on the presidency of the council. All Titleds on that council were regarded as equals otherwise, and it surprised Rane that her mother would not step forward and at least make herself be heard. Rane was not such a fool that she thought she and Saruah could be saved after they committed what would surely be regarded as a treasonous act, but shouldn’t Tollichet at least try?
At that moment, Sondrae and Shukad pounded out of the door, extracting gasps from the entire group, captives and captors, a testament to the terrible tension that encircled the group like the tentacles of a sharnaq.
“Thank the gods, you are here!” Shukad shouted, sounding a little silly, Rane thought, and even overdramatic, given the new circumstances.
Sondrae added, “They beat us! All of them ganged up on us and tried to kill us! LOOK!”
At that, both Sondrae and Shukad started what could only be called an injury presentation where they pulled up sleeves, pants legs and pulled down collars in front and back, pointing to bruises, the blood of lacerations and even a few old scars much to Rane’s internal amusement. It did go on and on, and Rane was pleased to see amused and even derisive expressions on the faces of some of the Leads in the storming party. She used the “presentation” to take time to assess the looks of some of her former friends and, well not exactly enemies, but maybe non-friends, and saw that they did not look as fierce toward her and Saruah as perhaps they should have. She reminded herself, though, that it didn’t matter a damn what any of them thought of her and Saruah, it was obviously Titled Larad who would decide their fates since her mother had withdrawn support and even, it seemed, acknowledgment of her daughter.
Mercifully, Titled Larad cut off Sondrae’s and Shukad’s silly demonstration by opening the door of the cube and with a rough thrust of her arm order the main players back into the facility. Although Rane had seen some sympathy in the faces of ma
ny Leads, that did not preclude them from grabbing her and Saruah and the prisoners and roughly dragging them through the door past Larad’s imperious gesture.
Rane barely kept her feet as her little party of rescuers and rescuees found themselves being bounced off the walls of the corridor, the rough handling allowing them little control. One moment found her face to face with Landman, and she did her best to convey an apology with her eyes, thinking she saw the same in his, but the instant passed too quickly for her to assess anything truly substantial in his expression.
Rane’s knowledge of the facility didn’t include that of the arena floor where the prison cubicles sat, squat, cubes within cube. She tried to take mental note of who went in which cell, but the jostling and wrenching of her arms behind her made it difficult to concentrate. Squeezing her eyes shut, she said to herself, Saruah, then Winsla, Shad, then Maru, Landman, Scout, Chuan and Bruse, males on the west, females on the east. She didn’t know if all of this was important, but it wouldn’t hurt to keep their physical logistics in mind. Then, she felt very foolish: escape from the inside? They couldn’t even manage it from the outside. Stupid.
The cell was actually quite comfortable, and as she had slept on the ground for the past three days, despite her anxiety, she lay down and was soon asleep on the sturdy cot.
The dreams, though, were hard, fraught episodes swirling throughout her sleep like dagger crystals so that the slumber was anything but restful. Landman wilded, beheaded, followed by all the others. She was last, having watched every excruciating detail of their death squirms, screams, dismemberments and pleadings. Roughly shoved over the execution stone, the rock dug into her stomach and although the axe was above where she shouldn’t be able to see, somehow she beheld every winking glint of its steel as it inexplicably coiled and hissed before it chopped her neck. Her legs kicked spasmodically, the nerves protesting the loss of the head, and she awoke in a filmy chill of sweat.
A square of sunlight on the ground indicated morning to her lidding eyes, but she was still in the dream, lying on her stomach, confused by the softness of the bed, expecting the execution stone instead. Then she pushed up on her arms, wild when she remembered. She started hollering.
“I want to speak to the Titleds! I want to speak to the Titleds!” Repeating the cry until she saw a face at the door grate, she rushed at the opening and said, “I need to speak to the Titleds!”
“Which Titleds?” Guthla’s voice lilted with a mixture of derision and dismissiveness. “There are many Titleds, Rane, none of whom want to see you now or ever, that is, until you are wilded and executed.”
Guthla was one of Shukad’s best friends which spoke to her level of intelligence. Rane was very glad she had been assigned to be her guard, but chilled a little at hearing the “Lead” dropped from her name.
“Lead Guthla.” Rane stepped back and stood at attention, knowing that Guthla had a very high opinion of herself and her rank. “I am sorry to bother you, but I need to speak to at least one of the Titleds.”
“Your need is immaterial at this time, Rane. I have been instructed to allow you to speak to no one—”
“But you are speaking to me,” Rane pointed out. “You are already disobeying your order! Should I report you?”
“Well—“ Guthla paused. “Well, I—”
“Listen, Guthla. If you will just tell Titled Tollichet I need to talk to her, I won’t report you.” Oh, even Guthla couldn’t be this stupid, Rane thought and waited.
Guthla actually seemed to consider the request, so maybe she was that stupid, then a light seemed to appear in her features, for she said, “If I summon no one as per my orders, then you won’t be able to report me anyway,” and stepped away from the grate.
“Well, it was worth a try,” Rane said to the cot, and sat upon it.
The wilding and execution were originally scheduled for this afternoon, and from what Titled Larad said the night before, it didn’t sound as if the festivities would be put off, and, indeed, that new participants would be added. That meant that Rane had but a few hours to figure out what to do. She looked around her and didn’t see any options. Her room was a small cube with a cot, water bucket and latrine pot with a small window high up in the wall facing the arena. Dragging the cot across the floor, she pushed it against that wall and hopped up. She looked out the window and was surprised at the activity on the arena floor. This was going to be quite a show.
Since Rane had not known this facility existed, she doubted that Titled Larad had never hosted an event in this pavilion, but that is not to say that she hadn’t planned to. There was an astonishing capacity for seating, as was evidenced by the scrolling out of stadium seating, the sections supported by huge arthropod-jointed legs that unfolded in a huge spiral until settling on the arena floor. Each bank of seats was operated by a muscled virul who double hand-cranked a huge bronze wheel that set the cogs into motion. It made Rane think of the waterworks that she left behind at the camp and she felt a thrill at the woodworking cunning of her people, until she remembered the reason for the venue.
She craned her neck to see if she could see the windows of any of the other cubicles, but of course, she couldn’t, so she tried something else: the sign they had used out in the wild, the tremolo of the archeraptor. It wouldn’t be much of a trick as there were no archeraptors in this building, but it seemed better than just calling out like a ninny.
It worked, for not just one tremolo sounded, but three to her count. Trying to think who would be next to her, she ventured, “Maru?”
“Yes, Lead Rane!”
The whispered response imbued Rane with a little hope, and she said quietly, “Stay close to the window so we can communicate, but be careful, the Leads outside might hear you. See if you can establish contact with those down the block. The men are across from us, so they won’t be able to hear, but at least we can get some sort of plan going among us and hope they do the same!”
“But what can be done?” Maru’s voice was full of anxiety. “We will all die!”
“We must try to alter our circumstances!” Rane said. “But, for now, just see if the others can hear you. Other than that, keep quiet until you hear from me! And, Maru,”
“What?” Maru’s response was a sob.
“Above all, have hope!”
Rane sat down on the cot and put her chin in her hand. She must think! If there were ever a time when her Lead training could come in handy, it was undoubtedly now.
Chapter Thirty
Before she had a chance to organize her thoughts at all, she heard a furor of boots and voices outside the door. Digging her fingernails into her knees, she forced herself to sit quietly even though she wanted to burst off the cot and stand behind the door in a defensive crouch.
Guthla, Shukad and Sondrae burst in the cell in an obvious attempt to rattle Rane. She was so glad she resisted the urge to go at them; she stood calmly and allowed them to jostle her out into the hall where she saw the other prisoners enduring the same treatment at the rough hands of various Lead guards.
Like cattle, they were ushered in the opposite direction they had entered the night before and Rane saw that a door was being held open by another guard. The prisoners practically fell through the door, the rough handling not allowing them to keep their feet. It was then that Rane heard the roar.
She stood and brushed at her clothing and looked into the seating and saw thousands of them, Titleds, Leads, even a rafter of the more privileged viruls who had insinuated themselves into positions of relative power under the Titleds they served. All jeered and laughed at the prisoners, hooting especially at the show of an awkward entrance on to the arena ground. So, they were to be wilded and executed with no show of a trial. But wait.
As she picked herself up from the dust, Rane scanned the venue for some signs of the festivity’s identity. She didn’t see a wilding pit, or even an execution tower, but what she did see filled her with a new hope. A long table had been set up on an elegantly wo
ven carpet. It was the table of council, set upon the tapestry of justice. It was strange to see the symbols of their courts in a place that was housing a loud, raucous carnival, as court proceedings were usually held at the High Lodge in the middle of town.
Seated at the table was the High Council of Titleds. All the Titleds who had taught and trained Rane were there. Titled Larad, of course, as well as Titleds Nooro, Garlamon the Healer, Boshru, Karluth, Canath, and some others who looked familiar but whose names were unknown to Rane. They must have been invited from some of the neighboring sectors. True to Larad’s threat, Tollichet and Saruah’s mother were not seated at the council table, but had been relegated to seating on the first row behind it. Rane found Saruah and locked eyes with her, jerking toward their mothers with her head. She and Saruah shared a grim exchange, their facial expressions countenancing a worry the like of which they had never experienced. The good news was that this did not look like the set up for a wilding or an execution; the bad news was that this was obviously a trial to be held under the auspices of the Grand High Council of Titleds.
Rane had never seen or heard of a like spectacle. Usually, trials were held under great pomp and calm proceeding, the verbal exchanges always sotto voice under civilized rules and procedures. There was no way a trial like that could occur under these circumstances with catcalls, screams and ribald laughter emanating from every spectator that had entered the arena that day. Then a chilling thought grasped her: perhaps this was the wilding crowd, and the court was just for show, and as soon as the proceedings were out of the way, the real festivities would begin. But Rane could still see no signs of the logistical features needed for the wilding or execution.
She and the other prisoners were dragged to a row of chairs that sat opposite the justice table and faced the largest concourse of seating. After being pushed roughly into the chairs, the Lead guards moved behind the High Council of Titled and stood at attention facing the crowd causing the spectators to quiet themselves immediately.
