by J. D. Sonne
The Lead guards looked about them, up and down the stands; Rane followed their gaze and noticed for the first time, hundreds of Leads had positioned themselves up and down the seating, standing in the aisles and all along the top bank of seats, in essence forming a disciplinary wall to discourage unruly behavior. They stood as stone for a few moments until Shukad raised her fists.
“Justice is as water!” They all chanted loudly in perfect synchrony with one another. “Justice will cleanse us of evil as water cleanses itself of impurities. Justice begins now!”
At that, the Leads folded their arms and stood at ease, although ready to quell any disturbance.
Titled Larad said, speaking loudly, “Our world is a world of laws.” The boom of her voice in the quiet arena induced her to reduce its volume, and she went on in the voice that was familiar to her students, the voice of reason, the voice of teaching. “When a law is broken, we must see to the breaker of that law, and change the behavior, if possible. Sometimes, that is not possible, as the behavior is so rancid and foul that it or its effects cannot be changed. We have such a situation today. We are here to attend to the matter of the traitorous conduct of two Leads and their followers, untitled females and fleer viruls.” She gestured toward Rane and Saruah. “These two fomented a dangerous rebellion that would have viruls establishing their place once again on our world. A place that leads to war and death. That two of our own would attempt to destroy the balance of our world is strange and incomprehensible, but nevertheless, we must deal with them. Rane and Saruah. Stand, please.”
Rane looked over at Saruah and the two stood uncertainly, both looking anxiously into the crowd, which collectively leaned, expectant and breathless, toward the accused. Rane saw many friends and acquaintances and thought some of them nodded slightly when her eyes met theirs, but she couldn’t be sure because of the fuzzy natural light in the arena. There couldn’t be any support for their cause here, could there? There was only one way to find out—she had to make sure she had an opportunity to speak, but it was unclear if Titled Larad would follow the usual proceedings, or as befitted a show trial, just utter the sentence. Rane decided that if there were ever going to be an opportunity, it was now, before Titled Larad pronounced their punishment, and they were dragged back into their prison cubicles to await their executions. Larad actually had pronounced the sentence the night before. She had made no secret that she fully intended for a wilding and execution to take place, so Rane had nothing whatsoever to lose by speaking out.
“I call to speak!” Rane bellowed in her best Lead voice. “I call to speak my defense!”
Her outburst seemed to rattle Titled Larad and every council member, for they turned to each other and muttered, pointing to the insubordinate Lead, decrying her breach of protocol. But Rane pressed forward. “You have said that we are guilty, but you have given us no advocates, no opportunity to speak for ourselves. Well, I say, that I will speak!”
For the first time, the spectators began to rustle and whisper in their seats and this time Rane saw emphatic nods toward one another—a good sign. They wanted to hear what she had to say, whether for justice, or just for entertainment, it didn’t matter to Rane. All that mattered is that they listen.
“These viruls are fleers! They are fleers!” She turned around and looked at Landman and the other men and even pointed to them for effect. “Every single one of them. They fled our sector!”
The noise that came from the arena escalated then, and the Titleds at the Council table seemed to relax somewhat. Out of her own mouth, the prisoner was condemning the viruls.
Rane walked closer to the council table, but it was obvious in her stance that she was ignoring them and concentrating rather on the crowd of Leads before her. She held up her hands in a question. “And, why did they leave?” She paused, then went on. “They were not safe! In fact, none of our viruls are safe!”
The crowd went utterly silent, and an uncomfortable pall hovered in the arena. They shifted and fidgeted in their seats, some sat with their chins in their hands, listening intently, seeming to lean toward Rane and by her hopeful projection, toward her argument.
“We do to our viruls as we will! We punish them. We force them to labor. They have no voice in our proceedings. We do mate with them, but it is not as equals. That is what I call ‘rape!’
The spectators had begun to titter at the forbidden subject of mating, but gasped at Rane’s unbidden label of ‘rape.’
“Yes, you know that is what it is! It is rape, pure and simple. Yes, YES! I know that in the old times, that is how men took us! That is how they spun their warfare, killing and rape. But, now—you may argue that we have no war! We have order! Well, I say we do have war—but we do not think of it as such, because we are winning—and with little effort. We are wiping out our opponents! For isn’t that how we view our viruls? That is what we have been taught: that males, if left to their own purposes, would take us over and subjugate us once again. They are our enemies. So, we were free to fight our enemies, making sure that we had a system in place where they could not fight back. At the slightest mistake, we killed their will, at the slightest infraction, we killed their bodies. Viruls are tortured, coerced and made to do our bidding—no matter how reprehensible that bidding is! You!” Rane pointed at the crowd. “You are all guilty!” At their silence, she went on, “And, you know it!”
Rane rushed ahead, knowing that at any moment, Titled Larad, with a subtle sweep of her arm, could remove Rane and the other prisoners from the arena. She pointed to Landman. “I have had an opportunity to mate with Landman! Not under force, but under love and equality! I know you have all wondered what it would be like, to have a partner that is not a slave. To have warmth in our lodges with male relationships! To keep our male children and not send them away to work under virul servitude! I KNOW you have thought about it! I know you have!”
She thought she had gone too far. Surely, now would be the time. Surely now Larad would whisk her and the others away to an immediate wilding. To an immediate execution. But, to her surprise, the arena was even quieter, now, the silence hovering over the heads of those in attendance like a cloud storm. Even the Titleds were avoiding her eyes, something like shame emanating in big waves from their justice table.
“I know we will probably die,” Rane said, but leaning toward the multitude. “But, all I can ask, that after our deaths, you consider my words. We have a beautiful world of order and water and forest. . . and the foulest oppression that servaquan could dream of. We are all servaquan! We are all creatures of the water. And just because one-half of us almost destroyed the world years and years ago, does that justify the other half destroying not only the world, but its people, too? For the viruls are servaquans, too. And shouldn’t we leaders want what is best for all of Maraquan’s servaquans? For every servaquan to be equal and free under the law?”
The speech was at an end. There was nothing more to say and Rane knew it. She used the confused silence to search out people in the arena and all seemed contemplative, all seemed open to the idea, but Rane realized that this moment of reason would not last. There was too much at stake for the leadership. What, make viruls equal? Who would do the lowly jobs if not forced? Titleds? Leads? Impossible! Let male children be raised among the pure females? Unthinkable! Let males assume leadership? You know what happened before! This all may be a pretty fantasy, but that is exactly what it is. A pretty fantasy that had the very real possibility of destroying them all.
Titled Larad stood. “As befits protocol, Rane has spoken defense for herself and the others. The council will now render judgment.”
As the council Titleds leaned together and murmured for a few moments, Rane, realizing she was still standing, sat down, looking straight ahead of her. She felt someone down the row of chairs leaning out and she turned her head to see what was going on. It was Landman and the look on his face was something she would never forget. Gratitude, love, respect, admiration filled his features, and a
ll the anxiety and fear drained out of Rane’s heart. His obvious regard for her made everything else go away, and she found that she didn’t care what happened after. She had done everything possible to keep them alive, but now that death seemed imminent, she was content. Life without Landman, now, after everything she had experienced with him, wouldn’t be a life at all. There was no way she could envision returning to her old, sterile existence. Not that it looked like she would have the opportunity, and for that, she was glad.
It did not take long and there were no surprises. After Titled Larad announced the sentence to be carried out later that day at the beginning of the third watch, Shukad and the other Lead guards rounded the prisoners and with rough pushes and shoves, drove them back to their cubicles.
Chapter Thirty-one
The pours rushed by and Rane became more and more embarrassed with herself that she was unable to uncover a plan of rescue. She tried to entice Guthla into conversation once again and was met with a steely silence, nary a harrumph, cough or sigh escaping the guard’s lips for all of Rane’s entreaties. Pacing the cube incessantly did not make for a very productive exercise as she tried to make sense of every striation of grain in the wooden walls, even scratching at knothole until a couple of fingernails bled. At least she could look at the going’s on out the window, but that became a frustrating venture as every banner hung and every streamer draped signaled the increasing proximity of their demises. Now she saw the instruments of death being wheeled in: the stakes and wooden staves for the wilding pit, the execution tower with all its pulleys and platforms, designed with cunning art depicting all manner of death to inspire the worst kind of fear in its victims. Even the whispered conversations with Maru had devolved into a one-sided exercise of Rane trying to decipher the female’s sobbing, the Lead finally giving up when Maru’s whispers of gibberish became keening wails that drew the guards into her cubicle. The resulting bumps, crashes, obscene poundings and crescendoing cry that fell abruptly into a flat silence made Rane wonder if Maru perhaps preceded them into the afterlife, escaping the wilding and execution. She sat on the cot and put her head in her hands and decided she envied the female.
She might as well calm down. Scooting back on the cot, the window throwing the sounds of preparation into the small room, filling it up with Leads calling out to each other, shrieks of excited laughter, even music, a few voices adding themselves to the tonal offerings of the guitongs and lutettes. Rane forced herself to cleanse her breathing, deliberate exhales and inhales slowing her racing heart and blood so that she could relax into the inevitability of her death and that of the others. Landman.
Now that her agitation had lessened, she closed her eyes and lifted herself in her mind. She pictured herself above the cubicle in the open air of the arena, watching the preparations, unencumbered by the stingy window. But she was not interested in that anymore, she pushed her consciousness out of the prison cube and saw herself moving over the outlying estates of the sector toward the wilds, toward the camp she shared with those who had escaped the strictures of their society. Finally, she found the crystal grove and again gasped at its liquid blue frozen into a monolithic escarpment that towered over their hearths and tents. Setting down as if cushioned by a friendly mist, she gazed about her, surprised that the ruins left by the attack did not greet her, but rather the camp as she remembered it, teeming with viruls, females, families and their children. They all acknowledged her kindly, “Hello Lead Rane!” “Are you working on the waterwork today?” “May I fetch you water for your bath?” “Or, a drink! Surely you are thirsty after a full day of work!”
Extending her hands to them, she felt the mist turn to ebullient clouds of friendship and love for these people. She reveled in their touches, their warm eyes and soft words, and Landman appeared among them, reaching to her with both of his strong hands, lifting her and saying, too loud for the aesthetics of their surroundings, “Wake up! We’re getting out!”
Rane batted him away, hating the harsh language, the rough pull on her arms. She was among those who loved her and did not want to leave. “Go away!” She said, actually pushing at his chest to make him obey her. “Go AWAY!”
The camp evaporated, the mist of the strange alter-reality collapsing in on itself, matter congealing and ebbing until exploding against the walls of the small prison cube until all that was left was . . .Landman?
He stood before her, not part of her dream or her imagination. Tentatively she plucked at his shirt and found that it was solid in her hands, then his arms, shoulders, neck and found substance under her grasp until she understood. Landman was indeed here, and he was real.
“What? What?” The shock and hope of his appearance wouldn’t allow her to form any other question or articulation. It sounded rather incessant to her, but she couldn’t stop. “What? What?”
Landman grabbed her hand and pulled her out the door into the tiny corridor. Immediately, her eyes became blind in the dark of the hall, but she heard the gentle hubbub of whisperings, questions, tears and happy sighs of the other escapees. Then a miracle to her ears: the voice of her mother, Lead Tollichet.
“Not a sound, any of you,” Tollichet said, whispering into the dark. “Rane, come and assist me”
Rane wandered toward the voice, her training to follow command kicking in even amid her shock and disorientation. “Yes, mother.” She did not even ask how or what or why, knowing that those silly questions could impede the rescue that her mother had obviously gone to great lengths to effect.
“Before going silent on the subject, Titled Larad once told me of her plans to build a facility of this type,” Tollichet whispered to Rane. “She went into great detail on the features of such a building, the arena, the overlook, even the prison cubicles.” Tollichet bent closer to Rane in her excitement. “She even told me of underground tunnels through which she could ferry prisoners, workers and even wild beasts for well, spectacles.”
Rane shuddered slightly, but kept listening.
“I believe I have discovered one, but it is in a dangerously exposed area at the corner of the arena.” She nodded at a prone figure whom Rane recognized as Guthla, a discarded goblet near her curled hand. “I was able to drug the guards with a refreshment, so I believe that will give you a better chance if you can school your people into acting nonchalant. They must simply walk across the arena as if they are common viruls or Leads directing them. Do you think you can give them instructions in thirty pours? I am going to leave now to open the tunnel. I believe it lifts up; I saw the iron pull in the ground. You are to assess when forty pours have elapsed, then walk out into the arena, again with all nonchalance! And descend into the floorgate.”
Although under command, Rane had to ask one question. “Mother. Why? I thought—”
“Rane.” Disappointment actually colored Tollichet’s features. “Surely you cannot think I would let Larad kill my treasure?” She jostled Rane’s shoulders and brought her forehead to Rane’s in a tender head bump. I guess you are wondering at my doe-like act before Larad. You know me better than that! It was to throw her off so I could plan your escape. Well, Lead. We must act now, or all my planning will be for naught. Perhaps I will tell you about it sometime.”
“You aren’t coming with us?” Rane asked in alarm. “But, they’ll kill you!”
“One thing at a time,” Tollichet said. “First, we must get you out.” She patted Rane’s arm and said, “I’ll follow after.”
But Rane knew her mother well enough to understand the pat was just an effort to mollify her into acquiescing. She began to protest.
Then her mother shook her, becoming the Titled she knew so well. “Lead!” Enough!” Tollichet gestured roughly at the others in the corridor. “You have the lives of all these in your hands. There is to be no further discussion. Follow my instructions!”
Rane stopped, all happiness at the rescue draining out of her. She would never see her mother again, and it was likely that Tollichet would not survive any of th
is. In fact, if Larad was deprived of their wilding and executions that day, it was likely that Titled Tollichet would replace them. Squeezing her eyes shut, Rane understood the reality that her mother was sacrificing everything for her and there was nothing she could do about it. Her mother was right; she had to get the others out.
Tollichet must have seen the impossible desperation in Rane, for she said, “My Rane. Some day you will have a child, and all this will make infinite sense to you. Now, I’m going.”
Tollichet pushed open a door at the end of the hall and Rane saw a flash of her silhouette against the red sand of arena before the door banged shut. She felt arms around her and looked up, seeing the shadowed features of Landman. They hugged for a moment, then Rane sought all of the members of the party, patting them, embracing them. Squirrel was among them having been thrown in after his duplicity in leading away the other viruls had been discovered. “Are you up to all this?” She asked him, putting her cheek to his. Unable to speak for fright, all he did was give a wan nod. Last of all she came to Chuan who was weeping profusely. “She kept apologizing,” he said between sobs. “She said she loved me and was sorry!”
All during the interactions Rane kept a water clock going in her head: five pours, ten pours, thirty and then finally forty. “It is time,” she said in a hushed whisper. “Act as if you belong. Follow me with purpose.”
She opened the door and stepped out onto the sand, its cool granules a balm to her bare feet.
Chapter Thirty-two
It was too far away! They would never make it. Rane’s mother had already opened the trap door, stepped away and headed toward the group of Leads who were setting up the staves for the wilding pit. As she looked over their work, chatting them up, Rane saw her mother look casually around. When she made eye contact with her daughter, she jerked her head toward the door that opened down into the arena sand and even swept her hand slightly behind her as if to say, “What are you waiting for? Get going!”
