Mercy's Trial

by Sever Bronny

Maxine nodded in a Damn right fashion.

  Augum guessed the question that prompted such a stern reply was an innocently thought Why? by one of the others. As in, why had history passed her by? The question might have come from Bridget, who had taken a cagey step back, hand pressed to her chest.

  Ning continued railing. “By calling her a Sierran barbarian, they exposed their putrid ignorance. By refusing to acknowledge her as anything more than a midwife and a woman, they tainted their own contributions. Yet she was the thinker behind The Founding. The Founding!”

  Her chair turned back to the tapestry portrait, voice once more softening. “They declared some of her theories radical, namely that she believed that the first Arcaner—the true founder of the order—was a woman, and fabricated a charge of infanticide when one of the powerful men around her, whose baby she had delivered with her own hands, mysteriously died days later. She was arcastrated on a dreary morning, and by day’s end hung from the gates for all to see. It was said that the flames of her funeral pyre made the moon weep.”

  Ning let that image linger before continuing. “They were terrified that a woman would take their manly glory. A master amongst masters, it is she who should be worshipped as an Unnameable. It is she who brought about the Age of Enlightenment. Yet she died … she died as a mere Ordinary.”

  Arcastration, Augum knew, was what all warlocks feared—the total stripping of one’s rings, and with them, the ability to cast spells. For a warlock—especially one so accomplished—it was the ultimate humiliation prior to death.

  Ning again turned to them. “Was it true that a woman founded the Arcaner order? It is impossible to say, for little survives from that ancient era … at least here in Sithesia.” The unspoken implication being that it might survive in the Library of Ley.

  Augum glanced over at Bridget, who wore a look of hawk-like determination. He suspected that this was something she would investigate if they ever reached Ley.

  There came the slightest of sighs into their minds. “But Sabella’s knowledge and contributions live on eternally in every warlock. Those contributions were her only children, and they flowered into the arcaneological principles we live by today. As much as they tried to erase her, her knowledge saved countless lives, lives that are still being saved in this sorry day and age, lives that would have otherwise been decapitated by the guillotine of ignorance.”

  Augum couldn’t help but speak up. “And now Emperor Sepherin wants to equalize all the deaths that men have suffered in battle … by murdering women.” The hairs on his arms stood on end. Sepherin, who lived by his house motto—

  “Del servi o tei ancro balan,” Ning finished on his behalf.

  “In service to the sacred balance,” Augum whispered. Senior Arcaneologist Ning must have wanted them to see this tapestry for a reason.

  “Samuel Sepherin is enraged on behalf of mankind against womankind.” Her chair floated before Atrius’s portrait, then on to Attyla the Mighty’s. “It is an old rage, going back to the Age of Primitives, well before the best of men won battles over their own hearts.” She stopped to float before them, yet her gaze remained on the portrait of Sabella the Midwife, Sabella the Master Arcaneologist, Sabella the Thinker Behind The Founding.

  Augum had never felt so ignorant in the face of history. He vaguely recalled her name being brought up in History class, but why hadn’t more been taught about her? And why hadn’t he paid more attention?

  Both worthy questions, young Arinthian, came the reply, which he knew only he heard.

  “How some men have raged against women for daring to become equals,” Ning continued on quietly into all their minds, “and yet warlock-kind has allowed such a thing, for women became as powerful as men—equals, at least in strength and intellect. Now imagine if men discovered that a woman founded the Arcaner order, maybe even brought dragons to Sithesia from the unknown beyond.”

  Augum’s heart felt unsettled as he heard these words. If Sabella had been right about who founded Arcaners, did it mean that the order belonged to women? Or was he merely feeling threatened like so many countless men before him? And so what if the order had been founded by a woman? What mattered was the fruit of that labor—the code of honor, a way to fight against evil. But truth mattered too, and if a woman did in fact found the order, he firmly believed that everyone should know it, their fragile sensibilities be damned.

  You do us all honor with such thinking, Augum, Ning said into his mind. Then her chair turned to face Maxine. “Patience is not one of your virtues, Adept Matheson,” she said, choosing to use the traditional warlock rank of the 9th degree, “though as a soldier, it should be.”

  Maxine’s face flushed.

  “Just be thankful that leadership is not necessarily a prerequisite for greatness, as Adept Tenzay so duly demonstrated with her sacrifice.”

  Augum felt ashamed of himself for not thinking of Naoki more throughout the day. She had died and yet was now just another face.

  “And no, dear, you are not nearly as intelligent as you think yourself to be, Adept Matheson.” The chair went on to float before each of them, Ning’s Leyan-black almond-eyed gaze finding every set of eyes. “But then … few of us are.” Many gazes withered under her glare. “Yet it is also true that one of the highest achievements in life is overcoming one’s own faults, one’s own fears, one’s own failures … and one’s own judgments.”

  Her gaze lingered on Cry, who had publicly condemned his own accusations when it came to the trio and the supposed possession of the scions. As he dropped his eyes, her attention drifted to the others before finally settling on Augum, who saw a cascade of failures and judgments and faults roll through his overwhelmed mind.

  “Now I shall answer the unspoken question of why I shared Sabella’s tragic story with you—because I believe it may be the key to defeating Sepherin, for you cannot defeat such a corrupted idea of equality with simple might. You must also defeat it with intellect. With reason. With daring.” Her chair turned once more toward Sabella the Midwife’s portrait. “And it is not just womankind in peril … but mankind as well.”

  “We must work hand in hand,” Bridget proclaimed. “Men and women. Together.”

  “Dragoon Burns, as if speaking for her generation, boldly declared that men and women must work together,” Herzog muttered, quill scratching away. When Bridget glanced over at him, he gave a deeper nod of pride between head bobs.

  Ning turned to regard Bridget coolly. “Then perhaps you shall win a future for us all, for evil is not only a lack of empathy but also willful ignorance.” She floated to the foot of the canopy bedstead, eyes fixing upon Esha. “As the last living Dreadnought, you must keep her alive and return her safely to me, for she is a sacred historical bridge of knowledge. She must be protected. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” the companions mumbled awkwardly.

  Ning turned in midair to glare at the assembled group. Although her blackened and aged face showed little emotion, annoyance billowed off of her like smoke. “Do you understand?” she repeated.

  “Yes, Senior Arcaneologist Ning,” they replied in unison, heads nodding like dutiful pupils.

  Herzog chronicled the moment. “Senior Arcaneologist Ning warned the assembled gathering on the importance of keeping Esha the Dreadnought alive and returning her to the Library of Antioc.”

  Augum, for his part, wondered if Ning thought they wanted to take Esha with them to Ley.

  Ning ignored his thought and instead turned toward the bedstead. The wispy curtains silently moved aside as if parted by ghosts. Above, the candles of the floating dragon-motif chandelier sputtered.

  Esha the ancient Dreadnought lioness, lying in a gray library attendant robe ornamented with the crimson gargoyle over the heart, gasped awake. The crowd stiffened in anticipation as she turned away, shoulders shaking with a raspy cough, hood drawn over her head.

  “You are weak, Ancient One. You must conserve your strength.”

  Esha continued cough
ing, though managed to swing her legs over the bed. Her back was hunched and revealed the outline of bony shoulders.

  “Take a knee and bow your heads,” Ning said into their minds, and they obeyed, though Ning continued her floating and Herzog his chronicling.

  “That is most unnecessary,” Esha wheezed, finally standing on shaky legs. “Do not humble yourselves before me. I wish to know you for who you are. Stand … please.”

  Augum had forgotten how delicate and soft her voice was.

  They reluctantly stood, and it was as if a loving peace descended upon the room, calming the flutter of the candles. Mr. Goss placed his hands around his son. Leera found Augum’s hand and their fingers intertwined. Olaf searched out Bridget’s hand and the pair did the same.

  Esha grasped a twisted bedpost and held on to it. She removed her hood with her other paw to reveal an emaciated appearance. The hairs on her muzzle were drooping and already graying, her round ears sagging.

  She slowly walked around the bed, grabbing hold of the posts as she passed. “I am aging, and it is a joy to feel the years finally catch up to me. I shall experience the final experience … a mortal death. This I do not fear, nor do I long for more than the Fates have already so generously allotted me.”

  Everyone froze as she neared, barely daring to breathe. Herzog was particularly focused, writing exactly what she said.

  “You must live as long as you possibly can, Ancient One,” Ning said. “Share with us the wisdom of the eons.”

  “A request every being has asked of us since our enslavement,” Esha countered softly, stopping to stand before Augum, who stiffened.

  Esha glanced down to the blade hanging in its old scabbard from his hip.

  “A companion of ours died for this blade today,” Augum blurted, guilt once more washing over him like a cold wave. He tried to let go of Leera’s hand but she only squeezed harder. “I fear she may have died for a simple sword … for nothing more than steel.”

  Esha studied him with lion eyes the color of earth, eyes behind which rested the entire span of history. “Burden’s Edge is the finest shortsword ever crafted by our kind. That blade was crafted as a gift for your ancestor—” She glanced back at Atrius’s portrait. “—in sacred thanks for allowing us to sleep in peace. He had thought that sleep would be eternal, but he had been wrong, for your father found a way to resurrect the ancient curse.” Her head tilted slightly. “And so we once more came to serve as slaves to a master. But that enslavement ended once and for all because someone chose our welfare over their own gain.”

  Some of the others stirred, no doubt because they had not known that at the end of the war, Augum had found a way to permanently release the Dreadnoughts from their ancient curse. It was a kindness he never discussed and only fleetingly thought about when donning his golden breastplate. The girls never even brought it up, perhaps sensing he did not want to talk about it. As far as he was concerned, it had been the right thing to do, and that was that.

  “Have you asked yourself why you did not take the reins of power?” Esha pressed gently, gaze searching his eyes.

  Augum had to think about his reply as Herzog’s quill scribbled away. “I considered it my duty to set you free. It was the decent and honorable thing to do.”

  Esha responded with silence and merely continued watching him, telling him her question had depth. He realized she was referring not just to enslaving her kind but also his refusal to take the throne of Solia—as well as his refusal to back a family for the throne. He wanted nothing to do with noble squabbles, machinations or intrigues. He just wanted to be a regular warlock student attending the academy.

  A hot flush crept up his spine and he dropped his head. He hadn’t fully confronted his failures in that regard, failures that had led the kingdom to the point where it was today … and yet those failures were seemingly linked with her point about the sword.

  His eyes wandered to the pommel of Burden’s Edge. Perhaps she was hinting what he dreaded to admit … that he had failed his duty to the kingdom. In that sense, then, the blade indeed was more than just a blade … and was worth saving, for it was a reminder of one’s duty, of his ancestral duty as an Arinthian.

  He raised his head and acknowledged her point with the slightest of nods. He still had some internal reckoning to deal with but at least now recognized that this sword was more than just a sword. In recognition of this, he lovingly squeezed Leera’s hand.

  “I have learned much since we last met, brave-hearted one,” Esha said. “My command of the common tongue has improved. I have studied the animals in the forest. I have seen the fashions of men and women—and oh, how peculiar they are! I have studied many curious objects. I have read many books. I have spoken to many souls.” She glanced around the room. “This age is enthralling but dangerous. They fear me to be a malevolence, a walking oddity, a beast from the Age of Beasts—though the vast many know almost nothing of that age.”

  Esha glanced down at his hand holding Leera’s. “Nothing is more beautiful,” she whispered, forcing Herzog to strain to hear. “Nothing more sacred.” She looked to Bridget, who held hands with Olaf. Bridget’s brows, already soft, melted still further. Esha gave her the gentlest of lion smiles. “Oh, tender longing, you have wrapped your cloak around these frail hearts of hope, brave warriors who walk the bloody edge of legend, conscious of the death lying around them like bodies of the blackest plagues.” She closed her eyes, slowly inhaled, then exhaled. “I pray you never step onto the shores of forever, as it is the loneliest island of them all.”

  A tear rolled down Bridget’s cheek. She closed her eyes and dropped her head. And she wasn’t the only one. Mary, Mr. Goss, Leland, Leera, Arthur, Haylee, Olaf—even Cry and Secretary Klines—all lowered their heads in respect and grasped their hands before them.

  Esha moved on to shakily stand before Leland. For a time, she studied his malformed face, his burnt limbs, his forever-closed eyes, his misshapen mouth, his one dimpled cheek. “Much suffering for one so young. Yet much promise.” She tilted her head in that curious way of hers. “Although your interest is strong, your knock on the door is polite. With your father’s leave, I give you permission to peek, if you like, though you may find it … overwhelming.”

  Leland tilted his head to his father. “May I, Father?” his ghoul asked on his behalf. “Please?”

  “I … I suppose,” Mr. Goss could only say. “But be very careful, Son.” His lower lip trembled as he looked at Esha. “He … he is my only child, Ancient One. My boy …”

  Esha bowed her head. “Your love humbles me.”

  Leland gently removed his father’s hands and took a step forward. He looked at Esha with his blind eyes … and gasped. After a studiously long moment during which Leland’s breathing steadily quickened and his father wrung his hands, he abruptly fell to his knees along with his ghoul, crying.

  “Son!” Mr. Goss said, trying to help his son stand, but Leland denied him.

  “So beautiful …” Leland’s ghoul whispered. “So beautiful …”

  “What did you see?” Ning asked in urgent tones, floating forward to hover near Leland, telling Augum that she had not been allowed to penetrate Esha’s mind.

  Leland and his ghoul shook their heads. “So beautiful … so … sad.” Leland tipped his head up at Esha. “You really have lived a long time. You really have …”

  “Details, my child, please!” Ning urged.

  Leland kept shaking his mangled head. “I … I couldn’t describe it if I tried,” his ghoul said. “Not even with my thoughts. There is too much there. Too much … feeling. I’m too young. Too young and stupid and simple.”

  Ning’s chair floated around Esha.

  “No, dear friend,” Esha said to Ning, answering what only she had heard. “One such as you must not be allowed to see, and must constrain yourself to only hear what comes from my lips.” A pause. “No, it would be too dangerous for you. Far too dangerous. You are wise, but constrained by the age
you live in. Some knowledge is a sunset that slips beyond the horizon of the mind.”

  A silence fell upon the group as taut as a bowstring, broken only by the feverish scratching of Herzog’s golden quill.

  Ning turned her back on Esha and floated to the portrait of Sabella the Midwife. “How I wish you would reconsider, Ancient One, for history needs you. So much of it is beyond the reach of even our finest scholars, scholars who are but candles in a dark and unfathomably vast cave.”

  Esha turned to face Sabella’s portrait as well. “When Sabella returned from a visit to the Seers, she said to a scholar, ‘We must not let ourselves fall into the trap of living in the past, but instead humble ourselves before the thing that matters most—”

  “—the moment,” Ning whispered along with Esha, staring at Sabella’s portrait. Augum noticed a tear rolling down her cheek. And then she asked the question surely so many of them were thinking. “Was the first Arcaner a woman?”

  “Perhaps.”

  Ning’s chair turned to her. “Then you know the answer.”

  “No age is ready for every answer.”

  “But the answer exists.”

  “Nosiqiuous ani enitrios.”

  Herzog graciously raised his mutter slightly for them. “… ‘Nosiqiuous ani enitrios,’ Esha the Dreadnought said, quoting an ancient Tiberran proverb that translates to knowledge is forever …”

  “And you believe that particular answer may skew the intended results,” Ning pressed.

  “Omnio incipus equa liberatus corsisi mei.”

  Ning sighed. “I believe I understand. The age we live in must earn the answer to even be able to understand the answer.” Her gaze wandered to the trio. “How appropriate,” then turned back to stare at Sabella the Midwife.

  For a time, only silence prevailed. Even the quill ceased scratching, that is until Bridget leaned against Olaf, and Leera against Augum. Augum drew Leera to him, dried her tears, and kissed her head. The quill catalogued it all, but Augum didn’t mind. And then, as if realizing they had been caught in a spell, he straightened and cleared his throat gently.