Mercy's Trial

by Sever Bronny

  The Ritual

  “Stop—!”

  The shout was so piercing and trembled with so much emotion that everyone froze. It took a moment for Augum to realize that it was Bridget who had shouted, her hands outstretched to both sides lest combat commenced.

  “It’s part of the ritual,” Bridget said as spears wavered near her face. “It’s part of the ritual …”

  “What is?” Katrina hissed, her face crimson, teeth clenched with rage. She and the emperor were surrounded by Golden Panthers.

  “Her death. And … and … one is required of you too—of an enemy of ours, that is.”

  “Then one has been achieved,” Gavinius said, indicating the body of a fallen Path Archon behind Katrina, who stepped aside. Lodged in the fallen enemy’s forehead was the letter opener. He was a young man in his early twenties—Maxine’s age.

  For a moment, all anyone could do was stare at the two bodies.

  “The Hallowed Trust has been broken,” the emperor declared, removing a cloth from his lips, “but seeing as that break fulfilled the requirements of the ritual, we can look upon the occurrence as—” He looked to an old and fat Path Disciple loitering with the soldiers. “—divine providence.”

  The man nodded. “The Unnameables have blessed this occurrence, Your Highness. The Fates have seen to restoring balance before us prior to the completion of the ritual. The Path has revealed a good road ahead.”

  “Excellent.” The emperor glanced over at the pile of ingredients. “And the offender has been slain. It seems that matters sometimes solve themselves. I hereby forgive the transgression so that we may continue unsoiled.” He flicked a finger at the fallen Path Archon, and after dispensing a prayer and signing skyward, two other Path Archons dragged the body over to the pile, placing it beside Maxine.

  As the spears lowered, Augum kneeled before Maxine. One by one, his friends joined him, their hands resting on each other’s backs as they lowered their heads in deep respect for this cantankerous woman who had given everything there was to give, all for a fragile hope that the Arcaners would come through and save the kingdom.

  Augum then shared the note with his friends. One by one, they burst with quiet sobs upon reading it. Maxine had never told them that she had a son, the information too painful to share.

  After his friends had read the note, Augum replaced it in Maxine’s hand. “I hope that, somehow, some way, you will be reunited with your son,” he whispered. Then he closed his eyes and squeezed her hand. “Thank you for your sacrifice. We will never forget it.”

  The others all whispered something similar. Hands were pressed to mouths as tears rolled down cheeks. Arms rested around each other, holding each other up.

  While the friends crouched around Maxine in mourning, the old Path Disciple waddled forth. “Path bless you,” he muttered before each Path Archon, signing skyward. “Path bless you.” When he finished, he stepped aside. “Prayers shall be uttered in your names in every house of worship in the empire. May the Unnameables light your path, the only path. Migoth masteros martyros!”

  “Might, mastery, martyrdom!” The Path Archons shouted back.

  Someone rang a handbell distantly, calling out, “The hour of midnight is upon us!”

  Augum swallowed. It was his birthday. He was now seventeen years old … and living in a nightmare. He glanced at the scene around him, feeling empty and lost. The enemy watched him closely, particularly the gray-haired Golden Panthers, who had returned to their places like predators settling back into their dens. Their gazes were cool and callous and unforgiving.

  Torches fluttered in a mild breeze, throwing shadows against the ancient cairn stones. And high above, a silver moon gleamed in a clear and starry sky.

  Augum’s gaze fell upon Esha, who had been watching him. Beside her, a muttering Herzog wore a grave expression, his tome floating nearby, quill chronicling history.

  Augum squeezed Leera to him. Time always claims its toll.

  When The Path Disciple stepped aside, Emperor Samuel Sepherin took his place.

  “My faithful Path Archons,” he began, voice rising so that all could hear. “A sacred duty calls. Perform that duty with pride and return to me with the might of the dragon so that we may bring about The Third Great Peace.” He placed his gaze on his son. “Return to me … victorious.”

  The Path Archons flashed their black arm rings and summoned their shields, emblazoned with the crimson castle and the motto Loyaltos fidelema ruthergara.

  “Loyalty, faith, ruthlessness!” they shouted as one.

  The emperor turned in place, his grotesque face bright in the torchlight. He looked to Esha and beckoned. “It is time.”

  Esha did not yet step to him. “You wish to learn from me, from what I have seen? Then know this, Emperor Samuel—throughout history, tyrants all too often have met bloody and cruel ends.”

  The emperor’s hand remained outstretched. “The ends are justified, Ancient One. The empire needs stability. The balance must be restored.”

  “What you fail to realize, Emperor, is the arbiter of the scales is himself imbalanced.”

  “You are ancient and wise, but you are still female and will mind your tongue.”

  “And if you wish to learn what I have to teach, Emperor Samuel, you shall follow through with the bargain in whole.”

  “And I intend to do so. One hundred thousand Solian lives shall be spared and the fugitives will be allowed to teleport to safety, which you shall observe with your own eyes. Now let us proceed, for you try my patience.”

  Esha looked to the friends, smiled bittersweetly, and went to stand beside the emperor.

  The Lord High Steward pressed his hands together in a prayer-like fashion. “Dragoon Stone,” he said in a gentle tone, “I am afraid it is time for you to fulfill your end of the bargain.”

  Augum rose to his feet, as did his friends. He reached into his rucksack, withdrew his Group Teleport scroll, and held it out for Cry. “I’m putting you in charge.”

  Cry glanced over at Brandon, Mary, Arthur and Herzog, who stood in a solemn group, before looking back to Augum. “M-me?”

  “You.” Brandon did not have the temperament for leadership. “Work together. Get them to safety. Stay out of sight until we return.”

  Cry stared at the scroll a moment before finally accepting it with trembling fingers. He looked up at Augum, who extended his hand. Cry took it, then clasped it with his other one, and Augum clasped his in turn with his other hand.

  “Good luck,” Augum said.

  “You too,” Cry whispered, swallowing. “You too …”

  Leera handed her Group Teleport scroll over to him as well then gave him a hug.

  After, Cry withdrew a small folded parchment and stepped to Haylee, extending it to her. “I … I wrote this for you.”

  She accepted it, staring at it.

  “I—” But she cut him off by drawing him into a hug. For a moment he only gaped, hands by his sides, before gently embracing her too.

  One by one, the others said their goodbyes, as did the enemy, whose Ordinaries and warlocks shook The Path Archons’ hands and wished them luck in the quest ahead.

  While Bridget tearfully hugged Brandon and Leera hugged Arthur, Mary stepped up to Augum and extended her hand, which he took, smiling bittersweetly at her.

  “That code of theirs means it’s practically their duty to cheat and lie to you,” she said, grip firm. “Don’t trust them.”

  “We won’t,” Augum said. “And … thank you.”

  She hugged him before moving on to shake Leera’s hand.

  Augum went to Brandon. “Hope you don’t mind me putting Cry in charge.”

  Brandon drew Augum into a hug. “I’ll deal with it. I’ll never forget your kindness in forgiving me. Good luck up there, and I can’t wait to see you all command some dragons. I only wish I could come along.”

  “I wish you could come along too,” Augum said as the pair clapped each other’s backs.
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  Augum next shook hands with Arthur. “Thank you for watching over Leera,” he said, and drew Arthur in for a hug, surprising him.

  “It was an honor,” Arthur replied, and when they drew apart, he winked and added, “Natch,” drawing a smile from Augum. And for good measure, he withdrew a pinch of salt and sprinkled it at Augum’s feet. “For the journey.”

  “Thanks. We can use all the luck there is.”

  Augum next stepped up to Rafael Herzog the Historian, who shook his hand. “May you soar on the wings of destiny,” the old man said, “and return to us safe and sound. Your story does not end with dragons, young man—it only begins.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Herzog. What are you going to do now?”

  “If they allow me, I shall continue to chronicle the Ancient One’s words, yes I will. And if they do not, I shall traipse back to the library and help as best as I can.” His perpetually wobbling head gave an extra skyward wobble. “I will watch the skies awaiting your return.”

  Augum then approached Esha, who stood with the Canterrans. The enemy’s eyes went hard when he stepped near, but he didn’t care. He was at a loss what to say to someone who was ten thousand years old, someone who had so kindly helped them.

  “I wish I had asked you more questions,” he finally blurted.

  “If you are truly curious, the answers can be found. They are in your libraries, in the minds of your mentors and teachers, in your friends, within the one you love, and they are inside you.” She flashed that bittersweet smile once more. “What I once said to you deep under the Black Castle of your birth, so I say again. Promise me, Augum Stone, that you shall live fully to the end of your days, and that you shall love deeper than the Canyons of Sabhatha and travel farther than the wandering sun in spirit and in mind. Promise me that you shall never stop learning, and that you shall remember my people, that we were once strong and whole, and that we too cried and laughed and loved and lost.”

  Augum’s fingers entwined with Leera’s, as she had joined him. “This I promise,” he whispered, chin trembling slightly.

  “I wish you a fulfilling life,” Esha went on, “and much luck in the difficult challenges that lay ahead, young brave warrior.”

  “Thank you, Esha, and good luck with the Canterrans.”

  “I have much to teach them. Whether they listen or not is another matter.” She looked to Maxine’s body, voice softening. “After so long a time, I now understand the lesson of the ritual. It is a reflection of other such sacrifices, a reminder for those in command, those who lead armies into battle, for with such deeds must come the responsibility of life and death, of suffering and hardship, of the agonized wail of the fatherless and motherless … and of love lost eternal.”

  She placed her ancient lioness gaze upon him once more. “You embody the struggle of those who lead others into battle, as your ancestor once did, for he too struggled with doing what he could with what he had. He too had to compromise and bargain and contend with failure. He too endeavored to transcend those failings. Thus, when he allowed my people to sleep, they crafted for him the blade hanging at your hip—Burden’s Edge. May you carry the blade to the end of your days, an eternal reminder of your own imperfections.”

  She inclined her head, and as a tear rolled down Augum’s cheek, he inclined his in turn.

  Augum, Bridget and Leera then put their sorrows aside to study the scroll for a final time. A phrase was involved, which Augum had to read aloud with perfect pronunciation and clarity. Then he had to touch each of the objects once. Something was supposed to happen after that, but the scroll was vague on what. He just had to make sure he was the last one to step through the portal. He studied the parchment with great focus, silently whispering the words of the ancient witch ritual over and over to himself, feeling filthy and compromised for having to do it, as if his soul would need a cleanse later.

  At long last, when Augum was as prepared as he could be and the Canterrans fidgeted with impatience, he kneeled before the ingredients pile, looked up at the bright moon, took a deep breath, and began reading from the page.

  “Ia, Dragoon Augum Arinthian Stone, cogni tos nei viktus comei vit sakres, kalla uenos o akienta wikka tei akesi tio duna barganera ata opa ei portus tei Ley. Des tio bes mio ento duna imbur, o gott ei rembrus au o burdeisi au var ata vin ia mat notta besius,” which apparently translated to I, Dragoon Augum Arinthian Stone, knowing that no victory comes without sacrifice, call on the ancient witch to accept this dark bargain and open a portal to Ley. May this be my last dark deed, the toll a reminder of the burdens of war and what I must not become.

  Augum then carefully placed a hand on each of the items—the vial of black nettle poison, the now uncovered tankard of ill-gotten mead, the bar of gold, the chunk of moonstone, the dragon bone, the spearfin squid beak, the black soul amulet, his golden Dreadnought breastplate, the body of The Path Archon and, lastly, the body of Maxine Matheson.

  The ground shook, making everyone assembled uneasy. The sand began to hiss and smoke until a huge crack split the earth asunder, nearly swallowing a Canterran soldier. For a short time, the pit glowed crimson and spewed steam.

  Suddenly a scaly hand shot up from the pit and nearby soldiers jumped back, many signing skyward while praying to the Unnameables.

  The hand scrabbled around like a snake’s tongue until it found purchase, and a witch hauled herself out of the pit. She wore black rags and her head was nothing but a tangle of black hair—there was no face to be seen. She sniffed at the ground like a dog, snarling and grumbling to herself in an unknown language that sounded harsh and vile.

  The damned and pitiful creature crawled forward and sniffed at Augum, who dared not move, then at the items before him. She snatched the gold bar and the chunk of moonstone first. Then, pressing the bars to her chest with one arm, she snatched the poison, cooing over it lovingly before tucking it away behind a tightly wrapped rag.

  She next picked up the dragon bone, sniffed it, and devoured it whole. She did the same with the squid beak, crunching loudly. Then she snatched the dark soul amulet and crushed it between the gold bar and chunk of moonstone. The crystal burst, releasing a ghostly figure that wailed like a banshee. She sniffed at it, inhaling the soul until it disappeared into her lungs.

  After grunting in satisfaction, she tossed the gold and moonstone into the pit. Then she sniffed at the tankard, picked it up, and drank greedily, emptying the contents in one go. Next she snatched the Dreadnought breastplate and scurried it back to the chasm, where she threw it in, disappearing it forever.

  Augum briefly closed his eyes and lowered his head in mourning, silently thanking the breastplate for serving him so well in the relatively short time they’d had together.

  The witch returned to sniff Maxine’s foot. But when she tried to touch her, she received a vicious shock and howled in agony. She moved on to the young Canterran Path Archon and tentatively whacked his shin. When she received no shock, she snatched the body by the leg and dragged it to her pit, throwing it in like a sack of potatoes while the Canterrans whispered more desperate prayers.

  But the witch wasn’t done. She crawled back to Augum and growled something while tapping his arm.

  A horrified Augum at once understood what she demanded and reluctantly summoned his shield. She took a swipe at it, ripping away some of its light and stuffing it down her gullet like a snack—and thus dimming it. Such was the price, which he accepted with bowed head. Then she raised a clawed hand and muttered something guttural. A portal burst to life nearby, shooting a fierce wind from it. She scurried back to her chasm and dove in. It closed behind her with a mighty crunch, leaving the portal … and Maxine’s body.

  Augum, knowing his price was but a trivial thing compared to the one Maxine had paid on their behalf, was relieved that her body—and by extension, her soul—had been left behind.

  He thought of the Final Valediction—May your soul find the peace together we could not reach—for she lay like a soldier on t
he field of battle, her life taken needlessly. Such was war. Had peace been reached, her sacrifice would not have been necessary.

  Brandon strode over to Maxine’s body and gently picked it up. “We’ll make sure she gets the funereal rights,” he said to the trio, and turned to walk away when Bridget placed a hand on his shoulder, staying him.

  “Thank you, Brandon.”

  He raised his chin, nodded, and took his place with the others.

  Meanwhile, The Path Archons began lining up before the portal. But none wanted to be the first to step through, as if fearing it led straight to Hell. After what they had witnessed, Augum feared the same.

  “I’ll be the one,” Haylee said, adding in a mutter, “sick of these long goodbyes anyway,” and she hobbled up to the portal and boldly stepped through, disappearing with a soft whoosh.

  A shaking Jengo was next, muttering something about how this was the craziest thing he was ever going to do. After nodding to himself repeatedly, he too stepped through.

  Half of The Path Archons went through next. Augum hoped they would stick to their end of the bargain and not attack the badly outnumbered friends on the other side.

  Bridget and Olaf, holding hands, stepped up to the portal to take their turn. Bridget looked to the friends who could not come and mouthed, “Safe journey.” They waved back at her and mouthed the same. She looked to Maxine, held in Brandon’s arms, closed her eyes in thanks for her sacrifice, and stepped through the portal holding Olaf’s hand.

  The remaining Path Archons stepped through after them, with Gavinius bowing toward his father before following.

  Augum led Leera up to the windy portal. She turned to their group of friends, pressed her hands against her lips, and sent kisses their way, mouthing, “Farewell and good luck!” They waved back and wished her farewell. She took a deep breath, gave Augum’s hand a squeeze, and disappeared through the portal.

  And finally came Augum’s turn. He first laid eyes on the lifeless body of brave Maxine and wished her soul a restful sleep. Then he made eye contact with each of his compatriots in turn—Brandon, shaggy hair askew, face troubled and distant; little Mary, blonde hair a mess, cheeks stained with tears; a nodding and proud Arthur; a somber-faced Cry, the Group Teleport scrolls pressed tightly to his chest; the old historian, head bobbing uncontrollably; and finally ten-thousand-year-old Esha, lioness face knowing and serene.