-
Sign up or login, and you'll have full access to opportunities of forum.
Every Shadow Burns My Face
- Thread starter malins
- Start date
malins
Stumbling Seeker
Well there are many different creeds and churches in this setting but I'd guess tucked away somewhere in their scriptures they all have a line like "what is dead can never die" ...
malins
Stumbling Seeker
IN THE BALANCE (2)
The sergeant stopped banging on the discarded kettle-hat he'd picked up.
"I see you are getting a bit carried away here lads. I trust you have with you, the 'Note Of Permission To Use The Instrument?'"
Embarrassed silence.
Then, "It's a spy, caught last night, going up on the stake tomorrow, so …"
"Notice of Condemnation, then?"
He flattened out the crumpled sheet handed to him.
"Girl trespassed into the woods around the citadel, hence sentenced on the spot as a spy. Good. That's the one."
"I'm afraid I'll have to take your plaything with me."
"You will surely have heard that all sentences to the death have been made subject to review by the Crown... and our Regent has expressly asked for any caught last night around the citadel."
"So unbind the wretch and go about some useful business. I'm sure latrines need digging. Leave the whipping to the whipmasters if you don't want to feel a strap on your own mangy hides! "
He tossed the kettle-hat towards the guardsman who had to drop his whip to catch it with both hands.
Moments later the girl's shivering body dropped into the dirt.
‘Army of Righteousness’ my ass. Rabble of Rapscallions more likely!' he mumbled under his breath.
Soon afterwards, they were on their way.
Him impatiently prodding the girl forward with his staff.
Out of the encampment and uphill to where the Court Itinerant had pitched its tents.
Blood seeping through her shift that had been drawn back down, stumbling, skinning her knees.
He let her sob, but no pleading and no questions and no resting on the way – any of that got her a knock with the staff.
Regardless of condition he wasn't in the business of comforting condemned wretches, and the Regent would do with this one as she saw fit.
On the way up, she kept her eyes down.
Kept them down as she was handed over to men of the Queensguard (shiny boots with silver buttons!) and only raised them when they approached the tent, and she was turned over again.
"I'll take care of her. Oh what have they done to you, come inside... The Lady will be angry about this mistreatment..."
Her eyes met those of another girl, of similar age, the familiar look of the land, and to her surprise a manner of speech of the very same countryside she'd herself been raised in.
Before the fields burned and the wells fouled up with corpses.
Forcing her to flee penniless and breadless for Caridiulte... a town grown full of strangers speaking strange tongues.
All the men who'd caught, condemned, taunted and tormented her had each been from some other foreign fearsome far-off place, when she had lived all her life confined within one of the lazy bends of the great river Antamhurd.
Her face lightened up; “are you …”, cleared her throat still hoarse from painful cries, "...somewhere round from Vincodsemi way?"
Holding open the flap of the tent, "Come in, we'll have you feeling better soon! Sbirute is where I'm from."
"Oh! you wouldn't be... one of the..."
"Whom the call 'The ‘Seven of Sbirute?’ Yes, I have my life due to the goodness of the Lady Tsilsne who spared me from the pyre. “
”But I didn't have anywhere to go, I'm not from a rich family like the others. I was afraid Count Irion's men would hunt me down for revenge but the Lady in her kindness took me in."
So a plain girl condemned to death could be saved.
Hope leapt up in her heart. But …
... it was one thing to be sentenced by the wrath of an Ondriscensu witch-hunter and saved by his sworn enemy ... the very woman whom many called the witch-queen…
... another to have fallen foul of that queen’s own decrees...
They exchanged their names, and those of their gods, as you do when first meeting.
Two plain girls, Neiri from Vincodsemi and Vnatae from Sbirute, and they found they had sometimes worshiped at the same stones.
"Now we'll carefully get this thing off of you. We've got to get you cleaned up before the Lady will see you."
"Believe me, if your heart is pure you will find her the well-spring of mercy and forgiveness."
A city of tents had sprung up here on the hill, each connected to the next it seemed, and the servant-girl from Sbirute led Neiri into the next compartment, full of steamy fragrant warmth billowing out, where a great tub was set upon wooden beams.
Beside it another young woman, kneeling on a cushion.
Her wide-sleeved white dress elaborately embroidered around the hems and neckline.
She looked up at Neiri with cloud-grey eyes and smiled, welcoming.
Her light-brown hair open and falling all the way to the ground, parted and ready to be braided.
Beside her lay gleaming white a coarse-toothed comb carved from what must be some precious substance, perhaps elven-bone.
Most likely tending to her hair, was Vnatae's task that my coming has interrupted …
This one again a foreigner, and about the glow of her skin and the elegance of her perfect slender limbs was that certain look of one who, while they might have run long days of errands for most their life – they never been stunted by famine or marked by pestilence.
She rose from her seat, introduced herself politely with an unfamiliar name that to Neiri's ear sounded like 'me-rush-in-tsah' and took over from Vnatae.
With a tug on a cord she rang a bell and moments later yet another girl appeared, poured a pot of steaming water into the basin, and silently withdrew.
Lots of servant-maids here, thought Neiri.
She felt reassured though, the rumor would not be true that the 'witch-queen' gathered up maids so she could drain them out and bathe in their blood to keep her skin milk-white and perfect, forever free of wrinkle or blemish – these were not doomed captives.
Maybe she didn't drain people's blood in general.
Everyone said she had done that to the Galishad, but who knew, who was there?
Some joked grimly that the war had come down to a duel of bloodsuckers.
The Witch-Queen pitched against the Witchfinder Count.
One worse than the other, as the land was bled white and drained of all life.
but who could tell...
"It always hurts a bit going into the bath when you've been freshly whipped but there's plenty of healing herb in there and I promise it will be much better afterwards", the girl with the long open hair said in a lilting voice, slowly pulling away Neiri's filthy ragged shift, peeling the fabric away carefully where it stuck to bloody welts.
That does sound like someone speaking from experience though!
Neiri stepped in, the abused skin on her thighs and backside taut, hot and aching as she raised a leg, and gingerly settled into the warm water.
Relieved that she could sink beneath a soap-bubbled waterline to conceal the scarred brand of old punishment.
Tender fingertips applied soothing salve and a soft-spoken voice assured her that the welts would heal without leaving a scar.
But they want to grab me spread my legs and shove me down on a sharpened stake tomorrow at the crack of dawn!
What would welts or whip-marks matter!
They held her, let her cry, comforted her.
Rest and relief was what the next hours were about.
But then everything happened quickly.
The Lady does not rest in her service to the Throne, many are her duties and obligations, one of them is to ensure that Justice does not have its reputation stained.
Let her see through you, she has the gift of discerning who belongs to the light and who is born of darkness!
Be honest, confess anything there is to confess, then surely all will be good!
...now it's time.
So said the two whom she'd begun to see as newly found friends.
Quick, a pull here and there, hair tied together, and out she was led, clothed in smooth fabric finer than anything she'd ever been within arm's length of before, never mind getting to wear it!
She exited the tent with eyes down again, the same as when she'd entered.
Still a prisoner, same as when she’d entered, and therefore – hands behind her back, iron shackles closed around her wrists.
Sorry!
They were padded with leather but still chafed, as the soft skin on the underside of her wrists was rubbed raw from hanging and squirming at the post.
Heart pounding, mouth dry.
Everything at stake, her life in the balance.
As unfitting as it seemed … in that moment she recalled the smell from the basket, full of freshly gathered mushrooms.
The basket left behind when she'd flown in panic from the apparition that burst forth from the forest soil.
Head over heels!
Right into the arms of the guardsmen.
The basket would still be sitting there.
Only last night!
And tomorrow I die.
Unless I am pure to the eye of this witch-queen... of whom they say, she sees through all deceit?
The sergeant stopped banging on the discarded kettle-hat he'd picked up.
"I see you are getting a bit carried away here lads. I trust you have with you, the 'Note Of Permission To Use The Instrument?'"
Embarrassed silence.
Then, "It's a spy, caught last night, going up on the stake tomorrow, so …"
"Notice of Condemnation, then?"
He flattened out the crumpled sheet handed to him.
"Girl trespassed into the woods around the citadel, hence sentenced on the spot as a spy. Good. That's the one."
"I'm afraid I'll have to take your plaything with me."
"You will surely have heard that all sentences to the death have been made subject to review by the Crown... and our Regent has expressly asked for any caught last night around the citadel."
"So unbind the wretch and go about some useful business. I'm sure latrines need digging. Leave the whipping to the whipmasters if you don't want to feel a strap on your own mangy hides! "
He tossed the kettle-hat towards the guardsman who had to drop his whip to catch it with both hands.
Moments later the girl's shivering body dropped into the dirt.
‘Army of Righteousness’ my ass. Rabble of Rapscallions more likely!' he mumbled under his breath.
Soon afterwards, they were on their way.
Him impatiently prodding the girl forward with his staff.
Out of the encampment and uphill to where the Court Itinerant had pitched its tents.
Blood seeping through her shift that had been drawn back down, stumbling, skinning her knees.
He let her sob, but no pleading and no questions and no resting on the way – any of that got her a knock with the staff.
Regardless of condition he wasn't in the business of comforting condemned wretches, and the Regent would do with this one as she saw fit.
On the way up, she kept her eyes down.
Kept them down as she was handed over to men of the Queensguard (shiny boots with silver buttons!) and only raised them when they approached the tent, and she was turned over again.
"I'll take care of her. Oh what have they done to you, come inside... The Lady will be angry about this mistreatment..."
Her eyes met those of another girl, of similar age, the familiar look of the land, and to her surprise a manner of speech of the very same countryside she'd herself been raised in.
Before the fields burned and the wells fouled up with corpses.
Forcing her to flee penniless and breadless for Caridiulte... a town grown full of strangers speaking strange tongues.
All the men who'd caught, condemned, taunted and tormented her had each been from some other foreign fearsome far-off place, when she had lived all her life confined within one of the lazy bends of the great river Antamhurd.
Her face lightened up; “are you …”, cleared her throat still hoarse from painful cries, "...somewhere round from Vincodsemi way?"
Holding open the flap of the tent, "Come in, we'll have you feeling better soon! Sbirute is where I'm from."
"Oh! you wouldn't be... one of the..."
"Whom the call 'The ‘Seven of Sbirute?’ Yes, I have my life due to the goodness of the Lady Tsilsne who spared me from the pyre. “
”But I didn't have anywhere to go, I'm not from a rich family like the others. I was afraid Count Irion's men would hunt me down for revenge but the Lady in her kindness took me in."
So a plain girl condemned to death could be saved.
Hope leapt up in her heart. But …
... it was one thing to be sentenced by the wrath of an Ondriscensu witch-hunter and saved by his sworn enemy ... the very woman whom many called the witch-queen…
... another to have fallen foul of that queen’s own decrees...
They exchanged their names, and those of their gods, as you do when first meeting.
Two plain girls, Neiri from Vincodsemi and Vnatae from Sbirute, and they found they had sometimes worshiped at the same stones.
"Now we'll carefully get this thing off of you. We've got to get you cleaned up before the Lady will see you."
"Believe me, if your heart is pure you will find her the well-spring of mercy and forgiveness."
A city of tents had sprung up here on the hill, each connected to the next it seemed, and the servant-girl from Sbirute led Neiri into the next compartment, full of steamy fragrant warmth billowing out, where a great tub was set upon wooden beams.
Beside it another young woman, kneeling on a cushion.
Her wide-sleeved white dress elaborately embroidered around the hems and neckline.
She looked up at Neiri with cloud-grey eyes and smiled, welcoming.
Her light-brown hair open and falling all the way to the ground, parted and ready to be braided.
Beside her lay gleaming white a coarse-toothed comb carved from what must be some precious substance, perhaps elven-bone.
Most likely tending to her hair, was Vnatae's task that my coming has interrupted …
This one again a foreigner, and about the glow of her skin and the elegance of her perfect slender limbs was that certain look of one who, while they might have run long days of errands for most their life – they never been stunted by famine or marked by pestilence.
She rose from her seat, introduced herself politely with an unfamiliar name that to Neiri's ear sounded like 'me-rush-in-tsah' and took over from Vnatae.
With a tug on a cord she rang a bell and moments later yet another girl appeared, poured a pot of steaming water into the basin, and silently withdrew.
Lots of servant-maids here, thought Neiri.
She felt reassured though, the rumor would not be true that the 'witch-queen' gathered up maids so she could drain them out and bathe in their blood to keep her skin milk-white and perfect, forever free of wrinkle or blemish – these were not doomed captives.
Maybe she didn't drain people's blood in general.
Everyone said she had done that to the Galishad, but who knew, who was there?
Some joked grimly that the war had come down to a duel of bloodsuckers.
The Witch-Queen pitched against the Witchfinder Count.
One worse than the other, as the land was bled white and drained of all life.
but who could tell...
"It always hurts a bit going into the bath when you've been freshly whipped but there's plenty of healing herb in there and I promise it will be much better afterwards", the girl with the long open hair said in a lilting voice, slowly pulling away Neiri's filthy ragged shift, peeling the fabric away carefully where it stuck to bloody welts.
That does sound like someone speaking from experience though!
Neiri stepped in, the abused skin on her thighs and backside taut, hot and aching as she raised a leg, and gingerly settled into the warm water.
Relieved that she could sink beneath a soap-bubbled waterline to conceal the scarred brand of old punishment.
Tender fingertips applied soothing salve and a soft-spoken voice assured her that the welts would heal without leaving a scar.
But they want to grab me spread my legs and shove me down on a sharpened stake tomorrow at the crack of dawn!
What would welts or whip-marks matter!
They held her, let her cry, comforted her.
Rest and relief was what the next hours were about.
But then everything happened quickly.
The Lady does not rest in her service to the Throne, many are her duties and obligations, one of them is to ensure that Justice does not have its reputation stained.
Let her see through you, she has the gift of discerning who belongs to the light and who is born of darkness!
Be honest, confess anything there is to confess, then surely all will be good!
...now it's time.
So said the two whom she'd begun to see as newly found friends.
Quick, a pull here and there, hair tied together, and out she was led, clothed in smooth fabric finer than anything she'd ever been within arm's length of before, never mind getting to wear it!
She exited the tent with eyes down again, the same as when she'd entered.
Still a prisoner, same as when she’d entered, and therefore – hands behind her back, iron shackles closed around her wrists.
Sorry!
They were padded with leather but still chafed, as the soft skin on the underside of her wrists was rubbed raw from hanging and squirming at the post.
Heart pounding, mouth dry.
Everything at stake, her life in the balance.
As unfitting as it seemed … in that moment she recalled the smell from the basket, full of freshly gathered mushrooms.
The basket left behind when she'd flown in panic from the apparition that burst forth from the forest soil.
Head over heels!
Right into the arms of the guardsmen.
The basket would still be sitting there.
Only last night!
And tomorrow I die.
Unless I am pure to the eye of this witch-queen... of whom they say, she sees through all deceit?
Last edited:
J
Juan1234
Guest
This story began at a time when I was rarely on the forums, so I've missed it until now. I think I'm about halfway through so far and can't wait to be caught up. The writing is so beautiful! You breathe so much life and heart into a story that I think most would find difficult to articulate at all. Really excellent stuff!
malins
Stumbling Seeker
Thanks for the comments & encouragement and it's great to see some new readers going at this undeterred by the length & admitted convolutedness of it. @Juan1234 when you started on it some time ago I followed the alerts and reread it myself ... finding the parts I'm satisfied with all in all outweighed the ones I'm frustrated with and going through the existing text kind of helped me let go of the defunct attempts I'd made to continue when I got blocked, and reboot it.
I've been knocked out the last couple of days but regular service will soon resume
J
Juan1234
Guest
Hope you’re feeling better soon! And I’m pleased and honored to have played some small part in bringing you back to this magnificent story!Thanks for the comments & encouragement and it's great to see some new readers going at this undeterred by the length & admitted convolutedness of it. @Juan1234 when you started on it some time ago I followed the alerts and reread it myself ... finding the parts I'm satisfied with all in all outweighed the ones I'm frustrated with and going through the existing text kind of helped me let go of the defunct attempts I'd made to continue when I got blocked, and reboot it.
I've been knocked out the last couple of days but regular service will soon resume
malins
Stumbling Seeker
IN THE BALANCE (3)
(or, a slight reprise of FEATHERS AND BLADES)
“The Lady does not rest in her service to the Throne, many are her duties and obligations…”
She would not blame any observer though if they judged instead, that she spent most of her time idle.
Relaxing baths, long walks, visits to the sacred stones and not to forget night-time excursions!
But during all this, her thoughts turned over until they finally settled into a conclusion.
And one conclusion led to another.
And a chain of conclusions … to a fateful decision.
One conclusion she was reaching now concerned the sentences.
Three weeks ago she had started reviewing all pending executions in the conquered territories on the right bank of the River Antamhurd.
Not out of any sympathy with criminals or enemies of the Crown.
It had just become too conspicuous that after extending her rule to the lands of Ondriscensu, the newly installed governors, deputies, and all manners of side-switching barons who had quickly declared loyalty… they produced a constant stream of freshly caught spies and Abominables who very very urgently needed to be put to death. On the other hand, crimes like robbery, manslaughter, or theft – where the wronged party would not be Crown or God or Order of the World but someone who at least might have relations or witnesses to testify – those offenses only increased where public order was faltering such as in the overcrowded town of Caridiulte.
The accusations of ‘professing the Double Abomination’ for instance were deeply questionable.
Many judged the Ondriscensu family harshly for their obsession with persecuting malevolent witches … none more so than herself!
They had defined anything other than a Malevolent out of existence with the perfidy of their interrogations – but they had descended into that frenzy only after delivering for generations the perfect example of keeping a land free of the burden of Unspeakable Cults, and all who professed the Abominations. Their motto of ‘Discipline and Devotion’ was toward that goal, and bound them ever since the days of Grasul Vutaric, one of the very founders of the Outstamper order near two hundred years ago. Not that Tsilsne as a child of the North cared too much about that, but it was a fact that in these lands, there had been hardly a whisper of such evil-doings for generations.
Perhaps the people of these lands had for long accepted the overzealous witch-hunts as a necessary price for the relief from the Abominables and roving heretics that plagued most other estates.
Perhaps the later scions of Ondriscensu had fixated on tormenting witches beyond all measure, for the lack of anything else to exterminate?
But now supposedly the Abominables were springing up like mushrooms!
Why would so many become eager to wage war on the Gods when mostly people were tired of war among Mankind already.
Actually the small handful of such heretics that might exist here had crossed over with her own army! … it was near unavoidable when you recruited from all quarters of the wind...
These convictions were false.
The truth was … the long rule of an iron fist had suppressed a thousand grievances that now longed to be settled.
Unforgiven insults, abductions and assassinations to avenge, land to claw back …
...and what easier way to take revenge, than a quick accusation, let the killing be done by the new ruler … who then also earned the burden of enmity!
She would not let her authority be abused to settle scores she did not care for, that would only breed implacable foes!
Sometimes it went even beyond that.
Yesterday’s batch of sentences included a whole dozen whores, all supposedly spies serving Count Irion, and on top of that disrespecters of Crown, Honor, and Order: it was said they had engaged in perverse games impersonating various ladies of great renown, to be abused while playing that theater … including such emulating my own person!
Whores were not permitted to ply their trade within the camp of the Army of Righteousness - that came without saying – but when found, they were whipped naked out of camp, furthermore branded if marks from a previous whipping were still recognizable, but that was it. Not staked.
But these of course were spies!
Yes - the occasional girl might seek to bed an officer of the army and pass on something she overheard to minions of the Count, for a few extra coins.
But wasn’t it very suspicious that someone would want to provoke her into allowing twelve girls, probably young and nice to look at but with a recent history of misfortune, to be taken and impaled outside the city gates?
Not four weeks after she had saved seven girls off of Ondriscensu pyres?
Was treason and disrespect of the Crown not more likely to be found in the heart of the judge here, than the poor girls? A saboteur might be at work!
Whatever the aim was, the result could only be one…
...to blot out among the people any admiration she had earned, with disgust for such cruelty.
“Treason all around me! Traitors everywhere!” – that’s what a king would exclaim shortly before losing his mind and spiraling to downfall, in one of the legendary plays of old.
The loyalty of those serving her was for the most part unquestionable. It’s why I chose them!
Still, treason did lurk.
Each garden will have its serpent, and it could creep up close… and perhaps take the shape of someone like a certain Counselor Oavid?
With his sneaky suggestions how to solve the issue of provisioning for Caridiulte ... a town overburdened with refugees and soldiers camping outside its gates, and undersupplied by back-country that had largely been cleansed of its peasantry.
“If the townspeople rose in rebellion against Your Highness, certainly it would be Your good right to have its illoyal populace driven into the desolation, after having granted mercy once before?”
Certainly so but even a bloodhound’s nose could not sniff out any hint of rebellion as it was!
Well he had actually dared to suggest staging a rebellion. So as to rid us of mouths to feed.
And it would have to be a convincing threat, that her local allies would not desert her out of revulsion for condemning thousands!
Ah but inside a deception could be wrapped another, would not the secret preparations for a pretend rebellion provide perfect cover for instigating a very real palace revolt?
So!
It was time for decisions.
First, off with Oavid’s head.
If he was still to be found!
I should have sent one of the silent Zubali knifemen for him last night!
But there had been other obligations to fulfill…
Then, the sentences.
Their number billowing as if to taunt her!
Decreed from today: Anyone who passed sentences found frivolous by the Regent would, with the second such transgression, be forced to endure whichever was the worst punishment they had mandated!
Still she was uncertain of the most fateful decision.
Withdraw from the ineffectual siege of Count Irion’s castle … and so, cede to the enemy, the momentum and initiative in the war. And mark much of the fighting and sacrifice of the last year a pointless sacrifice.
Or, commit the army on the slim chance of an assault. On the grounds of … revelation from a dream-journey?
She opened her eyes and took in the patterns of symbols formed by the ‘speaking stones’ she had cast.
Not something she was supposed to have upon her, but who would object, the priests of the Temple of Rún who had already condemned her?
Ah yes, they know, these stones.
But never say all.
The Tower, the Sword, the Overturned Crown and the Black Sun.
The latter two being designs that existed only once each among the three hundred sixty designs represented on the faces of the stones.
Certainly this looked forward to the eclipse at the next New Moon, which of course was predicted years in advance by the stargazers’ tabulations of the celestial bodies, but would be an auspicious moment for an assault on the citadel.
The stones held out the promise that would put an end to a noble’s rule … but whose?
The current impasse though, would bring about defeat with certainty...
The Whore, the Twins, and the Axe.
Well. I shall have a closer look at that dozen of condemned girls then. I can’t quite make sense of this but perhaps things will fall into place when seeing them. If I find among them a pair of twins, perhaps it is those who are a true danger?
The Messenger and the Heart of Gold…
she would ask Stadmar how his interrogations had been going…
She decided there were no other revelations to glean from the fall of the stones – it was important to not gaze at their patterns for long as you would mislead yourself, trying to fit their hints to your expectations.
So she rolled up the stones into their leather pouch and rose from her cross-legged pose in the grass.
As she turned back towards the cluster of tents, something iridescent shimmering between the green blades caught her eye.
She reached for it and pulled out a magnificent feather, long enough to go from her elbow to her fingertips.
Obsidian black, with rainbow colors rippling as she turned it in the light.
This was nothing that could have come from the birds nesting in the nearby wetlands of Vasifenneya.
It was a gift of the night. And a reminder of a promise she had made.
With a smile she tucked it into the silken sash that held her gown closed.
When she came down upon the tents, Mirasintsa, the new maid Vnatae, and an out-of-place looking officer of the Queensguard stood waiting … with the prisoner about whom she’d inquired.
A scrawny, scared-looking girl, eyes downcast, arms behind her back.
The guardsman launched into the usual litany of titles and claims; she cut him off with a gesture of her hand.
As easily as she could cut the thread of a life.
The girl, unsure how to act in the presence of highest royalty, knelt, then looked up at the Regent’s face for a moment.
Who returned as slight smile to her.
The girl herself froze in the moment, then her mouth fell open a little, her eyes turned back into her head and she rolled limply over on her side.
Tsilsne looked to the others, in an exaggerated expression of surprise, and shrugged.
“So I have today become a species of Basilisk.”
“Or else, have you out of mischief filled the ears of this wretch with tales of terror?”
“Now go Mirasintsa and fetch me the smelling salts.”
“And, the papers of her case please. Then leave me alone with her.”
When her orders had been fulfilled, Tsilsne waited, the girl’s head in her lap.
Shielding her face from the summer sun drawing towards noon, until she felt the flutter of the girl’s eyelashes against the palm of her hand, as Neiri awoke.
(or, a slight reprise of FEATHERS AND BLADES)
“The Lady does not rest in her service to the Throne, many are her duties and obligations…”
She would not blame any observer though if they judged instead, that she spent most of her time idle.
Relaxing baths, long walks, visits to the sacred stones and not to forget night-time excursions!
But during all this, her thoughts turned over until they finally settled into a conclusion.
And one conclusion led to another.
And a chain of conclusions … to a fateful decision.
One conclusion she was reaching now concerned the sentences.
Three weeks ago she had started reviewing all pending executions in the conquered territories on the right bank of the River Antamhurd.
Not out of any sympathy with criminals or enemies of the Crown.
It had just become too conspicuous that after extending her rule to the lands of Ondriscensu, the newly installed governors, deputies, and all manners of side-switching barons who had quickly declared loyalty… they produced a constant stream of freshly caught spies and Abominables who very very urgently needed to be put to death. On the other hand, crimes like robbery, manslaughter, or theft – where the wronged party would not be Crown or God or Order of the World but someone who at least might have relations or witnesses to testify – those offenses only increased where public order was faltering such as in the overcrowded town of Caridiulte.
The accusations of ‘professing the Double Abomination’ for instance were deeply questionable.
Many judged the Ondriscensu family harshly for their obsession with persecuting malevolent witches … none more so than herself!
They had defined anything other than a Malevolent out of existence with the perfidy of their interrogations – but they had descended into that frenzy only after delivering for generations the perfect example of keeping a land free of the burden of Unspeakable Cults, and all who professed the Abominations. Their motto of ‘Discipline and Devotion’ was toward that goal, and bound them ever since the days of Grasul Vutaric, one of the very founders of the Outstamper order near two hundred years ago. Not that Tsilsne as a child of the North cared too much about that, but it was a fact that in these lands, there had been hardly a whisper of such evil-doings for generations.
Perhaps the people of these lands had for long accepted the overzealous witch-hunts as a necessary price for the relief from the Abominables and roving heretics that plagued most other estates.
Perhaps the later scions of Ondriscensu had fixated on tormenting witches beyond all measure, for the lack of anything else to exterminate?
But now supposedly the Abominables were springing up like mushrooms!
Why would so many become eager to wage war on the Gods when mostly people were tired of war among Mankind already.
Actually the small handful of such heretics that might exist here had crossed over with her own army! … it was near unavoidable when you recruited from all quarters of the wind...
These convictions were false.
The truth was … the long rule of an iron fist had suppressed a thousand grievances that now longed to be settled.
Unforgiven insults, abductions and assassinations to avenge, land to claw back …
...and what easier way to take revenge, than a quick accusation, let the killing be done by the new ruler … who then also earned the burden of enmity!
She would not let her authority be abused to settle scores she did not care for, that would only breed implacable foes!
Sometimes it went even beyond that.
Yesterday’s batch of sentences included a whole dozen whores, all supposedly spies serving Count Irion, and on top of that disrespecters of Crown, Honor, and Order: it was said they had engaged in perverse games impersonating various ladies of great renown, to be abused while playing that theater … including such emulating my own person!
Whores were not permitted to ply their trade within the camp of the Army of Righteousness - that came without saying – but when found, they were whipped naked out of camp, furthermore branded if marks from a previous whipping were still recognizable, but that was it. Not staked.
But these of course were spies!
Yes - the occasional girl might seek to bed an officer of the army and pass on something she overheard to minions of the Count, for a few extra coins.
But wasn’t it very suspicious that someone would want to provoke her into allowing twelve girls, probably young and nice to look at but with a recent history of misfortune, to be taken and impaled outside the city gates?
Not four weeks after she had saved seven girls off of Ondriscensu pyres?
Was treason and disrespect of the Crown not more likely to be found in the heart of the judge here, than the poor girls? A saboteur might be at work!
Whatever the aim was, the result could only be one…
...to blot out among the people any admiration she had earned, with disgust for such cruelty.
“Treason all around me! Traitors everywhere!” – that’s what a king would exclaim shortly before losing his mind and spiraling to downfall, in one of the legendary plays of old.
The loyalty of those serving her was for the most part unquestionable. It’s why I chose them!
Still, treason did lurk.
Each garden will have its serpent, and it could creep up close… and perhaps take the shape of someone like a certain Counselor Oavid?
With his sneaky suggestions how to solve the issue of provisioning for Caridiulte ... a town overburdened with refugees and soldiers camping outside its gates, and undersupplied by back-country that had largely been cleansed of its peasantry.
“If the townspeople rose in rebellion against Your Highness, certainly it would be Your good right to have its illoyal populace driven into the desolation, after having granted mercy once before?”
Certainly so but even a bloodhound’s nose could not sniff out any hint of rebellion as it was!
Well he had actually dared to suggest staging a rebellion. So as to rid us of mouths to feed.
And it would have to be a convincing threat, that her local allies would not desert her out of revulsion for condemning thousands!
Ah but inside a deception could be wrapped another, would not the secret preparations for a pretend rebellion provide perfect cover for instigating a very real palace revolt?
So!
It was time for decisions.
First, off with Oavid’s head.
If he was still to be found!
I should have sent one of the silent Zubali knifemen for him last night!
But there had been other obligations to fulfill…
Then, the sentences.
Their number billowing as if to taunt her!
Decreed from today: Anyone who passed sentences found frivolous by the Regent would, with the second such transgression, be forced to endure whichever was the worst punishment they had mandated!
Still she was uncertain of the most fateful decision.
Withdraw from the ineffectual siege of Count Irion’s castle … and so, cede to the enemy, the momentum and initiative in the war. And mark much of the fighting and sacrifice of the last year a pointless sacrifice.
Or, commit the army on the slim chance of an assault. On the grounds of … revelation from a dream-journey?
* * * * *
She opened her eyes and took in the patterns of symbols formed by the ‘speaking stones’ she had cast.
Not something she was supposed to have upon her, but who would object, the priests of the Temple of Rún who had already condemned her?
Ah yes, they know, these stones.
But never say all.
The Tower, the Sword, the Overturned Crown and the Black Sun.
The latter two being designs that existed only once each among the three hundred sixty designs represented on the faces of the stones.
Certainly this looked forward to the eclipse at the next New Moon, which of course was predicted years in advance by the stargazers’ tabulations of the celestial bodies, but would be an auspicious moment for an assault on the citadel.
The stones held out the promise that would put an end to a noble’s rule … but whose?
The current impasse though, would bring about defeat with certainty...
The Whore, the Twins, and the Axe.
Well. I shall have a closer look at that dozen of condemned girls then. I can’t quite make sense of this but perhaps things will fall into place when seeing them. If I find among them a pair of twins, perhaps it is those who are a true danger?
The Messenger and the Heart of Gold…
she would ask Stadmar how his interrogations had been going…
She decided there were no other revelations to glean from the fall of the stones – it was important to not gaze at their patterns for long as you would mislead yourself, trying to fit their hints to your expectations.
So she rolled up the stones into their leather pouch and rose from her cross-legged pose in the grass.
As she turned back towards the cluster of tents, something iridescent shimmering between the green blades caught her eye.
She reached for it and pulled out a magnificent feather, long enough to go from her elbow to her fingertips.
Obsidian black, with rainbow colors rippling as she turned it in the light.
This was nothing that could have come from the birds nesting in the nearby wetlands of Vasifenneya.
It was a gift of the night. And a reminder of a promise she had made.
With a smile she tucked it into the silken sash that held her gown closed.
* * * * *
When she came down upon the tents, Mirasintsa, the new maid Vnatae, and an out-of-place looking officer of the Queensguard stood waiting … with the prisoner about whom she’d inquired.
A scrawny, scared-looking girl, eyes downcast, arms behind her back.
The guardsman launched into the usual litany of titles and claims; she cut him off with a gesture of her hand.
As easily as she could cut the thread of a life.
The girl, unsure how to act in the presence of highest royalty, knelt, then looked up at the Regent’s face for a moment.
Who returned as slight smile to her.
The girl herself froze in the moment, then her mouth fell open a little, her eyes turned back into her head and she rolled limply over on her side.
Tsilsne looked to the others, in an exaggerated expression of surprise, and shrugged.
“So I have today become a species of Basilisk.”
“Or else, have you out of mischief filled the ears of this wretch with tales of terror?”
“Now go Mirasintsa and fetch me the smelling salts.”
“And, the papers of her case please. Then leave me alone with her.”
When her orders had been fulfilled, Tsilsne waited, the girl’s head in her lap.
Shielding her face from the summer sun drawing towards noon, until she felt the flutter of the girl’s eyelashes against the palm of her hand, as Neiri awoke.
Last edited:
Migoz2
Senator
I am now caught up. And utterly enraptured by this twisting, elusive, fascinating, enthralling tale. Superb work!
There have been times reading this when the richness, inventiveness and complexity put me in mind of Steven Erikson's Malazan Book of the Fallen series. And I actually have no higher praise for it than that comparison. If you are new to this, as I was, I cannot recommend strongly enough that you find a few hours of spare time and read it from the beginning.
There have been times reading this when the richness, inventiveness and complexity put me in mind of Steven Erikson's Malazan Book of the Fallen series. And I actually have no higher praise for it than that comparison. If you are new to this, as I was, I cannot recommend strongly enough that you find a few hours of spare time and read it from the beginning.
J
Juan1234
Guest
I've finally caught up and cannot wait to read more! There is something truly special about this one, Malins!
malins
Stumbling Seeker
Anyway I now have to confess that I've neither read nor ever heard of Malazan / Book of the Fallen...
I guess there are some practical reasons why my story has developed the way it has - while I know roughly where it needs to go there is no real outline. So switching POVs and timelines gives me a way to attack it from different angles because writing it through linearly from one perspective just seems too boring. Also in case of getting blocked switching to a different POV is always a way to continue
So there are several threads that hopefully over time develop from the very vague to the more specific, and I haven't forgotten about the monastery, the priest, the chronicler, the Blind Sculptor and all these people and will get back to them. So that instead of splitting up, things will at some point start flowing together again. And yes due to the existence of magic in this world there is a bit of a greater plane beyond an individual lifetime but I'm deliberately trying to make it not too cosmic ... I think there are too many stories where the importance of the characters gets inflated to the point where the world's very fate or existence depends on them, that's not a direction where I want to go.
I hope to be ablte to post more episodes soon and drive the narrative forward a bit ... and I haven't forgotten also about something else I ought to write!
malins
Stumbling Seeker
urgh as usual that didn't really work out. But here goes.
malins
Stumbling Seeker
IN THE BALANCE (4)
Neiri surfaced from what felt like deep restful slumber. A sleep so long, one returned a stranger to the world.
But now a voice intruded, insisting, nagging and prodding …
why won’t they let me turn over, hide my face, just give me a few more minutes…
Black oblivion poured away like heavy dark liquid and she was wide awake, fully aware where she was: teetering at the cliff-edge of her existence, balancing on the wind.
“Open your eyes. Look at me. Can you stand up girl. You will walk with me, down that way.”
Neiri got up on wobbly legs and dared to look into the other woman’s face, which was very close.
She did not at first sight look threatening or strict, or intimidating; more weary and worried.
Her skin had the liveliness of well-nourished nobility but her voice was slightly congested, and her eyes looked tired.
Eyes that seemed, as Neiri’s gaze was drawn into their depths... older than the sea.
You know, I am sure. Or did you not see me, as I saw you? How can I live, when they say... I must be honest to be spared, but what I witnessed … surely condemns me?
She was alone now with this regent queen, who came without a retinue of guards, or the signifiers of crown and scepter.
The queen herself wore fabric of a similar kind as Neiri had been given in the tent, hers in manifold layers though - embroidered with scenes of heavenly gardens, almost infinitely intricate.
As she rose with the folds of her gown flowing, botanic patterns came alive rising up from the hemline, like grass and brush rustled in a breeze, with birds and butterflies briefly unfolding wings, revealing themselves in flashes of color, and then darting back into hiding.
Surely such enchanted fabric would be costly as gold and jewels, of which she wore none.
Though around her neck there was a delicate silver chain – and the glint of golden thread mixed into the shifting, shimmering metallic hues of the sash around her waist; it was decorated with the scales of a serpent or dragon.
Gold and blood, and shifting coils of snake, as if it might unwind itself from its perch and strike.
Each garden must have its serpent.
Neiri was not exactly sure from whence she recalled that.
She straightened herself, preparing for whatever the queen might decree.
“Good, that’s better. My oh my you look starved. Now understand, girl, I have a lot of things to think of. One of them being you. And I can think better on my feet.”
“Be honest and answer all I ask. And by the time we pass the sacred stones it is sure I’ll know… what to do with you. Now let us go.”
Neiri was glad that so far she didn’t have to do any talking.
Of course she burned to plead her innocence but felt certain – so soon as she opened her mouth she would only seal her fate.
A few steps forward, guided by the other woman’s arm. She was expected to go first.
Hesitant, barefoot on the path leading away from the tents past abandoned orchards.
After a cut of the whip had split the skin on her sole, after being marched all the way up the hill by a grumpy guard… despite the rest in the tent, it was a bit much to ask of her, to walk the rough footpath.
Neiri stumbled, wincing with pain, her knees buckling.
An impatient sound from behind her but then she felt a tender touch, fingertips caressing her injured foot.
“Well that is not good. Take these, it will be easier with the gravel and stones and roots” she heard, as Tsilsne stepped beside her and then slipped out of her sandals, leaving them offered for Neiri.
Reluctantly she slid her feet in, the smoothly shaped wood surprising her with a perfect fit.
And so they walked.
The captive first, now in royal slippers, her hands still shackled behind her back.
The queen who was to judge her, following barefoot.
“You must understand I have lots of decisions to make. The sentences alone not to mention the war. “
”Just now, I’ve got a necromancer, a girl-strangler, an alterer of coins, some double-’bominables and fourteen spies. “
”Fifteen. If I count you, girl.”
“And strangely enough, the spies, all but two of those are women. “
Tsilsne stopped to pick an apple and Neiri heard the crunch of her teeth sinking into it.
She herself, had forgotten hunger during the tender time in the tent, but it was true … she was starving!
”I wonder what it is,” asked Tsilsne, between bites, “that so many of our sex choose to risk their lives for the Ondriscensu count, what would you think?”
Neiri had expected a different style of interrogation. The queen cared not for the who, when, where, what…
“I… have never so much as laid eyes upon the Count. But many things are said of him. That especially if we’re unfortunate enough to cross his path after sundown, he can seduce women and make us do all his bidding. It’s a spell cast with a glance of his eyes. And yes, it always ends badly ...”
“His enchanting gaze must roam far and wide then, if he can so recruit spies, while sitting up there safe in the citadel!”
“Well I couldn’t know but they also say, he goes out at night, when the moon’s right, changing into a furry beast, a wolf or so, and …” her voice trailed off…
“Go on, girl”, in between chewing on her apple.
“Sure you have heard these stories your Highness.”
“Oh tell me of everything just as you’ve heard it, as if I knew absolutely nothing… but before that, turn round. Come here. You should have one of these, they are delicious and refreshing.”
Neiri turned and saw Tsilsne had produced a preciously ornamented knife from the folds of her gowns, and went on to make a show of its sharpness as she cut the apple, slowly drawing the knife through, so that the halves remained sticking together. Then she approached and held one half to Neiri’s lips.
“Eat”, she ordered, and Neiri, her wrists still shackled behind her back, obeyed, leaning forward and nibbling.
Juice ran down her chin. It seemed improper being fed like this, but anything other than compliance was surely out of question.
Neiri tilted her head, gnawing around the core, the Queen turning the slice so she could get at the most of it.
Then she flipped the core away and returned to her line of questioning.
“The shape-shifting count. Tell me. Every saying in the streets, every rumor, … every whisper on the winds.”
“… they say… that he changes back to the shape of man … after going as far as he could run or fly in the form of beast…”
“Ah! Slipping through unseen, stepping out from thin air where he wishes! Could he really do that – I should have to greatly fear for myself, more so than anyhow I do, despite all the guards posted around me.”
“It would be a very... useful ability, would it not? Roam the night unseen, appear where you wish. Slip into the safest chamber or the deepest dungeon.“
”Anyone who had that ability, would surely take … utmost care to ensure that no one ever suspected so. That... no one lived who ever knew. “
”Or, in the fashion of squid squirting their ink, spread distraction – make sure that the truth was hidden among tall tales, easy to dismiss.”
The Queen so far had spoken calmly and quietly, and still did not raise her voice, it was just the timbre that shifted, the warmth dropping out with each word, leaving a threatening metallic sharpness.
Of course she knows, thought Neiri and shuddered. She knows that I know. But she prefers to torture me in her way. There is nothing to do but play along with her game I guess… it is true then, this is a war between a witch-queen and a bloodsucker Count? And I am to die because I blundered into their web of spells…?
Tsilsne continued her musings on Count Irion’s fatal charisma.
“I wonder though… If the Count can take a woman under his power so easily, why does he end up burning so many? Witches all?”
“Any woman close to him burns in the end that’s what they say. One way or another. Ill fates and misfortune at least.”
“He can bind with his spell but no woman’s heart ever warms with love for him. So he destroys her. He is a curse upon our kind!”
“Though he does have three daughters famed for their beauty and elegance, does he not? The eldest of which Count Irion sought to place in the throne-room of Belquemer, a position for which the will of the Gods and the choice of that land’s prince however – favored me.”
“But it’s true perhaps, with the other two now trapped over there”, Tsilsne gesturing in the direction of the castle, “one might say fate has made my person the instrument of their misfortune, but the cause lies in the devouring greed of the Count.”
“...and then there was his wife…”
“...well, what about her…?”
“Surely you know your Highness…”
“I want to hear it all from you, the stories that people of your station tell.”
“You see, girl, kings of old would sometimes disguise themselves and walk among their people and drink in their taverns to hear the talk of the town.”
“It is not something I would survive the attempt of. So I’ll enjoy having such as you report. Perhaps you can so redeem yourself, spy-girl!”
“I am not ….” – “No. Not now.”
Neiri froze, pierced through the heart by the tone of that voice. She stopped dead her tracks. They were still single file, the Queen following, on the narrow path through the orchards.
It had become very still, the din of the camp fading, the birds pausing their song.
There was no sound but, far off, the faint notes of plaintive song carried on a faltering wind from the far side of the valley.
“Go on.”
“Count Irion’s wife, they say, she…?”
Neiri drew a deep breath.
“Well… your Highness, for a peasant woman, a common one, when things are just too much, when the scourge of life has scarred her deeper than she can bear… one day when it’s time to go down to the river for the washing, she’ll choose a different spot. And they’ll say, Oh! Black luck, she went in too deep, unfamiliar place, the current was too strong. And so the great river took her away, the river is gracious when it gives and greedy when it takes. And she’s never found.”
”With a noble lady though like the Countess it’s different. She won’t go washing. Going star-gazing is what she does … looking for signs from the Gods maybe. She’d pick a new-moon’s night and a high tower…”
“… and while drawing herself near to the Tuensinan who look down on mankind from the night sky, she loses her footing and falls. And dashes out her brain and lies splayed and broken upon the rocks at the foot of the tower!”, Tsilsne finished for her.
“So the commoners speak openly of this, that the Countess took her own life, that by rights she ought be struck from the Book of the Names of the Living and the Dead, that she chose disgrace and condemnation, rather than continuing to bear, how did you say, the scourge of life on her back?”
“The two who? … uh no not openly. Never openly your Highness. But everyone knows. He drove her over the edge, she couldn’t bear what he was.”
“the Tuensinan, never mind them, you will have other names in your traditions. Such things as you say, girl, … almost make me pity his daughters.”
“For my part I aspire to deal justice as it is deserved, no matter whether man or woman.”
“Though I do wonder. Having heard what the commoner’s mouths whisper of Count Irion ... what might they say of me, Regent Queen of Belquemer?”
And the Queen came up beside, up close, and her gaze rested upon the captive, expectant.
Neiri had feared that words she’d utter might condemn her.
But now she realized silence would as well.
A silence that stretched for too long.
Condemned any which way.
Last edited:
malins
Stumbling Seeker
(continued from above)
It was true that Tsilsne had been mostly well spoken of in the weeks after her triumphant entry into Caridiulte.
But for the townspeople, the crimes of Count Irion were now part of an unchangeable past, receding into memory.
However bitter it might be.
The brief elation of freedom, the satisfaction of seeing the tables turn on a tyrant had wilted.
The hunger was now.
Hollow eyes and ashen faces of starving children.
Unfolding each day was more of thievery, despair and abasement of once honest people as they struggled for the last scraps.
Moods had soured and thoughts darkened.
Five years ago, there had been famine for cause of an act of the Gods, when summer was suffocated under the shroud of a hundred days of snow.
Then, the kingdom of Belquemer had taken the risk of depleting its granaries – so averting exactly the infighting and desperate scrabbling that was now the rule of a commoner’s life.
The face of that most magnanimous royal decree had been the young Queen Tsilsne, celebrated as a savior.
Where was that salvation now? – many felt that she must be starving them deliberately.
Failing to understand that then there had been: peace, orderly markets, open roads and a river free of piracy.
Now there was nothing of that, there was war, and season after season of armies feasting off the fat of the land.
While Neiri was still searching for words, frozen by fear and doubt, trying to guess how much of that honesty she supposedly valued so highly this Queen would actually welcome …she understood that she had already answered.
* * *
The Regent raised a finger to her lips, silence was to be preserved for something else than those words that wouldn’t come.
Bees buzzing and bugs chirping and the distant din from the encampment.
There it was again. Stop, hush, listen. There it is again. A faint hint of song on a fickle wind.
Tsilsne broke the silence by producing papers from the folds of her gowns.
“Tell me then, … ‘Neiri’ ...”, taking her name from the writing,
“...if you will say nothing else…”
“tell me, who is it, what is she singing.”
Squinting vaguely into the distance, her face turned to the wind that carried the voice.
“I have heard her often in recent days, when the wind turns.”
“But the words are strange to me. The tongue of the hills? Tell me, do you know? What do they say?”
Neiri could make out the white specks scattered across the hillside, the coursing black dot that would a herding dog, and the figure of the shepherd girl who was singing.
The Queen’s hearing seemed sharper than her eyesight - Neiri couldn’t have made out the words at all, but she didn’t need to; she knew by heart the melody and the story to go with it.
“Indeed it’s the tongue of the hills your Highness, an old shepherd song. Pretty much everyone knows it though...”
The mountain has overturned, and captured two shepherds, two friends.
The first one begs,
Oh mountain spare me,
I have my young love who will grieve for me.
The second begs,
Oh mountain spare me,
I have my old mother who’ll grieve for me.
And the mountain did relent, and said,
It's young love that mourns from dawn till eve,
but a mother must mourn unto her grave...
Tsilsne turned away and Neiri saw a shudder run through her body.
“It is so very true. Yes, a mother … must mourn unto her grave.”
Those words had dropped like a spark into the tinderbox of her heart.
For even had the mountain not relented, that mother in the song would have known where her child lay buried.
But she herself had not even a grave to mourn over.
“My vow is, yes the mountain shall overturn, the very rocks that are the safekeepers of Count Irion and his Ondriscensu spawn, will turn against him, and bury him beneath them!”
Having briefly forgotten Neiri’s presence, the queen recovered her countenance.
“You have not been very forthcoming with words, Neiri. I want simple straight answers now.”
“I have spoken of the many evildoers awaiting my justice.”
“Tell me now, what do they deserve?”
“First, the counterfeiter of coins.”
“It... it’, they will melt gold or silver and pour it down his throat, don't they?” Neiri gave back.
She knew of course where this line of questioning was going to end.
With her own punishment.
“That's how it's done. But since it's a crime against the Crown and not against the Gods I may choose another punishment.”
“I would ask him to come up and stick his hand into the cauldron of molten metal. If he can endure that, willingly, he can go.”
“Next then. The girl-strangler.”
“Hangs by the neck, a life for a life. And if he violated the girl, he loses his member before they pull him up on the rope.”
“So be it. I would not change anything there. On then. The propagators of the Double Abomination.”
“I .. don’t know exactly what that is, but surely it’s a crime against the Gods, isn’t it? Double Abomination means they went twice against the Edicts...?”
“That they do, surely you know what's written, about what cannot be taken for worship, the Twelve Stipulations from the Principal Edicts, on the casting out of the Abominations?”
“uuh, we can’t take for gods or messengers of gods, the creatures that are abominable, uhh what has wings as well as coiling limbs, or both gills and jointed limbs, or the number of their limbs is …
“Oh sure yes, and do not seek communion with those who walk the dry earth but sleep beneath the sea.”
“But I don’t mean the Eight and Ninth stipulations. It’s the Sixth and Seventh.”
“… they… uh… try to uplift men as Gods, and plot to raise the dead from their graves…?”
“Indeed they raise a man to the title of God, and worship one who woke the dead. And what must we do with those who rebel against the Gods by claiming their prerogatives?”
“Raise them on a cross, the rules say.”
”Them and their man-god. You’ve been taught well. And then we have waking the dead, and yes, I’ve got that necromancer too. Speaking spells to raise the dead for his bidding.”
“That’s the Sixth, another crime against the Gods. It ought to be the pyre?”
“Yes, he tried to put living flesh back onto dead bones, so the flesh comes off of his. Indeed the pyre, or flayed to the bones. Or the boats.“
“And for the Double-Abominables, putting the two together, for their sins, it's the Flaming Cross.”
”Now you understand as Regent Queen I may give pardon for counterfeit, arson and strangling, murder or rape.”
”But when it comes to the Twelve Stipulations, not only those who perform the abomination suffer the punishment, but also any who enable or excuse it, provide shelter or sustenance to the evildoer, and so on and so forth until the circle of the earth be cleansed of it.”
“Not even an Empress of the World could give a pardon, unless she wants to step right up onto that pyre herself.”
“So lastly … we are left with the spies.”
“What are we to do with them?”
Of course. The spies. Like she was accused of being.
“It’s become custom to have them impaled on a stake”, Neiri ventured carefully.
“So it has, and it wasn’t me who started it. However the Gods care little for espionage and treason among mere mortals, this again is a crime versus the Crown and not the Heavens.”
“So the truth is, I might as well wave my hand and you, Neiri, … will not have to sit on the sharp stick come tomorrow.”
“Now tell me, what do you think it should take, for me to so decide?”
“That I … am able to... prove I am innocent…?”
Wrong answer! Neiri realized, before the last word had even fully left her mouth.
“No.”
“I already know that.”
malins
Stumbling Seeker
Anyway there are themes of background music through this story, some kinds of music make me more likely to get in the mood of writing, and some musical themes from very different sources have sunk into it sometimes semi-consciously. As some readers have noticed.
Now in this case the song I've referenced as the theme for 'the mountain shall overturn' does actually exist, it is in fact an old shepherd's song, and in translation, it pretty much says the same thing as in the story