The Prophet - Prelude - The Trial of Sa'riya Read online

  The Prophet

  Prelude

  The Trial of Sa’riya

  Copyright 2019 - Don Newton

  Welcome to Erador

  Act One

  The bonds that held her were tight: luminescent silver, purple, and white bands of energy wrapping around her holding her still. She couldn’t move her arms or legs, but she could turn her head. There was no pain, but the stricture of the energy-bands compressed her chest, making it hard to breathe.

  She tried to free herself, but they’d sealed her inside her human form and struggle as she might, she couldn’t break free—but then, she wasn’t trying. Sa’riya knew if she thought herself away, they couldn’t stop her, but it was time to deal with this…

  The dais she stood upon was white stone and circular. Two steps descended to a flat floor of black granite. Her accusers sat behind a low metal wall, in high-backed leather thrones; two on the left, and two on the right.

  Nu’reen sat in the center behind a huge wooden bench; she was a young woman right now, dark hair and luminous green eyes. Her white robes glowed in the dim light. The gavel in her hand smacked the top of the bench, echoing throughout the chamber with a hollow thwack! “I understand you want to face these charges…” she said, her eyes on the younger woman.

  “I do.” Sa’riya nodded.

  “And you won’t attempt to flee?” Nu’reen asked.

  “I won’t.”

  “Can we remove the bonds, please?” Nu’reen scanned the faces of the Council. They exchanged glances and nods. Three of them waved one hand in the air; the multicolored bands surrounding Sa’riya dissolved. “Besides, we all know she could leave anytime she wants…”

  “I’ll stay, you have my word.”

  “That’s good enough for me.” Nu’reen smiled.

  Jurak leaned forward in his chair and pointed one slender finger at her. “You say you want to face the charges. Are you aware of the penalty if we find you guilty?”

  Nu’reen pounded the gavel against the wood of her bench. “The honorable D’jinn Councilor will refrain from asking direct questions of the accused… that’s what we have Inquisitors for.”

  Jurak sat back and glared at her, the purple shine in his eyes amplified.

  Nu’reen turned back to Sa’riya. “But you do understand, don’t you?”

  “Yes.” Sa’riya nodded.

  “Ok then,” Nu’reen turned to her left and pointed at a Draggon guard who stood beside the door, “bring in the Inquisitor and Defender.”

  ***

  Twelve years earlier…

  Karl pulled an arrow from the quiver and nocked it against his bowstring. He drew the string back, aiming down the shaft at the deer drinking from the stream at the bottom of the hill. He took a long slow breath and exhaled. He felt the bite of the string—the pressure of the arrow between his fingertips. Before he released it, someone tapped him on the shoulder.

  “Why would you want to kill that beautiful creature?”

  The sudden interruption caused him to jerk the bow: the arrow went wide, bouncing off a tree trunk and startling the deer; it ran into the woods and disappeared. He spun around, ready to give the intruder a piece of his mind.

  “What on Erador are you trying to—” His mouth fell open in awe—she was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen: her hair was black as midnight and silky-smooth, piercing blue eyes held him in place. She wore a pure white robe with silver thread sewn into the seams. He shook his head—she seemed to shine in the dim forest light. She smiled at him, and it warmed his heart.

  “—do?” She finished his question. “I’m trying to keep you from killing a defenseless animal.”

  “Who are you,” he slung the bow over one shoulder, “and where did you come from?”

  She picked up the folds of her robe and leaned against a large boulder. “I’m no one to trifle with, young man.”

  Karl laughed. “Young man? You’re the same age as me or close…”

  “Why do you have this desire to kill animals?” She crossed her arms and wrinkled her forehead. “I’ve never understood that.”

  “I don’t desire to kill animals; I desire to eat.”

  “There are other things to eat you know…” She raised her eyebrows.

  “What do you eat?” he asked.

  “My dietary choices are not at question here,” she said, “besides, my needs differ from yours. I’m trying to understand your murderous intentions, that’s all.”

  “You didn’t answer my second question.” Karl sat on the ground and crossed his legs. He pulled a blade of grass and chewed on it. “Actually, you didn’t answer the first one.”

  She sat across from him on a smooth patch of soft green grass. He watched her move: from standing to sitting, a symphony of motion, and he longed for more.

  She brushed the hair away from her face. “My name is Sa’riya.”

  “That’s beautiful, I’m Karl.”

  “I know who you are.” She laced her fingers and laid her hands in her lap.

  “Then you have me at a disadvantage.” Karl sat and watched her for a moment, not saying anything. “Why are you out here? We’re in the middle of the woods.”

  “I wanted to meet you.” She smiled.

  “Then I’m pleased to meet you, Sa’riya.” He stood and took her hand, pulling her up from the ground. “Would you come with me to my village and meet my kin as well?”

  “I’m sorry, I can’t…” She stared at the ground and shook her head.

  He released her hand and turned away. “Oh, I thought…”

  “No, it’s not that I don’t want to,” she touched his arm with her fingertips; it felt like electricity to him, but in a good way, “I can’t right now.”

  Karl nodded and smiled. “I understand. Are you going to be anywhere close to here, say, tomorrow?”

  She walked away into the trees, looking over her shoulder, a thin smile taunting him.

  “Maybe…”

  ***

  “And that was the first time you met him?” Darkonus pulled the chair away from the wall, spun it around, and straddled it. The silver buckles connecting the pieces of his black leather armor flashed, and the fire in his Draggon-eyes intensified, staring at Sa’riya.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “You never met him, never talked to him, even one time before, in the twelve years you watched him?”

  “No, I never did.”

  “So, why that one time?” He leaned across the chair-back toward her. “What was so important about that moment that you had to reveal yourself?”

  Nu’reen banged the gavel on her bench. “Does the Inquisitor have a direction for this line of questioning,” she glared at Darkonus, “or are you trying to catch fish?”

  Darkonus pushed the chair away and stood facing the Council. He looked at Markus: the Draggon Councilor, who shook his head. He glanced at Jurak—they’d always hated each other, the Draggons and the D’jinn; he couldn’t count on him. The Fae’rie didn’t hate the Draggons, but they had no love for them either, he looked at Caree and smiled, but turned to the K’pa elder, the supposedly neutral one.

  “Ka’rin, must you tie my hands with this whelp?” He pointed at Nu’reen.

  Ka’rin waved her hand at Nu’reen who had the gavel held high and stood to face Darkonus.

  “Listen Draggon.” She leaned on the metal wall and stared at him. “You serve here at our pleasure. Just do your job…”

  He watched the silver flame in her eyes and nodded, turning back to Sa’riya.

  “I’ll rephrase the question and make it more direct.” He returned to his chair and focused on her. “Were you
in love with him at that moment?”

  “I can’t say when it started,” she said.

  “So it might have been earlier?”

  “It’s possible. Once you love someone, it gets harder to remember when you first felt it: it’s like it always was.”

  “What’s the next memory you have before that?” he asked.

  “I’m not sure, let me think…”

  Karl was unconscious, his face submerged in water at the edge of the creek. He’d fallen from the cliff above: it wasn’t high, but stones had intercepted his head on the descent. Now he lay there, drowning, a bubbly-white froth rising up his cheek, mixing with the blood pouring down his head.

  Sa’riya grabbed his hair and pulled him out. She rolled him onto one side and smacked him on the back, trying to get him to breathe. He coughed up water and struggled to inhale. She made sure he would live and disappeared into the woods.

  Jemma watched Darkonus saunter back-and-forth between Sa’riya and the Council members; he brushed the black shoulder-length hair from his face.

  “And that’s the extent of your contact before the first meeting,” he asked, “you saved his life?”

  “Yes.”

  “What does this have to do with the charges against her?” Jemma left her chair and walked to the dais; she took Sa’riya’s hand and glared at the Council members. “Are we going to ask her about every single day in her life? She’s already said she broke your law; can’t we accept that and move on?”

  “Aren’t you supposed to be defending her?” Darkonus laughed.

  “You have your strategy, I have mine.” Jemma glared at him.

  Nu’reen banged the gavel. “Sa’riya has stipulated her guilt, Darkonus, assume she hasn’t changed her mind. Ok?”

  Darkonus nodded and rubbed his beard with one hand. He turned to Nu’reen with a questioning look. “So, if she’s admitted her guilt, why are we even here?”

  “Because, she has the right to plead for an exception to the Law she’s broken, or leniency if that’s denied.” Nu’reen rolled her eyes at him. “How did you get picked as Inquisitor if you don’t know the procedures?”

  “Nobody asked me if I knew the procedures…” He shrugged and smiled.

  “Well, now, you do. We’re here, to determine if Sa’riya had cause to do what she’s done. If we determine her actions could have been avoided, then we’ll find her guilty. On the other hand, if there’s a valid reason for what she’s done, we can make an exception.”

  “So, establishing she had no cause to fall in love with this human… how am I supposed to prove that?” He leaned on the low metal wall with both hands and stared at them, his pupils alive with dancing flame. “You’re asking me to prove she didn’t care for him?”

  “I won’t tell you how to present your case, that’s your job;” she spun the gavel in her hand and pointed the handle at him, “but taking a human mate is not the only charge.”

  “Oh? There’s another?” He glanced at Sa’riya. “I wasn’t aware.”

  “It was a last minute addition.” Sa’riya turned to look at Markus—he looked away.

  “And I really have to protest…” Jemma rose from her seat, “there was more good than harm done, after all.”

  “The violation is in the act, not the result.” Caree slid to the edge of her chair; she’d been silent, so it drew everyone’s attention. “Because the dagger you throw misses, it doesn’t absolve your intent to kill.”

  Ka’rin looked at her and nodded agreement. “True. Zocor said it best: the mind holds the truth, and the truth is in the intent.”

  Darkonus shook his head and sighed. “Ok, so you all have this mystical saying you like because it sounds profound… what is the second charge?”

  Nu’reen looked at Sa’riya. “Would you like to tell him?”

  Sa’riya folded her hands together and nodded. Darkonus turned back toward her and raised his eyebrows. “Well?”

  “They say I interfered with the basic laws of matter: I changed reality, and interrupted a natural process. I did save about three million people… but my sister was killed…”

  ***

  The southern face of Krasus Cauldron was aglow with the reddish-tinged light of the morning suns: the red sun now peering above the horizon, following the yellow on its daily trek across the sky.

  Darryl stood at the edge of the rock ledge flanked by two Griffins, pointing the tip of Sinreaver at the two Draggons in front of him. The Draggons looked at the sword and Griffin claws and froze.

  “That’s wise.” Darryl grinned. “Carion, Shera, if they move, kill them.”

  The Griffins made a trilling sound and took one step toward the Draggons, their heads down and the tips of their wings trembling in anticipation. The Draggons backed up.

  Darryl turned to check on his brother’s progress with the Council guard.

  Karl raised Bloodrender above his left shoulder and swung down hard; the blade carved a sharp flashing arc through the air—stray drops of Draggonfire flying from the edge. The Draggon tried to dodge, but the tip of the sword cut a flaming gash across its right thigh—roaring in pain, the fire in its eyes intensified, focusing on the Na’Geena Chieftain.

  The Draggon made the mistake of breathing fire upon the sword: it was legendary, and all the Draggons knew what it could do. Bloodrender was dangerous even when it wasn’t on fire; all three of the Na’Geena swords were: they might absorb and redirect Draggonfire, but they were also one of only three things which could cut Draggonskin.

  The beast circled Karl, limping to his left, trying to find an opening in the Chieftain’s defense—there was none.

  “You’ll let me inside this Council chamber,” Karl growled at the Draggon, “or I’ll go through you.”

  The Draggon shifted into its human form: the scales and teeth and the twenty-foot lizard body morphing into a young man grimacing in pain. He clutched the bleeding-smoldering gash on his leg and shook his head at Karl. “Markus would kill me, or Darkonus…”

  “I could kill you right now,” Karl said, “and save them the trouble if you like, but I’m still going inside.”

  The Draggon limped to the cliff wall and leaned against it, waving Karl past with one hand. “Be my guest…”

  Karl glanced at Darryl.

  “Don’t worry.” Darryl pointed toward the archway carved into the side of the mountain. “I have this covered, go. These Draggons are right where I want them.”

  Karl sheathed Bloodrender and stepped through the arch.

  The pain made him scream. It felt like he was being pulled apart one molecule at a time: fire ran through his veins and nerves, through every muscle fiber, burning all the connections. The reverse was true on the other side where his atoms smashed together again, reforming the burned and ripped apart body into a whole once more. He wound up on his knees on hard black granite, his hands clutching his chest, out of wind and half-dazed; smoke belched from his lungs when he finally caught a breath.

  “Humans really shouldn’t use that…”

  He looked at Nu’reen as his vision cleared; she had a look of mild concern on her face.

  Sa’riya ran to him and picked him up from the floor, her hands on his cheeks pulling his face to hers. “Are you Ok?”

  Karl shook the cobwebs from his head and threw his arms around her. “I’m fine, or I will be.”

  “You shouldn’t be here.” Darkonus stepped toward him.

  Karl drew Bloodrender and aimed it at him—the blade still burned with Draggonfire: drops of it fell from the edge, igniting the stone where they landed—sizzling plumes of molten granite rising into the air between them.

  “Ok, maybe we can overlook this…” The Draggon stepped back and took his seat.

  “What gives you the right to abduct my wife?” He faced the Council, examining their faces. “Why shouldn’t I kill you all right now?”

  “Because it would be ridiculous to believe you could, for one.” Jurak smiled. “But, by all means, gi
ve it your best.”

  “Order!” Nu’reen slammed the gavel against the wood and pointed at the D’jinn. “You sit down.”

  Jurak spun and glared at her. “Don’t speak to me with that tone.”

  “You’ve all agreed, my decisions are final. Now sit down and shut up!” Nu’reen shifted into a much-older version of herself: gray hair and wrinkled skin, but the silver fire in her eyes grew brighter, and a luminous halo circled her head. The light from the halo ran down and lit her robe, making it fluoresce in the dim light of the Council chamber. “Is this better Jurak? Do you accept my rulings in this form?”

  Jurak took his seat and stared at the floor, his arms across his chest.

  Nu’reen looked at Karl, the softness returning to her face. “Sa’riya, take him out… and explain,” she pointed at the archway, “and then return.”

  “You can’t let her go!” Markus jumped to his feet and turned on Nu’reen.

  “She’s given her word, and that’s all I need.” The silver flame intensified again as she stared at the Draggon, the halo pulsed in time with her breathing. “Are you going to challenge me as well?”

  Markus looked at Darkonus, who tilted his head to one side and raised his eyebrows.

  “Not yet…” Markus said.

  “Well, you let me know when you change your mind.” She banged the gavel. “In the meantime, let’s take a twenty-minute recess until Sa’riya gets back.”

  ***

  Sa’riya held him inside a protective shield when they passed back through the arch, which negated some pain, but not all of it. Darryl and the Griffins still held the Draggons at bay: they had them backed up to the edge of the rock shelf, a thousand-foot drop behind them.

  “Let them go, Darryl.” Sa’riya pointed at them. “You three, leave us.”

  The Draggons shifted form and took flight, headed toward the top of the volcano. The Griffins looked disappointed, shaking their eagle heads and scratching the stone with talons and lion claws in protest.