[Mkguild] Investigating Calamity (9/9)

[C. Matthias]

And here's part 9, the conclusion to this tale.  I hope you've all enjoyed it!

Metamor Keep: Investigating Calamity
By Charles Matthias

        Father Akaleth had not known how serious the Caial were about enforcing the laws until that day when he stood beneath the Cardinal’s canopy watching them mete out justice on the three who’d attacked them.  Over a hundred of the armed Caial were present, not a one of them bearing a sword he noted with little amusement, most of them stationed to keep the crowd of curious onlookers from getting too close.  The rest kept the three prisoners isolated and immobile, their arms shackled to narrow spires too heavy for one man to move.  All of their backs were exposed and had been for over an hour.  He could see them shivering, even though midday was only mildly cool.  Even the rat had been stuck in a wicker cage and hung from a pole where he could not escape to work mischief.
        But the chief instrument of that justice was the long coiled whip left on the ground where all could see it, including the prisoners.  Hugo stared at it in dejection, his face cloaked by tears of shame.  Diomedra’s eyes were sometimes furious and sometimes seductively pleading.  The blind man of course stared at nothing and so could only imagine what he was about to endure.
        Akaleth studied the whip with increasing distaste.  It was longer and thicker than anything he’d ever used, and fashioned from good strong leather.  It would not rend flesh from the bone like a scourge, but its scars would never heal, and whoever felt them would neither walk under their own power for days, nor ever never forget the excruciating agony it would bring.
        And not only they, but all who watched knew it.  Justice could be truly horrifying.
        Father Akaleth knew precisely what would come to pass, the pain, the screams, the buckling, the twisting, the striving to find some direction they could move to diminish their agony but failing time and again until finally their count was finished at the whip moved to the next prisoner.  They had neither the luxury nor the fear of wondering if this stroke was to be the last or if there were more to come.  They had only a number to endure.
        That he was so familiar, so intimate with the agony about to transpire sickened and shamed him.  Akaleth turned aside and trembled.
        “Is something amiss?” Cardinal Bertu asked softly.  Along with Father Marchel and some personal guards, Bertu kept Father Akaleth shielded from scrutiny while they watched.  Behind them one of the serving wagons used by the Ecclesia waited to transport Akaleth and his supplies, as well as Hugo once he was released, back through the Dawn Gate and to his companions.
        “It is a little too uncomfortable, your eminence,” Akaleth admitted after swallowing and breathing deeply. “I used to do what is about to happen.  Only my whip wasn’t as large, but it left such scars... such vicious scars.”
        Bertu’s _expression_ deepened. “And did you use it to punish?”
         “Insolence, evasiveness, and from peevishness.  All things foul, your eminence.” And then, in a much, much quieter voice he added so that only the red-robed Bertu could hear him, “I even beat my father to death with one.”
        Bertu looked surprised but did not say anything for some time.  The crowd milled and whispered.  The Caial stood watch while they waited for the presiding officer, Captain Heyland, to return from escorting Kashin and Czestadt from the city.  Hugo moaned.  Diomedra seethed.  The blind man said nothing.
        Akaleth lowered his eyes and rubbed his thumbs against his temples. “He was a Rebuilder.” His voice remained as silent as stone. “He whipped and beat me when I was young because of my ability with light and because I was interested in the Ecclesia.  Rebuilders in Ainador are a very secretive group and they would have been wiped out had I joined the Ecclesia or even said that I was a Rebuilder.”
        Bertu’s look of concentration did not fade.  He did not speak, but from his patience Akaleth knew he should continue.
        “I hated him and all Rebuilders.  I assumed they were all like my father.  When I was old enough, I escaped and joined the Ecclesia.  I knew of the Questioners and sought to join them.  I was accepted readily, a fact that appals me now.  But it would be a few years before I was ordained and another before I saw my father again.” He trembled let out along breath. “When we finally found them, I was chosen to learn what I could from my father.  He died spitting hate against the Ecclesia and his traitor son.  I’ve spent the last few years of my life beating everyone with my whip as if they were my father.  Only last year did I realize how evil it really was.  It took the evil of Marzac and the kindness of Magyars to help me see what I’d become.”
        He looked toward the plaza and felt his heart tighten.  Captain Heyland and the others were returning. “I will not lay a hand on any other for the rest of my life.”
        “Truly?” Bertu asked softly. “And why tell me this?  I assumed you have confessed these sins.”
        “I have.  And I have done penance for them.  And in many ways still am.  I just did not think seeing this would hurt so much.  But it does.”
        Bertu let out a breath that Akaleth hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “You have changed then, more than most.  But this must be.  Let justice run its course and then you may leave.  I will keep you and your companions in my prayers.”
        “Thank you.”
        Akaleth straightened himself and used Questioner techniques to master his composure.  And just in time.  The Captain had handed the whip to a burly man wearing a black hood.  His voice carried over the plaza.  Beyond him at the edge of the crowd Akaleth recognized several of the mages who’d interrogated them the previous two days.
        “Citizens of Marigund!  Today we exact justice against these three who conspired to commit murder.  They failed in their task, and there is overwhelming evidence of their guilt.  Further, they have confessed to their crimes.  Because they confessed and because they failed to kill their victim, their punishment is not death.  First, Hugo Maclear, magus of the Second Circle and master of animals.  By his own word he declared himself the progenitor of the conspiracy, and the executor.  He used his familiar to spy on their victims and to observe the murder.  He hired the assassin, and drafted his coconspirator.  For his confession, he is allotted thirty lashes and then he shall be exiled.”
        While the crowd roared their approval and the mage guild watched with stony expressions, Heyland gestured to the hooded man.  Akaleth noted his brawny muscles and solid girth.  He was built like the trunk of a tree, much as Czestadt was.  But what he could see of his complexion was gnarled and not speckled like the people of Stuthgansk.  Gloved hands engulfed the leather whip as he stalked behind Hugo’s pristine, peach-toned back.
        Akaleth swallowed.  One arm lifted, and then struck.  The whip cracked, Hugo screamed in anguish, and a violent red welt blossomed like a rose unfolding across his back.  Heyland calmly pronounced a in a voice magnified by magic, “One.”
        The crowd roared their approval, with fists waving and jeers cascading from eager tongues.  Akaleth grabbed the front of his robe with one hand and clenched tightly.  The whip lifted into the air like a proud stallion’s tail, and then flung forward.  Another rent crossed the first, leaving behind a bright red line. “Two.”
        The red cross on Akaleth’s robe distorted under his grip, twisting in a circle until all the arms were crooked.  The executioner lifted the whip again and it curled like a cobra; the chattering eagerness of the crowd resolved into a sibilant hiss of expectation.  Hugo wailed as a third stroke gouged into his back, a third blossom of scarlet that dripped down his side and began trailing down his fine breeches. “Three.”
        The younger mage with the scars across his face, Chalcus, spat on the ground and turned his back on the scene.  A sharp crack echoed through the plaza and another vile stripe seared through Hugo’s tender flesh. “Four.”
        The adjudicator grinned beneath his hood, yellowed teeth the colour of bile against his swollen red lips.  White eyes, brilliant like diamonds, glowed as the hand and burly arm lifted the whip once more.  Hugo’s eyes were clenched shut tight and he pressed into the black tower, hands sclerotic in their chains. “Five.”
        Akaleth took a deep breath, twitching and nearly gasping in pain as the whip landed again. “Six.”
        Sweat drained from Hugo’s head as the blood drained from his back.  The little rat squeaked in alarm, rattling back and forth in his cage so that it swung from side to side on the tall pole.  The whip fell again and Heyland’s voice resounded as merciless a gong. “Seven.”
        The crowd’s tentative cheering had turned into a swelling living thing.  In the aftermath of each blow, it would fall into a breathy silence, swelling like a wave front rising against reeds and sand to crash in exultant fury with the rise of the whip.  They cajoled and yearned for each stroke to bring justice to their city. “Eight.”
        Cardinal Bertu turned and put a hand on Akaleth’s shoulder to steady him.  The Questioner priest could not keep his face or shoulders still.  They heaved, and his heart beat against his chest like a funerary drum.  A single question kept repeating over and over in his mind.  What would he have done had his father repented?  Akaleth saw the whip rise into the sky and feared the answer. “Nine.”
        Of the mages who’d come to watch, now only Master Demarest watched.  The others had turned their backs and were trying to hold conversations, as if wishing none of this had ever happened.  Hugo’s body convulsed as his back glistened with cris-crossing bright red lines like a basket weave. “Ten.”
        Akaleth lowered his face and shut his eyes, but all that came to him was his father’s face on that day.  At first he could see the dark features, the hair, the chin the protruding cheeks, and the chiselled cold eyes.  The whip was not in a hooded man’s hand, but there where it had once been with his father.  It lashed, cruel and with purpose. “Eleven.”
        Chained to the pillar next to Hugo, the blind man, though he could not see the scarlet ruin that was his conspirator’s back, nevertheless flinched away from each stroke, his face contorted into a rictus of fear and anxiety.  His turn neared with each projected cry of Heyland and with each scream of the animal loving mage. “Twelve.”
        The crowd hungered for the next stroke; those who did not approve were not present at all.  Many stayed in their homes and wished the spectacle away.  Akaleth stayed with his eyes shut, but the image of his father crowing with each gasp of relish from the masses also stayed.  Only it was now his back that was bruised and torn and Akaleth’s hands that held the whip. “Thirteen.”
        His father’s gaze bored into him, but Akaleth could feel no more hate.  Behind the fierce contempt was a man created by Eli, one suffering in the world like all the rest, and one given to Akaleth as the only family he ever knew.  What if his father had repented like Hugo had done?  Akaleth cried in agony, heart speared like Holy Mother Yanlin, eyes open to witness the whip fall another time in justice. “Fourteen.”
        But what was justice without mercy?  Akaleth slipped free of Bertu’s concerned touch, slid past the startled Caial who shouted and chased him, and ran toward the hooded man with the whip.  It struck another blow even as the crowd murmured at the sight of the black-robed priest racing toward the man who wanted him dead. “Fifteen.”
        Akaleth outraced the Caial soldiers and stood between Hugo and the hooded man.  He stretched his arms wide and shouted, “Stop!”
        The adjudicator paused in dumbfounded surprise.  The crowd murmured at the interruption, and Captain Heyland and the Caial rushed to his side.  Soldiers grabbed him, but the Captain held up one hand and they stopped. “What is the meaning of this!” Heyland demanded, his voice still projecting over the crowd.
        Father Akaleth lowered his eyes as he turned toward the perplexed and furious captain. “He is mine as you promised.  Half the number of lashes and he is mine.  You have had your half.  Leave him be.”
        Heyland snorted a half-laugh, his head shifting back on his neck in bewildered anger. “The thirty was half of sixty!”
        “You promised me half, and you announced thirty.  I know no different.  You are done with him.  Give him to me.”
        Heyland was not amused. “His punishment has not been completed.  Take this priest back to the Cardinal.  Or we shall give you his fifteen lashes.”
        Akaleth steeled his face and nodded, arms hurting from where the Caial soldiers gripped. “Then give me his fifteen.  I beg you give them to me if you will not be merciful to this man.”
        The crowd’s cheers were gone.  All of the mages were watching in open-mouthed astonishment.  Bertu and Marchel watched in anguished worry.  The Caial soldiers looked at each other in confusion.  Hugo whimpered but tried to steady his breathing.  The rat peered out of the cage at him and squeaked in fear.  Heyland scowled in a hot fury, face white and red. In sarcastic tones, he pointed with one hand at the mage. “Mercy to this man?  This man who tried to kill you?”
         “Aye.  Mercy.  I beg of you.  He has had his half.  He has repented.  Give him to me, or give to me what you wish to give to him.  But touch him no more.” Akaleth lowered his head and closed his eyes, and could almost see himself extending a hand to his beaten and bloodied father.  The wounds did not look so vicious anymore.  They were scarlet bandoliers capturing tears as precious pearls that would heal wounds of the heart and soul.
        “You must be mad!” Heyland snapped. “You must all be mad!  All of you!”
        Akaleth smiled faintly, though he did not look up. “Would you not rather mend bones than break them?  Comfort children than make them cry?  Would that justice meant healing for those oppressed and comfort for those in misery.  Be merciful, Captain Heyland.  I leave it up to you.”
        Heyland lifted his hand to strike the priest but held it back. “Do not speak to me that way, priest!  I have shown you mercy because you are a guest, oh Questioner!  Do not press us any further.”
        The Questioner lifted his face and gazed at the Caial captain with clear eyes.  The threatening hand lowered. “Do I truly ask so much of you?”
        The other Caial grunted uncertainly.  The crowds who’d gathered to watch the whipping all milled and whispered to each other.  Cardinal Bertu and his attendants had moved into the square to reclaim the wayward priest.  The mage guild were arguing amongst themselves.  The representative of the King, a tall man in fine livery with a gold crown sewn over a running wolf on his breast looked nearly ready to intervene but kept back at the edge of the crowd as if he couldn’t decide what should be done.  Heyland and Akaleth locked eyes during it all, neither of them concerned with what happened elsewhere.  Against the pillar Hugo’s wretched moans continued.
        Heyland’s face, at first hard as flint, drooped like candle wax until even his eyes sagged as if years had been piled onto his back.  His hands fell the rest of the way and then his chin fell to his chest.  He cast a brief glance at the King’s man who finally nodded his head slowly.  Heyland sighed. “You win, priest.  Have your mercy.  Guards, release them both.  Hugo Maclear, you are exiled from Marigund for a period of three years.  If you return during that time you will be executed.  And during your exile, you are to be in the care of Father Akaleth of the Questioners who you tried to kill.”
        Hugo moaned in response as the guards undid his shackles.  Akaleth stepped to his side and supported him under one shoulder.  His back was red, several flaps of skin dangling like festive ribbons.  He shivered the whole time and could make no argument.  Nor did any in the crowd who were all dumbstruck by his sentence and by what had just happened.
        “Come with me, Hugo.  I will see to your wounds.” Akaleth turned toward the Cardinal.  Behind him Father Marchel was leading the horse-drawn wagon.  Akaleth glanced back at Heyland and said, “Bring his rat too.”
        Heyland gestured and a guard lifted the rat’s cage from the pole and followed after them.  The Captain called after hem, his voice loud enough to be heard by all, “If you ever return to Marigund, Akaleth of the Questioners, you will suffer those lashes you asked for.  And more.  And it will be merciful for our law calls for your death.”
        “Then I am glad that you know there is a higher law still,” Akaleth replied in a quiet voice, too quite to be heard by any save Hugo who was in too much agony to repeat anything.
        Bertu’s face was nearly as red as his hair, but the Cardinal didn’t say anything.  He helped Akaleth lay Hugo face down in the wagon.  Akaleth climbed in beside him and inspected the wounds.  He’d seen worse, but they’d need to be treated if they were to heal properly.  Father Marchel had brought a basin of water, salves, and bandages.  Akaleth dipped one of the cloths into the water and began gently dabbing the strokes.  Hugo twitched and moaned but could say nothing more.
        “Here’s the stupid rat,” the soldier carrying the cage sneered as he tossed it in the back of the wagon.
        Akaleth glanced at him and asked, “Could you let the rat out please?  He is no more a prisoner either.”
        The guard scowled but did so.  The black-furred rat with white paws rushed out of the cage, along the wagon, and up to Hugo’s face.  He leaned back on his haunches and rubbed those white paws against his master’s cheeks.  A slight smile creased the mage’s lips.
        Cardinal Bertu nodded to Marchel. “Lead us to the Dawn Gate, Father.  It is time we left.”
        Akaleth kept his focus on Hugo and tending his wounds.  But he did hear Heyland offer the next sentence as they passed through the unbelieving crowds.  Thirty lashes for Diomedra.  He smiled.  He’d cut the number in half for her too.

        “What you did was crazy,” Cardinal Bertu reprimanded him after they reached the main thoroughfare heading east. “He could have had you lashed too.  You are very fortunate.  Far more fortunate than you should be.”
        “I couldn’t bear it, your eminence.  Thirty lashes for a man who is not repentant... that I can understand.  But not one who has wept for their sins.” He lowered his eyes and began applying the salve to the cleansed wounds.  The whip had left clean rents in Hugo’s back.  They would heal in time, but he’d bear the scars for the rest of his life.
        “I don’t like it either,” Bertu admitted as Marchel drove the wagon.  The young priest did not say anything, but there was an unbecoming smirk teasing the edge of his lips every time he looked around. “But I did ask you not to antagonize anyone.  You haven’t listened to my advice at all.”
        Akaleth chuckled slightly and set the salve aside. “I have not done so well at that, no.” He picked up the bandages and then in a gentler voice said, “Hugo, I am going to need you to sit up.  I apologize.  It will hurt.”
        Hugo struggled to rise, and with Akaleth’s help managed.  The man, his face creased and weary, looked at the priest and asked, “Why?”
        “Because you are hurt.  And,” he nodded his head to one side, “you were sorry.  Now lift your arms and stay still.”
        Hugo did as he was bidden.  The rat Boots watched him and the others curiously.  The mage’s eyes would brighten when he glanced at the rat; otherwise he looked lost and in a daze of pain.  Once Akaleth finished bandaging him, he almost laid back down but managed to keep himself sitting upright.  He glanced at the buildings drifting past and sighed. “Why am I going with you?”
        “I asked for you.  Exile is a horrible thing.  You’ll need friends on the way.”
        “But...” his body trembled and he crouched forward, wincing as the muscles of his back pulled, “I ha... don’t like...”
         “Followers?”
        He nodded.
        Akaleth sat back and put the remaining bandages back into the knapsack. “I haven’t always gotten along well with Rebuilders either, but I think we’ll accommodate ourselves sufficiently in time.”
        Hugo blinked but could find nothing more to say.  He held out one hand and Boots crawled into it, nuzzling his chest.  The mage glanced at the buildings and did his best not to cry.  The priests said nothing.

        The Dawn Gate opened before them at long last and the wagon rolled past.  Akaleth breathed a sigh of relief when Marigund fell behind him.  It was a little past midday.  They’d be a few hours of road, plenty of time to leave the city’s environs completely.  Hugo whimpered a little.
        “Have you ever left Marigund before?” Akaleth asked him.
        “A few short trips to the villages and countryside.  Marigund has always been my home.”
        “Your exile is only for three years.  The time will pass quicker than you realize.”
        Hugo shook his head and slumped.  He winced as the pain cascaded across his back. “I can never go back to the Mage Guild.  I have no family left.  What is there for me to go back home to?”
        Akaleth frowned but nodded. “I do not know why things happen the way they do.  We must trust Eli.  That is all we can do.  Come.  Let us give you a more formal introduction to your new travelling companions.”
        Kashin and Czestadt were waiting for them by the carriage.  Both of them looked troubled when they saw Hugo in the wagon.  Akaleth had draped a heavy woolen blanket across his shoulders to give him warmth but he had no shirt.  They’d have to remedy that. “Sir Czestadt, can you ready one of the beds?  Hugo’s suffered some wounds to the back and will need to lie down while he heals.”
        “Hugo?” Czestadt scowled. “The one with the rat?”
        Akaleth smiled. “He has been given to my charge and will journey with us.  And his rat Boots too.”
        Kashin blinked and them smiled, shaking his head. “I will never quite understand how you make such interesting friends, Father.” He opened the carriage door and with Czestadt’s help set about preparing the bed.
        Akaleth climbed down from the wagon and offered a hand to Hugo. “Take my hand.  Go slowly.  You don’t want to move your back too much for a few days.  The wounds aren’t deep at least.  They’ll heal soon.”
        Cardinal Bertu helped him climb down as well.  He then set he rat on Hugo’s shoulder who smiled very faintly.  Father Marchel jumped to the ground and started gathering the trio’s belongings from the wagon.  Hugo was unsteady on his feet but with Akaleth and Bertu’s help reached the carriage in time to be hoisted in by Czestadt.  He laid face down on the bed stretching from one end of the carriage to the other and lay there shivering beneath the blanket.  Boots curled beside his head.
        “And now we must return,” Bertu announced once Marchel had handed over the rest of their belongings. “There is much we will need to attend to.  I expect the city to be speaking of this for months.”
        “It was not our intent to cause you such difficulties,” Kashin said with an apologetic bow of the head. “I hope it does not lead to any more bloodshed.”
        “I hope so too.” The Cardinal turned on Akaleth. “But I think in some ways you are right.  I’m going to try something I would never have done before.  In a few months, once things have calmed down, I’m going to hold a Eucharistic Procession through the Grand Plaza near the Cathedral.  Small.  But visible.  It will be the first in over a century.” He smiled. “Perhaps it is time we stopped hiding our faith in Marigund and lived together openly, peacefully.”
        Akaleth pursed his lips and then smiled. “You are a very brave man, your eminence.”
        Bertu quirked an odd smile and shook his head.  He then turned to Kashin. “And where are you headed now?”
        Kashin glanced at his two companions and then at Hugo who had turned his neck to look at them with one eye. “Metamor Keep.  We have some affairs there that need tending.”
        “Metamor!” Bertu’s surprise lasted only a moment. “Does this have anything to do with Patriarch Akabaieth?”
        “Some,” Kashin admitted with a heavy sigh. “But there’s more yet.  If ever you journey to Yesulam, your eminence, we will tell you.”
        Bertu smiled and stepped back. “One day then.  Eli’s peace blessing be upon you all.  May your journey be a swift and safe one.” He made the sign of the yew over each of them, even Hugo who twinged.  Then he and Father Marchel climbed into their wagon and started back for Marigund.
        Kashin sighed and stretched his one arm. “We should be on our way then.  We have a very long journey ahead of us.”
        “Aye,” Akaleth agreed. “Let us begin.”
        Kashin and Czestadt climbed to the buckboard while Akaleth slipped into the carriage with Hugo.  He opened the windows to let light in and sat opposite from his new charge.  The mage lay disconsolately on the bed, groaning a bit.  Most of the bandages were red already.  A jolt rocked them back and forth and the carriage started moving.  They were turning south to go around the city. 
        Akaleth laid one hand gently on Hugo’s arm. “I will need to change your bandages soon.  But for now, we have many miles ahead of us.  I have a copy of the Canticles with me.  I can read them to you if you wish.”
        Hugo lifted one eyebrow. “Are they in Galendish?”
         “Suielish.  Do you know the language?”
         “Somewhat,” he admitted grudgingly.
        Akaleth smiled and opened a chest beneath the seat. “You will learn well enough in time.  I will teach you.  Now.” He pulled a weathered and well-loved tome from the chest.  He turned the lock and the spine creaked as it fell open to the middle. “Where should we begin?”

----------

May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love,

Charles Matthias !DSPAM:4c97e940230761804284693!

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