Edicts, Page 5

Different; I lay awake. I almost know why. Vaguely, I mean. The sun peeps through the window. It's not a lazy morning. A woman lays close to me. Her back is to me. But when she rolls over, I know her face.

  I am cognisant of a past. Not so sure that it's mine, but that doesn't change that its there; and in the recollection of that past, there's the echo of her name.

  "Jaime!" She blinks, then sits upright. I'm absolutely blank. "You're… You don't recognize —"

  "No, I don't." Who is 'Jaime'? Is that the name of this past that lingers with me, like the superstition of a dead man's apparition? Only, I know that after the last breath, when Man expires, there is no 'spirit' left in him. At that point his every thought, every notion, everything that he is ceases to exist.

  There is no hereafter for the deceased.

  She gets me a handheld mirror, and collects a digital picture frame. She turns it on. "See? This is who you were. This is Jaime." He's a pale skinned man, white as printer paper. His hair is curly and brown; his eyes are a few shades lighter than his hair.

  But me? Here I am in the mirror: blond and straight-haired. My irises are deep hazel with inner rings of bright amber. My skin isn't white as printer paper, either. I'm more of a tawny, champagne color.

  Yet she insists I was 'Jaime'. How strange.

  "Ellia, right?" She grins. "Listen, I am…" I'm not sure what the equivalent in her language is, so I say it in mine: 'Him who craves all truth.' She hears it. She repeats it back to me. Quickly. As if she's learned my language in an instant:

  "Aluric." The way she says it, though. I don't think she grasps the meaning. Still, I grin. I nod.

  "I need to find 'The One who enforces the Code of Values'."

  "I don't know if Naeyr is still in prison." She's a quick learner.

  "Why is a 'Slayer of Matinee Idols' imprisoned?"

  "Wait. Alyi? Is that a title? Her title?" A few moments of silence pass. No, she doesn't grasp meaning. Like a parrot, she can only repeat. "I don't know why," she says.

  "I need to see her. I need answers." I roll out of the bed. She's quick to follow.

  The outside world makes me feel foreign. This place, this planet. Faintly, it comes back to me: horses; the old paint-draught. I saddle her up, and mount her. She goes only a few steps when that woman, Ellia, jumps out in front of us. The horse rears, startled.

  I lean forward, a hand on each side of her neck. She falls back on her hooves. Immediately I turn her and make her step a few feet away from Ellia.

  We don't exchange words. She only gestures. I wait. Soon enough she comes out of the stable on one of the heftier draughts. Once again it's back to the city.

  I had expected to go back to the prison. Except that a parade clogged up the main streets. Masses were gathered to the sides of the roads. They cheered wildly. There were dancers that preceded the floats. The first carried the image of the goddess of Justice: a woman; torch in one hand, pike in the other; dressed in leather like a dominatrix; and she road on an angry-looking, fierce bear.

  The rest were tributes. Faces I didn't recognize. Living souls fraught with despair. That is, until the center float came, going by at a crawling pace, like the floats preceding it and those coming after.

  On that center one was a raised golden plate, like a laid-flat gong. It was held up by four statues: two women and two men; Heralds, blindfolded, each one bearing a mark on their chest.

  The crowd screamed with elation. On that plate was Naeyr. The inscription on the skirts of the float read: 'Queen of the Heretics; Damned by the goddess; may Pephistofar's Justice carry on forever!' The crowds exclaimed that very saying. Meanwhile Naeyr cast her gaze in my general direction.

  She spoke in our language: "Einiem aui Fodov un staage." She paused. Then: "Chevyq visi prytam anamn."

  We followed the procession until it ended. Until the tributes were taken into the cells underneath the stadium. Entry was without fee. We took up two seats before the barrier that separated the crowd from the 'games'.

  Several were given archaic weapons and told to defend themselves from prides of lions. When they managed to kill the several that were released, a second wave was sent up from the hatches in the floor. By the third wave they were tired. They dropped their weapons and submitted to being torn apart.

  The screams were drowned out by the audience.

  After the lions, a number of brass bulls were brought out to the stadium yard. Tributes trembled. Bound by tight ropes they were forced inside these bulls, then the stadium attendees lit fires under the bulls belles.

  At that point I had seen and heard enough. This wasn't 'justice'. It was cruel and unusual punishment for the blind entertainment of the masses at the behest of Pephistofar.

  The last one to come out was Naeyr.

  Pephistofar rose from her seat in the spectators balcony that hung high above the barrier, overlooking the arena floor. "And now the finale!" Her voice boomed over the speakers.

  The crowd was wild, frenzied and lusting for blood. They tied Naeyr's wrists and ankles to a pole. Men on horseback rode circles around her. Each one shouted 'Praise Pephistofar!' as they raised their spears in tandem.

  I stood. I jumped the barrier. One of the men broke rank and charged towards me.

  "A willing volunteer!?" Pephistofar said. "Let's not deny such bravery!"

  Einiem aui Fodov un staage: 'Exoneration is in your left hand.' I clenched. I made a fist.

  Chevyq visi prytam anamn: 'Defend what is right.' That fist, my left hand, gripped a shaft. It was a partisan, long and bladed at the end, almost like a middle finger in shape.

  Frankly, its longer than his spear. That much was evident when I catch his chest with the point of the blade, and he slumps backwards off the horse. The crowd utters a surprised, excited 'Oh!'

  At least this is entertaining them.

  The horse itself rears, whinnies. It stands there, fearless, as if waiting for something. I help myself to it. With the reigns in my right hand, the beast turns. It snorts. It stomps its feet. I pat its neck.

  There's now six men. Six. They charge for me from across the arena. My gaze is fixed on Naeyr. Nevermind them. They get close, I make the horse charge to the side of the arena. Like a pack of wolves, they're on my heels.

  I come around the back of the pole. I miss the first time. I round the arena, and come for her again. This time I snip the rope off her ankles. At that she kicks up from the pole. She flips — an impossible feat — to the top of the pole, and arcs her body in such a way that the rope at first strains, but her wrists make it over the top of the pole. On her way down the other side, she tugs her wrists free.

  One of the men chucks a spear at her. She sidesteps. She snatches it, and the next man that comes to run her though meets his end. The horse stops. She jumps on it; and from her end of the arena, she drives the beast in my direction.

  "What are you doing!?" I shout, once she's near enough.

  "This is the perfect time for you to kill Pephistofar. I've got your back." We split. Three men chase after her. Two go after me.

  I keep the beast forward. Fast as the horse can gallop, it doesn't feel swift enough. Just before the end of the stadium pit, just before the barrier, I stand on its back. The beast jumps. At the apex of its rise, I leap.

  'Fodov' is its name, the partisan in my hand; drawn back, ready to pierce. There's a gleam in her eyes. In the brink of that moment her life must've flashed before her. Her throat is pierced, and the wings of the partisan sever her head from her shoulders, the polearm shattering through the back of her throne.

  Crimson blood gushes forth from her neck. She convulses violently.

  The silence amid the crowd is thick like a drenching, cold sweat.

  There's a moment of pause, where time stands still. In the following instant a radial wave of energy bursts forth from the throne. The crowd flees their seats. The stadium crumbles. From the stadium ruins the gothic architecture of the courthouse is visible, not too far away.

  The
stones turn black. The grand chamber of the goddess is cleaved in two.

  Naeyr glances at me. We head for the courthouse.

  Shortly after we arrive, Ellia wanders in. Already the courthouse is a forsaken place. She stares in wonder.

  Restless.