Chapter Six

After a short ride, they reached the city gates. Philos dismounted then slid Arktos from the horse’s hind. “C’mon then,” Philos said, giving his brother a rough push onward toward the festival crowd. “No need to delay the inevitable.”

As they waded through the gathering masses of the city, the blindfolded Arktos could hear the jeers and curses that spewed from those they passed. Then something seized the prisoner by the forearm. Thinking it was his captor, Arktos did not fight against it, until he heard Philos bark from behind him, “Unhand him! His justice is in the hands of Prince Argus, not you!”

The assailant dug his nails into Arktos’ skin, then following Philos’ command, slid it down his arm before releasing him entirely. Arktos swore he could hear his flesh tearing amidst the noises of the crowd like the farmer’s dragging scythe against the fallow fields at the day’s end. Arktos could feel the bloody streaks pulse with his heartbeat.

Before he had taken three steps, another from the other side of the crowd seized his uninjured arm. There was a great tug, that threatened to rip it from his pierced shoulder. Arktos gritted his teeth against the pain. Above the rabble of the crowd, the prisoner heard the icy whistle of a slicing sword beside him. He felt its wind on his fingers. Suddenly, the resistance of the tug slackened completely as the dismembered arm fell from Arktos’ arm with a thud.

“Back! All of you,” Philos commanded as he brandished his blade. “Or you’ll meet the same fate.” The two continued on and crowd shifted away from them as they went, taking a step or two backward if they came too close. Though the insults still came, they grew quieter and less frequent.

Despite his blindfold, Arktos could sense the grandeur of the capital. The aura about the place felt big, firm, and oppressive. He could feel the capital imposing its will upon him. There was no reprieve from the thunderous echoes of drums and wagons that sounded through the busy streets. Even the smells were overwhelming, for now, without the distraction of the images around him, he noticed an underlying stench that mingled with the aromas of the day’s delicacies and turned them rotten. Arktos thought to plug his nose, but before he did so, he was ushered into a building and the smells dissipated, replaced by the slight scent of oak.

At the very least he was glad that he hadn’t had to face the eye crests that marred the facade of every building in Argonia. However, when Philos finally removed the blindfold, however, Arktos was greeted with a sight much more horrible. He was standing at the center of a small court-chamber. Elevated at the head of the room was a great throne, upon which Argus II sat the Prince of Argonia. The Prince wore robes with gilded trimmings and a ruby crown. He peered steadfast into Arktos’ heart.

It had been a long time since the King Argus last sat on the throne. For two years the King had been bedridden with an unknown disease. In his absentia, the Prince had taken the position of Grand Adjudicator upon himself. Arktos guessed that he relished every chance he had to pass down judgement on those below him.

The warrior had never met Argus’ son. The boy had stayed in their homeland during the war, being only six at the time. Seeing him for the first time Arktos was unimpressed. The boy, no older than fifteen, carried a wicked frown as if everyone else’s mere existence was a grave insult to him. His posture was no better as he sprawled himself lazily across the ornate throne.

On both sides of the throne, Arktos saw crowds of jurors corralled in sandstone pens. All had their eyes cast down upon him. The guards on both his flanks trapped Arktos into his place. And worse, a pattern of repeating eyes was carved into the wall all around him, all watching him. He had not escaped their gaze after all. Arktos’ body very quickly deflated as he collapsed into the chair of the accused behind him.

“Let’s get this over with,” began Argus II from atop his towering throne. “I’ve much to do today.” The murmurs of the room died away and Argus continued. “I understand that you have something to announce to the court, Philos.”

“Yes, Divine Ruler. I must announce that I have collected the ashes and bones of the convicted Sula. I humbly present them for your inspection.” Philos walked to the bottom of the throne and kneeling dropped a sack at Argus’ feet.

“Thank you, I shall inspect them in my free time,” replied Argus. Yet, contrary to this statement, he pulled open the bag and removed one of the blackened bones.

Arktos was taken aback. Initially stunned by such a gross desecration of his daughter’s remains, he had to look away. The Prince noticed this and waved at one of the guards behind Arktos. The guard grabbed him by the jaw and forced him to confront the horrible sight.

Though on his second glance, he found himself thinking that the bone looked closer to that of a red-hide-boar than his Sula. As Philos returned to his seat, he smiled at Arktos in that way that only the closest of friends can. The smile relieved the pain of the betrayal he had felt prior.

“Very well, moving on. The case before me today is that of Arktos, son of Atreos, general of the Argonian war. Jurors, I’ll have you know this is a simple decision. Arktos is charged with desecrating our sacred temple, interrupting our national festival, cursing us with the great drought in his dishonoring the Water Goddess, and lastly, the most heinous of all, Arktos is charged with directly violating the authority of me, the Divine Ruler.”

Various gasps sounded across the courtroom. Argus paused to give ample time for the jury to feign a disapproving horror at the idea of someone challenging his authority. The longer he waited, the more grotesque the responses. After one woman dropped to her knees, convincing those around her that she had fainted, the woman next to her began to scream at the atrocity of it all. In this way the whole of the court launched into a display of maddened frenzy.

Argus, feeling enough shock had been shown and making note of those less committed to their displays of outrage, continued, “Clearly, the party before me is guilty as charged. Although, it is not up to me to make that decision. It is up to you, my jurors. Let not my perception of his clear and blatant heretical lawlessness sway your opinion, but for mine, I believe death is too kind a fate for such blatant disregard of our divinity. But his fate is not contingent on my judgement. I can merely set the terms of his trial. As such, the penalty for the accused is set as public execution. What does the jury decide?”

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“Wait a moment!” Arktos shouted almost lost in the moment. “What is this breach in decorum? I have a right to defend myself.”

“Oh my, you are quite correct,” Argus almost yawned. “Forgive me. I had just assumed that the jury need not be bothered with whatever weak defense you could muster. By all means then, defend yourself.”

Signs of frustration began to show on Arktos. His skin from head to foot had begun to turn a deep red and his veins bulged. He rose from his chair and walked toward each side of jurors. As he paced before the jury, he looked each member directly into their eyes. He paused, trying to find a defense and ruminating on each word. Then when he had settled his thoughts, he pivoted on one foot and addressed the audience.

“Friends, neighbors, Tarvonians—” Arktos began before being interrupted by cries of “Heretic!” from the jury. Arktos paused again, then continued. “I come before you all, testifying for my freedom, in the name of a virtue that has long been hidden, clouded behind these very symbols for nine years.” Arktos pointed to the eye patterns on the wall, and more members of the jury began to rabble to one another. Words like “madman” and “blasphemer” slipped from their lips.

“That virtue,” Arktos continued, “Is truth. I come to you, today, to rip the river-ewe’s wool from your eyes, the same way my blindfold was ripped from mine.” The crowd again grew rowdy, slamming fists into the sides of the pens, and Argus sneered from atop his towering throne. Arktos waited for the crowd to settle.

“I am an honest man and today I will reveal the true horrors of this Divine Leader’s regime—his lies and deception. For far too long, I have remained silent in the face of the false history spewed by these tyrants,” Arktos said, motioning to three statues of Argus, Argus II, and the Water Goddess. “I thought it was better for you, my people, to have someone to follow. I thought it was better for you, my people to have a history to believe in. A history to unite you. I now understand how wrong I was. I see my people beaten down and divided by their lies.

“In truth he,” Arktos said, motioning to the first statue. “Argus was nothing special. I served with him during the Great War. He was a strong warrior, but there were dozens stronger and dozens braver and dozens wiser. None however were more ambitious in their pursuit of power. Argus craved battle, the opportunity to assert his might. And, when after the war I declined the offer to lead this land, he found his opportunity to assert that might over his own countrymen by becoming the ‘Divine’ Founder.

“And him,” Arktos pointed to Argus II instead of his statue. “He is a master of fabrications. He lies to you all. Every second of every day. Every bit of authority he has comes from lies. He order you to follow his orders, because he is the ‘Divine’ Ruler, but what is he truly? I’ll tell you. He is a spoiled brat that manipulates the emotions of his people to get what he wants. He rules by fear. Makes you fear one another. Who in this room believes the person next to them would not report them to the guards if they did or said something against this ‘Divine’ Ruler’s decree? No one? Of course, not. That is the leadership he brings you.

“And last, this,” Arktos pointed to the Water Goddess statue and the crowd that once was loud fell silent and still, eyes plastered to Arktos. “It has deceived you all. It is no Goddess. Or rather, it was no Goddess. It was a beast. An evil serpent that I slew by my own hand. That is my crime. I forced by this false ruler to offer my daughter to this beast as a meal. I refused and slaughtered the beast myself. If I am to be found guilty of anything it is of ridding society of the beast’s lies.

“Further, the droughts that have for so long kept our mouths dry and our streets filled with dust are not divine punishments imposed by this false Goddess. I have seen first-hand what controls our water supply,” Arktos related to intently listening ears. “There are channels carved into our riverbanks that work like drains. If all fall into line, the rivers are unaffected, but whenever someone dares to offend our Prince’s sensibilities, he lowers the water. There is no God in this machination, only a lying, putrid, manipulative, little boy of a ty—”

“Enough!” the Prince yelled, shooting up in his seat. All of the courtroom turned to him and under their glares he fidgeted. Then, straightening his robes, he continued in a calm voice, though the icy chill of his eyes betrayed his temper. “That is enough of your blasphemy and falsehoods, heretic. Guards, execute the jury.”

The command did not immediately register, and the guards stood still. Arktos, thinking the Prince had ordered his own execution, braced himself for a fight. But, as the words became unjumbled in his mind, he let out a confused, “What?”

The guards understood moments later after which they did not hesitate to follow their orders. There was a hiss as they all simultaneously unsheathed their weapons. Then, like wolves, they stalked over to the jury’s pens and hacked at the mass of sheep. Screams echoed through the hall as Argus II looked over the scene, chuckling with glee at the power of his word. Philos and Arktos both froze, blanched, uncomprehending looks plastered across their faces. They could have passed for new additions to the white stone statues of the Divine Family. Before long, a stream of red trickled down from the jury’s seats and pooled in a puddle at Arktos’ feet.

One brazen guard approached Arktos, swinging his sword, but Prince Argus halted him. “No! Absolutely not, leave that fool alive! Someone, kill the guard who just attacked the criminal.” And someone did. A blade struck his neck and tore down through his shoulder. He fell, convulsing on the floor before Arktos.

The scene was madness, chaos, pure bedlam. The members of the jury fell like trees with loud thuds all about the room. Arktos collapsed into the chair of the accused and watched the calamity unfold.

Once every juror had been slaughtered, Argus began again, “Well done men. Now, please clean up the remains. Philos, go make a public announcement that the criminal Arktos freed himself in the court and murdered every member of the jury as well as the guard that held him. Once everything is clean and the bodies removed, bring in the replacement jury.” Philos turned to fulfil the command, but Prince Argus stopped him. “On second thought, leave the blood. It’s more damning that way.”

Philos darted from the room with a last, unnoticed pat on Arktos’ shoulder. The bodies were rounded up and removed from the room. The second jury entered the room with horror at the sight of bloodstained Arktos on the chair of the accused amidst a pool of blood.

Argus delivered the speech as he had before. Every word was exactly the same down to the stresses and pauses. This time however, when he had finished, Arktos did not speak. His rebuttal would do no good. His speech would change nothing. These people in the jury were his kin, his family, his countrymen. To Argus atop his tower, they were nothing more than grubbing-beetles, easy enough to squash and replace. Arktos could not reveal the truth to his people. Not here, not now. It would cause them more harm than good.

So, he sat in silence, hoping one day they would discover the truth and have their justice. The eyes of the jury pressed in upon him as they cast down their guilty verdict. He was to be executed.