Isken brought the three to their new quarters, which Al belatedly realized was a medical room. Five cots were shoved against the walls while there were four stone tables in the middle as well as cabinets with supplies. Al put his pack down on one of the beds and sat.
They continued to hear the sounds of whipping in the courtyard. “What’s going on?” he asked Isken, who was lingering behind.
“Those are three trirec agents who are being punished for insubordination and dereliction of duty. They conspired against Raulin after he killed one of their mentors, Afren Merak. With the blessing of one of the trivren, they hired another trirec to spy on Raulin and wait for him to slip up. We don’t take contracts out on other trirecs, and therefore they’re being punished.” With a pause and his voice lowered, he said, “Not that they’re punishing the trivren.”
Al sighed. “The initial problem was my fault. I followed Raulin to his assassination job, hoping to help him get around having to kill someone. I snuck around Raulin and Afren, who were fighting, and went upstairs where Raulin’s target was sleeping. I lowered his vitality to almost nothing and wound up killing him anyway. Raulin cut himself and killed his mentor. I helped him escape, but…He was wrong. He said I’d never know how much I cost him. I do now.”
“You didn’t know-”
“I didn’t and I wasn’t supposed to!” He looked up quickly at Isken, then down again. “He warned me. He told me over and over again to let things be, to let secrets be kept and knowledge hidden. But I had to keep prodding, interfering, trying to stop him from living his life. You can’t do that.” He bowed his head and leaned on his elbows. “You can’t make people be perfect.”
Isken placed his hand on Al’s shoulder. “We don’t normally speak the language of ‘ifs’ and ‘maybes’, but you must. You know how it will be if he lives through this.”
Al nodded eagerly. “We had already reached that point before this. He called me brother…” His voice caught. “I have no idea what to do if he dies. I should have taken more of his punishment.”
“It is not an easy thing to do. We are taught to be strong in the face of pain, but my gut is churning and I am afraid. I cried when I was being punished. I would wake in the night with bad dreams, afraid that it was happening again.”
“But you still volunteered to take ten lashes even though you know what’s about to happen. Most people feel bravery is running in stupidly to danger, but I’ve always thought it was running into danger even though you are almost paralyzed with fear. You are brave.”
“Thank you,” he said just as a trirec rounded the corner and barked something at Isken. “Time to go,” he said.
“Wait,” Al said and reached out his hand. Thinking he wanted to shake, Isken held his arm out and gasped when Al transferred his magic. “You may feel a little scared from it, but it will dull the pain. Good luck,” he said as Anla and Tel were led inside the room and the trirec left.
He busied himself by gathering what he would need to help heal everyone. He was fine; already the swelling had gone down in his face and all the bruises he’d found were yellowed. Al should have questioned this, but he was distracted.
Clean water, gauze, cloths, the salve from Mount Kalista. He looked down at his two hands and realized he was going to have too many patients. He needed help.
Curvorn entered the room with paper, ink, and a quill. “We have one more issue to attend to. I have contracts for the three of you to sign stating you are taking this punishment of your own volition. I will also request Mr. Choudril write to his mother regarding his circumstances, assuring her of what’s about to transpire.”
“I will agree, but I would like one request in return: I would like to send a letter to an associate of ours asking her if she’ll travel here and help us with our healing as well as your permission to let her on the grounds for that purpose.”
“Explain to her that she’d get the same treatment as you three.”
“I will.”
“Agreed.”
Al took one of the sheets and looked it over. It was a standard document stating that they had volunteered to take the stated punishment and had not been coerced in any way. It also said that they weren’t to speak of anything that occurred nor any details of the Arvarikor compound. He nodded at the other two, signed it, and began with his letter to Alistad.
He wished it had taken longer. Once he finished, his mind strayed to the sounds of a whip cracking and connecting to flesh. There were yells and grunts through clenched teeth. Finally, the tenth was over and a few minutes later Isken was helped into the room and onto one of the slabs in the middle of the room. The trirec said something and Isken translated. “He says ‘whenever you are ready’.”
“Give me a few minutes to heal him,” he said, already moving towards Isken, who translated it to the trirec.
Al lurched to a stop when he saw Isken’s back. Most whip marks were an angry red that followed the course across the skin that the weapon had taken. Sometimes it was violent enough to break skin. With the beraki, though, the claws had dug into the skin four times and ripped across, leaving a gash that oozed blood. I can’t do this, Al immediately thought, then remembered that he had to.
“Anla, wet a cloth and clean his wounds,” he said while he placed his hand on Isken’s back. Immediately the tension drained from the Merakian. Anla dabbed at the wounds until the bleeding stopped. Al wanted to stay until the wounds were at least closed, but he knew he was putting off the inevitable.
“I’ll be back soon,” he said and let the trirec lead him outside.
This was his first time seeing the inside of the compound. It was more lush than he had expected, tall pine trees creating a fringe of privacy from surrounding buildings. He was walked along a stone veranda to the courtyard, a place dusty from activity wearing away the grass in large patches. There was equipment of various kinds and a large post. In front by several feet was a wooden board fixed to a short post. He had a choice to stand or kneel.
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Around were loitering trirecs allowed to watch if they were masked. To the right on his knees was Raulin. Al could already see what an emotional toll this was taking on him, watching his friends suffer in his stead. He looked up and made eye contact with Al. Knowing he’d spent time in Br’vani, he gave him the symbol for brothership, interlocking knuckles turned outward. He wanted Raulin to feel all right about this, but instead he sighed and his shoulders sank with his gaze.
Al took off his shirt and knelt, letting his arms rest on the board in front of him. He closed his eyes and began breathing slowly. He was ready, or as much as he could be, but there was no motion. “Go!” he yelled behind him at his punisher.
He heard the whip whistle through the air and heard a crack but didn’t feel it for two or three seconds. Hot, white pain lanced across his back and he sucked in a large lungful to keep himself from yelling. The pain came faster with the second, crossing the first line, but it was still within tolerance. His magic had kicked in, reducing his ability to feel pain and allowing him to process the sensation faster. It still hurt beyond anything he’d ever experienced, but he could do this. He could get through it.
Eight. Nine. The trirec with the whip paused to catch his breath. “Get it over with!” Al yelled and the man snapped the beraki one last time, catching the flesh of his shoulder and tearing it. That was the worst. He felt himself shake from the experience, before he opened his eyes.
He was still alive. He grinned, but dropped it quickly. He measured himself. He could easily have taken more.
Al remembered that Raulin was still next to him, watching him. Loudly he snorted and picked up his shirt. “Really, that’s all?”
Raulin caught his eyes and shook his head in humor. Hopefully it would help.
Telbarisk was walking outside when Al past him. He turned and grabbed his hand, transferring his magic to the grivven. “Good luck.”
Isken’s masked face was already turned towards the door when Al came through. He tossed his shirt onto his cot and walked over to the Merakian. “How are you doing?”
“Um, all right. It feels like my skin is on fire and it itches fiercely, but I’m doing well for the circumstances. How are you?”
“Fine,” he said distractedly. Isken’s back was in surprisingly good shape, stable and mending. The four lashes that had ripped open flesh were hollow valleys crusted with scabs. No blood, no signs of infection. He dabbed the salve here and there, then touched his magic into spots he thought needed concentration, though that wasn’t what he’d been taught. Isken soon fell asleep.
Tel lumbered into the room a few minutes later, bending his knees to lower his head instead of ducking. “Okay,” Al said as he walked him to his slab. “Anla, can you get…that cabinet there? Move that here…good,” he said, propping Tel’s feet up.
Al tended to his friend in the same manner, Anla helping by soaking rags in water to clean while Al stabilized his friend with magic. The blood stopped spilling from the wounds and Tel relaxed finally. “You’ve done well, my friend,” he whispered in his ear.
“Al,” Anla said and he looked up. “I’m going.”
He broke away from Tel and wrapped her in a hug. She gingerly put her arms on his back and squeezed lightly. “I’ll see you in a few minutes,” he whispered, picking up her hand and transferring his magic to her. “I’ll be here waiting.”
She kissed him on the cheek and turned. If she waited any longer, she’d lose her nerve.
The escort handed her what she thought was a straw mat to kneel on, until he mimed putting it on himself. There were two braids on the corners of one end and in the middle of the other end, the first to tied around her waist and the second for her neck. This apparently was a panel for modesty or to protect her front. While she didn’t really need it for the first, she admitted she wasn’t too proud to accept it for the latter.
There were a lot of Merakians milling about the courtyard. They kept a wide berth around Raulin, the post, and the space between, but everywhere else they hovered, like flies on a carcass. She stepped through and walked slowly to get a good look at her husband.
Her heart went out to him. He looked broken down and miserable. Since he was shirtless, she could see the bruises that colored his torso and snaked up his neck into his face. His hair, his beautiful, rich brown hair with blond and gold and bronze strands, was gone. He looked up at her quickly, then down again in shame.
There wasn’t anything worse they could do to her than this and what was going to happen, so she risked a few quiet words. She whispered “I love you” and let it travel on the winds to his ear. She saw him inhale and twist his head up and to the side, as if he could feel the words caress his skin. He opened his eyes and she heard him barely breath “I love you, too”.
She knelt on the ground and took off her shirt, replacing it with the straw mat. She took the ribbon Al had gifted her and tied her hair up and off her neck and back. Then, as calmly as she could, she placed her arms on the plank and waited.
Raulin didn’t know which would be worse: to watch this so his imagination didn’t make it worse or to close his eyes so he didn’t have to see her go through this torture. The whip cracked and she cried out softly, breathed slowly through her teeth. He fought with every fiber in his being not to jump up and protect her, to not say encouraging words to her. He couldn’t. He had to stay still. And after three cracks he knew that it didn’t matter if he watched or not; he was dying inside either way.
He watched as the beraki slashed her back to ribbons. Her skin paled and he could see tremors in her arms and her legs. Please, he thought, survive if only so I can begin to tell you how much I love you for this and for everything else.
It was somewhere around the twenty-sixth lash (he was counting every single one) that she began to sing the song of healing they had composed in that mansion outside of Acripla. His heart broke. There was no other way to describe it. Something inside him pained so much that it felt like phantom claws in his chest ripping his life in twain. He finally had to look away or scream his throat raw.
She stopped singing around the thirtieth lash. He began to whisper ever so softly the words he’d say to her when they left here together. He spoke of his favorite times with her, the moments when his breath had caught in his throat by what she had said or done or just been. It hadn’t taken much, so there was much to speak of.
He was in the middle of describing how jaw-dropping she had looked at the libertine ball when he realized there hadn’t been any sound for a good minute. He looked at the post and saw the punisher was touching Anla’s neck. He turned and waved Curvorn over, spoke to him lowly, then moved out of the way. Curvorn said something to her, then touched her neck. After a half minute he stood up and walked to Raulin.
“She’s dead,” he said. “You’ll have to take the last four lashes and add them to your total.”
“What?” he asked. He hadn’t heard the first part and the second didn’t make sense.
“She’s dead. I’m sorry, but you still need to take the lashings. She almost made it, but we can’t find a pulse.”
“Pulse,” he repeated.
“We’ll move her body to the room and ask the wizard what would be best for her. You’ll need to take your punishment soon.”
“Soon,” he repeated.
Curvorn had been gone a few minutes when he looked down and saw his fingers clawing into his thighs. He looked up and saw an empty post with blood on the ground. Where was Anla? He looked from the spot where she should be to the room then back again. Something about…
A feral noise rose from the back of his throat, pained and hungry. He was back in Walpi and Belisant was telling him something. His sisters were dead. His brother was dead. His father was dead. His mother…she was dead, too. And Anla, his wife, his love, the woman who was his future, was…
Someone barked something in Merakian. He looked up, confused. Two sets of hands grabbed his arms on either side and dragged him to the post. His punishment. He took off his shirt and mask and let them fall to the ground, not caring about the reverence he should be showing his trirec symbol. He’d never need it again. He was dead already.