It was high noon and the air was heavy. The sand sizzled under the sun. The rocks were hot enough to sear flesh. This all did little to diminish the crowd of a thousand that congregated on the north side of Ash. Men, women, and children packed together, sweating through their robes and bumping into shoulders. Water traders pushed through these crowds, selling full pouches at exorbitant prices. They stood at the northern boundary, right as it sloped away into gravel and sand. Other than a few weathered limestone towers in the distance, there were no discernable features in the Eivettä; the heavy mirage made it difficult to make out anything with certainty. There was no civilization, no people, no beasts, no life whatsoever. Nothing.
There was little entertainment in Ash. Competitive sports were confined only to the biggest cities, and there was little game to hunt. Public humiliation of criminals did little to appease the public. On the few occasions they happened, exiles were the closest thing Ash had to a city-wide bonding experience. They attracted most Ashfolk, even the ones who were opposed to them. And few in the crowd were opposed to seeing a witch meet her doom.
The crowd clamored to get a view of Boah, who stood atop a raised stone slab. Most of the town knew him already, for it was impossible to ignore the impassioned speeches he made on the streets. Outsiders were immediately struck by his physical appearance: his towering build and his reflective gold robe attracted eyes with ease. Boah himself was pacing his platform, carefully locking eyes with as many as he could.
“Newcomers to Ash, I can hear your thoughts!” Boah yelled. “’Why must we persevere in this heat? Why must we know thirst so well?’ The reasons for this are many. Is it to avoid the raiders? Possibly, though I can’t remember the last time we were raided. Is it extra protection against the beasts of the land? They are not a part of our lives, for sure. Of course, if you’ve heard me speak before you know what I am trying to say.”
Boah held up a water pouch for all to see. “There are no springs here. Every moon, traders walk eight leagues carrying their body weight in water. We do this out of thirst, but not for water. We thirst for something more than that. We thirst for a better life. For us, and for our children. We thirst for a closer connection with our god. Without any of that, water is meaningless to us.” He threw the water pouch into the crowd, resulting in applause.
At the edge of the crowd was Appo, standing closely by Juddken and a few of the Heads. Mendalla was nowhere to be seen, as Appo expected. Where she was, no one could have guessed.
Juddken followed his father’s every word, nodding and grinning with every turn of the tongue. Appo followed as much as he could, but he was busy looking for Malefica. She was supposedly coming soon, but he’d be shocked if she could still walk after all she had been through.
“You look nervous, healer. Not a fan of crowds?”
Appo turned to find the source of the shrill voice, locking eyes with Gizzal, the Head was adorned in more gemstones than could be counted. Gizzal’s eyes darted from place to place, as though he were looking for something. If anything, Appo was certain Gizzal looked more nervous than he did.
“Not usually. Considering our circumstances, I feel vindicated for not wanting to be surrounded by others.”
Gizzal snorted and laughed. “Fair point.”
Appo looked at the small man. He was having trouble keeping track of the complicated dynamics in the town, and he didn’t know where Gizzal fit in. As far as he knew, he was in the minority of those that worship Ati, but his abstaining vote at the meeting seemed unusual.
“Gizzal,” Appo began, “what are your thoughts on the whole matter? Who do you think is right?”
“This is going to do nothing. I know it, many of the Heads are in denial, but I think they know it too. This is all spectacle.”
Appo didn’t expect such a candid opinion coming from a Head, but as he turned to press the matter, Gizzal locked eyes with something in the crowd. ”Yes… definitely all spectacle. Appo, perhaps we should continue this another time. I have places to be.” With that, Gizzal disappeared into the crowd. Whatever he had been looking at, Appo couldn’t make it out.
Meanwhile, Boah continued his speech. “Most people know that I worship Lord Okkan, but does anyone wonder why we celebrate the ‘Day of Akkavan’ instead of the ‘Day of Okkan?’” Boah paused for emphasis. “Long after the creation of the world, but long before the dominion of people, there was nothing but rock and water. Ostior and Eivettä were the same; there was no water, no husbandry, no people.”
“Okkan wanted life to thrive, so he harvested water from the ocean and spread it across the land. He planted the rivers, grew the lakes, and returned it back to the ocean. He would take the water and share it with the people as rain, allowing fields to grow full of wheat and maize and sugarcane. He was a generous god, and as much as he wanted to harvest crops, he also wanted to harvest civilization. People eventually moved away from the coast and started to live inland.”
“Akkavan, Okkan's firstborn, was a jealous god. He was envious of the love Okkan cultivated. This jealousy turned to resentment, which eventually bore rage. When Okkan would share his rain, Akkavan would strike down those who worshiped in a bolt of fire. His rage knew no bounds. Forests were burned to the ground, and people died by the thousands. He tormented them, pushing them to the brink of humanity and forcing them to live off excessive tribute and sacrifice. We know this now to be an evil thing, and although we have no right to question the gods, surely Okkan would be opposed to the killing of the people he loves so much?”
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Boah scanned the crowd, waving his arm in a transverse motion. “Many of you are parents. Many of you know the overbearing love you have for a child, regardless of how many tantrums they throw. Akkavan was a bad child, but even the all-powerful Okkan could only do so much to stop it. He learned to compromise. He could do nothing to stop his son’s tantrums, but he could give us warnings. With that, came thunder. Now, whenever his son unleashes his wrath, Okkan provides us with the means of escape and warns us of his son’s misgivings. Perhaps many of you do not comprehend, for it does not rain here, and it never has rained here. But I want you to understand this: the Day of Akkavan is not for his namesake, rather it celebrates the birth of compromise. Compromise begets progress, which eventually begets happiness.”
The crowd murmured in agreement. Boah continued. “This is why we do not execute evil in this city, for it is holy ground.” A few made blessings to Okkan. “No, we simply return them to the wicked desert from which they came, so the gods may do what they wish to them. Here, we commemorate the most important aspect of the Day of Akkavan: to compromise, but to not sacrifice what is dear and important to us.”
Boah looked out into the crowd and smiled. “Instead, we do our duty by sacrificing the witch that has brought this brutal and evil curse to this town!” The crowd roared in a mesh of agreeing jubilance and malicious condemnation of Malefica. Boah pointed towards the front of the crowd to a carriage. There, battered and bruised behind a small iron cage, was the old woman. As the crowd slowly realized her placement among them, they began pelting rocks at her. Most bounced off the cage bars.
Appo grimaced. She looked worse. Her face had swollen even more, and what skin wasn’t bruised was blistered red from sunburn. Most of it was already peeling. Appo noted that his handiwork from the night before had held; his suture was still intact. Not that it would do much good.
The carriage came to a stop at the front of the crowd. The guards opened the cage door, pulling Malefica off the carriage. She wore no shoes, so she hesitated before being forced to the ground. Her feet were scalding on the pebbles, but the guards managed to get her standing. She looked around aimlessly, her vision blocked by swollen eyelids. The crowd laughed as she struggled to balance. She held her hands, which were bound with rope, blindly out in front of her.
In front of the crowd stood Enlil, the high priest of Ash. He wore an elaborate scarlet robe and was adorned with a bright ruby necklace. He was a young man, no more than forty, but he carried the air of one much older. Despite his heavy garb, he was not affected by the heat - not a single drop of sweat could be found on his brow. He was flanked by his sister, Shimsusa, and Boah, who had climbed off his rock slab in the commotion. The three were surrounded by ten temple guards, collectively forming a line facing away from the desert. Enlil raised his hands, and the crowd’s rowdiness dissipated.
“Anna Olavintar, that which answers to Malefica, you have been accused by your peers of perpetuating the crime of witchcraft. A crime that has been outlawed within our city since the years of Pax Wiccana. A collection of priests and myself, have consulted with our savior Okkan, from which we have declared you guilty and sentenced to exile.” The crowd roared with excitement, prompting Enlil to wave his hands. “This is not a moment of celebration, for we have suffered greatly under your misdeeds. Nevertheless, Ati does not permit the killing of souls where he is worshiped, however impure, and for that we pray to Okkan to deliver you back to the loam. You are condemned to walk into the Eivettä as long as Okkan permits.”
It was impossible to tell whether Malefica could see the priests in front of her. Appo had a poor view, for he was in the back of the crowd, but he could see that she was swaying. He doubted that she could take ten more steps.
What Appo couldn’t see, but what was clear to the priests who stood in front of her, was that Malefica was smiling, showcasing her rotten teeth. Enlil continued, “as is customary, you are granted a moment of reprieve and last words if you wish. However, no family has been accounted for-”
“I need no family,” Malefica spat. “I do not need Okkan. He is weak in comparison to my Lord Vijar. I have already been saved.” Her voice, strained and cracking, was barely a whisper.
Enlil chuckled. “Do you wish this to be your last words? Say what you wish to Vijar, he has no power here.”
“I have said all that needs to be said to my Lord, heathen.” Malefica chuckled, swaying her bound arms back and forth. “By the setting of the moon, I will be dead. My body will decay, and my soul will be intact. Will you be able to say the same?”
Shimsusa approached Malefica and spat in her face. Enlil grabbed her dress and pulled her back in formation. She glared at her brother. “How dare we let this demon continue to make a mockery of us! Let Okkan be done with her, before she curses us further.”
Malefica released a shrill croak of a laugh. “Vijar has shown me what lies ahead for you, followers of Okkan. I see only the void. I see shrieks, and cries, and tears, and fire! And screams… so many screams. Then there is nothing. When the flames die out, not even ash will remain.”
Enlil had had enough. “If those are your final words, then so be it. The town has bestowed our judgment. Walk.” Enlil and the others parted, giving way to the Eivettä. A guard standing behind Malefica slapped her back with the hilt of his scimitar. She didn’t need to be reminded further. She trudged forward, dragging her feet over the gravel.
The crowd had been silent, save for the occasional slur. As she progressed into the desert, they began to rouse. They called her names again. “Witch.” “Slut.” “Demon.” A few tossed rocks. The name-calling became shouts, and the shouts became a cacophony of jeers. They continued yelling at her as time stretched on.
The crowd watched her walk for ten minutes. Just as she was becoming one with the horizon, she collapsed. She was dead.
With that, the mood had completely turned. It was as if the holiday had come early. Water was splashed around, men were hugging each other, and women were crying tears of joy. Even the guards were mingling with the Ashfolk, playing with children and laughing with each other. It was a scene of complete elation. Appo looked on, thinking that this may have been the happiest the town had ever been.
Before he could be swallowed by the crowd, Appo caught something approaching him fast. He saw a gray face with a singular bright blue eye. It was Isbibarra: the blind beggar who had been sleeping in Eevi’s tavern. The one who had ‘looked’ at him when he first arrived. The old man ran straight into Appo, catching him off balance, sticking his mouth next to his ear.
“I know why you’re here, Appo,” Isbibarra whispered. He spoke with an aspirated and soft dialect. It sounded out of place in the Eivettä. “I know what you seek. We share the same goal.”
“What?” Appo was barely keeping up with the interaction.
“To find the first screamer, ask Eevi about the red stone. We will discuss this later.” With that, Isbibarra pushed past Appo, waving his cane at the ground.
“I don’t understand-”
“Ohhh don’t mind me, young fellow!” Isbibarra’s tone was drastically changed, speaking now in a crooning falsetto. “I don’t see so good!” Before Appo could register what was going on, Isbibarra had vanished back into the crowd. Appo tried to follow, but he was long gone.