A Sentencing. Both Woid and Serib spent a while trying to find a way out of the corridor as the conversation of Courtdom's lords - for an even longer while - had been flowing apparently to nowhere relevant. Woid had been attempting to understand the remaining black shadows or smoke that swirled, when Serib asked:
“Can you do that stepping thing through these shadows?”
“I am quite afraid to… these are shadows I do not understand, quite unlike what The Dam’e teaches us. Deeper. Older. Hmm, how can I explain… if you and I have shadows when light shines on us, these shadows or smoke around us live somewhere in our own.” As Woid spoke of light and shadow, the darkness receded a moment and then deepened in reply. “The shadows of shadows, of stars. Cold...”
He shivered, allowing his mind to further roam such unknown places for an answer, where never-lived the shadows of his shadows. Even his chilled breath was suddenly visible with vapour while Serib’s was not. She was trying to bring him back from wherever gravity was taking him. She shook his shoulders, bashed his chest and face with her palm.
“Wasn’t deafness at all, was it? Altogether worse.” His teeth slammed wet against themselves and spiders skittered away from him into the swallowing vents. “Silence.”
∞
He was drifting away, his mind being swallowed by the dark:
“It’s akin to loyalty… this depth of love…”
Serib took hold of his hand and gripped tightly, her lightning eyes against the darkness, bringing him back from whatever deep was taking him, speaking to his distance:
"Imagine a garden with me." She pleaded in her power. "Shay is there with us. Imagine its walls and limits, beyond which you cannot go. Come back to certainty."
“My…” He opened his eyes over and again, as though doing it wrong or unsuccessfully. “There… there you are.”
Serib smiled at him, with him, until he seemed himself again.
“Am I still cool?” he shook his head in surprise, realigning his shirt and thanking the little shaman. "How did you manage that..."
“You’re alright.”
There they stayed recuperating a while surrounded by remnant smoke, both wondering how Serib had managed to help Woid or if forces beyond them both had decided to let him go. Merely her words perhaps, and his own sense of home did the rest.
∞
“Would be nice to see Shay, she’d know what to do.” He leaned against the somehow-solid smoke that filled the corridor. “More than nice.”
As he said this, the shadows he leaned against were struggling to remain dark. Serib concentrated, rolling up the big sleeves of her robes and they fell back down again instantly.
“What did you say about light and shadow, before?” she tested the place with her words and again the darkness ran, and again the shadows that returned had worsened - denser and quieter.
She wondered if the darkness feared light, or if Silence fled when Truth was spoken:
“Those lords called it Silence, The Black Angel. Reminds me…” one of my riddles she then snatched from a memory: ‘Darkness may revere Light; but will Silence recede when Truth is loud?’
The latter of this riddle proved ineffective, at least by her reckoning, but the former shone. Out Serib held her hand before the strange cold could grip her too, imbued by her lightning gaze, and the electricity zapping from her eyes grew fiercer, striking the rest of her head and face, one or two flashing down even to her fingers. She gnashed with grimaces at both her lightning and the dark in this corridor. The shadows coiled and writhed away. Alas whatever harm or caution she was casting against the darkness with her tiny storm, she too was being hurt by the electricity and power her own.
“Stop that, would you?” Woid tried to intervene as Serib grunted and yelped.
∞
However, he saw beyond her: the smoke was battling clearer and an open door dull with char was finally at the end of the unwelcome corridor. Smoke and glass filled one another and Serib felt a deep plunge as though through weird water, and the doorframe was soon around her. Woid had umbra-stepped with her in hand, you see, her uncontrolled lightning too striking at him. As he dragged her under through the doorway she saw inside the corridor left-behind such oval stars dwindling and dying quietly, as raged the storms that only stars will see, the elements having their words for her that human hearts even hers can never know, while in the new room more a chasm - there were other roars. Human crowds all fighting to be loudest heard. To be a part.
∞
Serib ceased her tiny storm, her eyes glowing hot with light, and her skull was split in two or more with aches. A racket of voices gave her no rest and Woid was up there among them somewhere so far as her marred senses could tell, among the arching shapes of a well-seated hall, leaning on one chap to borrow his ear for a spilled secret or few.
“Fine work in there! Take my hand…” he offered next to her a moment later.
Looking around, there was no door for them to have come from; only the wobbling light of last and lost illusions.
∞
“There’s to be a sentencing.” Woid was resting on a discarded food cart. Looking to his side he poked about, but he still felt quite satisfied from the cakes. The seller was swatting at his hand anyway.
“Who?” Serib asked.
“Ersecutor, before we gamblers knew to call him that. Argus Ynoptes…”
Serib stood against her pain and the hot lights of her eyes dimmed to a more distant lightning.
“Any idea what you were about, just then?” Woid asked.
“I can’t control my power, my master didn’t show me yet. It’s better with lightning - when I can see the sky, when I can be the ground.”
Woid thought her wording was a little odd.
“You’ve been too busy on schemes with us, eh - that much is clear to me.” He grinned at her and yanked his neck for her to follow. “You’ll be one of us before you know it, and your master will have to wonder forever where you went.”
Serib frowned though happy and humbled, and before she could disagree with him, Woid reappeared next to her: “Wait… need help? A hand perhaps, an umbra-step-up?”
“Actually…” she admitted gladly.
“All full of cake and still no energy…” Woid prodded, showing his gratitude nonetheless, holding her hand and stepping through shadows, a disorientation she was in no way used to.
∞
Though he’d managed to get them to a higher vantage, rows of seats yet towered above them. Serib could not properly hear Woid up here such were the shouting voices and jollier laughter he was joining into. Looking at his grinning gem-studded teeth she wondered how they had not broken, so severe had been his shivering before she snapped him sane again. He appeared here to know everyone, going into this and that shadow, collecting something and dealing out nothing.
“Told you, eh?” He taunted someone among the mass.
The flat hall was filled with rows of seats no one was using; all feet were standing instead atop or beside them for the best look. An old place ill-designed. Banners of cogged swords hung long, blown by the breath of open windows, where rolled cloudier skies.
“What’s going on down there?” Serib asked.
“Hmm?” Woid chose to sit, having already seen it all.
“Isn’t that what you were speaking to the souls up here about?”
“Oh, I recognised the chap.” He scratched his shoulder on the back of his chair, hands still in his pockets. “And some fair others.”
“You were betting on something?”
“Gave it a go. All the odds were 8:8.”
“Is that good?”
“It’s boring nonsense, is what it is. Up there, up there!” He hushed.
∞
All the room battled into a clamour. Woid and Serib now were beneath much commotion where cyclops monks stood bowed in shame; chains rattled as guards of their kin tugged a tethered prisoner along whom was robed as are the loyal, and an odd reverence pressed the chambers. A disbelief lulling the boisterous clamour chilled.
“We’re all loyal to Courtdom.” Woid leaned to Serib’s ear. She could little hear him now so low was his voice, despite the enveloped quiet around. “Have you seen those robes, where you’re from?”
She shook her head.
“It’s unheard of that one of High Courtdom, one of The Loyal, would be sentenced for treason against Truth. Let alone Argus… one of the first in Truthdom, from which Courtdom raised.”
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His words were out of his sort, stolen from an old page. 'Courtdom raised' - a phrase of these written aeons that few understand. As for The Sentencing that Serib was witnessing: robes that gave hope were there clasped in chains, draped over a slight frame, and out from them bored massive the many-holed many-eyed helm of Argus Ynoptes. In this age he had mere narrow, scholarly shoulders. No scars, no broken sword dragged behind him or weighted net for a cape. He had not yet survived such horrors.
“That’s what Ersecutor was wearing in his first death match.” Woid looked around. “It didn’t look at all like this, we must be before.”
“From what I know of Courtdom, a death match doesn’t seem a punishment they would ever pass?”
“Quite rightly, but Greed knows more than Need what we want.” Woid winked. “When all our needs were sorted, there was only one way left to go. Let’s see how it unfolds and where we can fit in. Still getting used to what happens when we enter and exit doorways…”
“I’m still getting used to you dragging me through shadows.”
“Leave you behind next…” he could not think of the word and cleared his throat into a smirk: “Leave you behind if it happens again.”
∞
Serib watched her pursuer walking proud yet swaying under the weight of his helmet. Some of the more torn monks stepped forth to help him, their master, yet the most disgusted held them back with hands or one-eyed judgemental glares. With a jolting pull Argus was made to halt and his helm slammed into the ground as he fell, chipping the stone beneath. Serib lunged forward to help, meeting Woid’s arm:
“Nothing silly, now. He’ll be after you soon enough, remember? Ish.”
Unable to help the helpless Argus, watching along with calamity's peers, Serib asked:
“What if it doesn’t need to be that way? We could save him now, help him see our side.”
Darkly red lights shone in the distant halls - shaped like hands.
“Are those hands? Those bulbs?” Serib interrupted herself.
Severed hands floated out glowing alight or as energy from the gloomier parts of this scaled hall, barely flesh and mostly light. Heralding a man armoured dark and red stepped forward, his draping cape was black atop and red thereunder, and what most stunned Serib was he had no hands at all. Bracered stumps there bled where hands should be, and he slicked back with those drips his black hair, or hair made black by old blood.
∞
“Elijah!” Argus Ynoptes cried out to Justice, his arms pressing with all his might into the ground that his helm may lift from it. Serib felt his eyes skittering inside.
“What if he could be on our side?” She tried to push Woid out of the way.
“No convincing fanatics is there? Somesoul got there first you know. So - you think Lay’d Payn can stop Death and all, if she can stop Time?”
Looking into his skeptical eyes she hoped, ignoring his way and nodding at him.
“No chance to convince you otherwise, is there? So what chance is there of convincing him? You’re both at two ends of extremes from what I gather. Hold back your kindness, you don’t want to get mixed up over there.”
∞
Argus had finally from his wavering stood again, his chains echoing over the murmuring voices as spoke Justice, his hands aglow and a voice at first almost boyish before it settled:
“All too oft, in Truth there waits no ease for us, no pleasure. There was no goodness in eradicating every Falsehood; only ages after when the old have forgotten and the young will never know, does ignorance sweep, and sweep away. Who remembers, when those whom Would Rather faced the onslaught of What Is?”
Justice looked down at hands not there, his armour gleaming against the dire hands that as lanterns held outstretched palms of dark-red light.
“Argus Ynoptes!” Justice called and every murmuring voice of speculation or contemplation fell into a sniff or gasp. “Watcher of The Realms Nonillion of Courtdom Raised! For attempting to sow your discord throughout the divine Twinedoms of Thessoladis and Sophein’I, for disgracing the name and virtue of Our Heir in Heirarchy lost in battles Yon, for conspiring to frame Lay’d Payn whom among your exalted league of High Courtdom, and other crimes against Truth too numerous, you are here to be judged. And by my right divine Courtdom has judged you, and I am the voice of the verdict, of the realms of Ever, the Greatdom of Human-Ordered Entropy.”
∞
Argus pressed his bony little chest against the words, trying not to fall again. The grip his captors kept on his chains lessened. Justice without effort seemed then himself to float upwards from on pedestal high and then downwards towards where Argus stood shaking yet unbowed. Long his cape behind him Justice, and severed glows in follow:
“And even I waver, this is no justice - seeing you whom among our beloved, falter and flail into madness. For is this not the way of Entropy, of Decline and Decay bludgeoning as it go? That we all shall Truth willing see our endings…”
His metal sabatons struck the floor and a deeper quiet was met. His stump of an arm reached out and there went one of his severs, to for a moment hold Argus’ trembling hand. Serib felt she was an intruder watching too personal an exchange and souls nearby shuffled with the same discomfort.
“And it has been considered in full that without your Watchful since we were yet young, Courtdom could have never to such heights as Raised, and you shall be not exhibited Immortal, Immemorial, as is your ageless age for good of the realm to learn. You are as allegory, Attention, the spirit of attention in us all. You will not suffer further for us, atoning with your life. This is my decision, that you shall come to no such endless harm as is your endless age, for without end was once and still is your goodness. As so shall you be remembered. You act not in malice but madness, still doing for us what you believe is best. For fantasies we all have dared. And so alive scheming cannot remain.”
And the glowing sever left Argus there standing alone, to join alight the dim air.
∞
“You are to be executed without such undue anguish, in view of The Observatories you once served, and there in all honour and pride laid to rest.”
“Executed?” Argus howled. “Guilty only of speaking Truth; that I am so beyond redemption is your verdict? Why may I not atone with my life as has always been the way?”
Those holding Argus’ chains were about to quiet him, but the gaze of Justice did not deem it right and they quelled their retribution, listening on to Justice:
“And we all shall praise that you served lovingly and long as you could. And we shall wear the lessons of Attention. And we Courtdom shall mourn what has been lost, and never can be regained. Your defence alas did not avail you, and what say you in your last to us among your past, as the future closes your final door?”
∞
“Love it is, and always has been.” Spoke the unanswered prisoner, and Serib again struggled against Woid’s immovable arm.
“Why else would I so sleeplessly watch over young humanity, defying my fellow 'deities' who now are impossible to remember, and stepping down from The Mountain to among you with my myth, that you might learn from it, and toss no more in the shallow, muddy waters of forever and of Nihilia? Such love, that still I do serve The Truth and its realms! That love and question I once asked, revealing Lay’d Payn to me, melding thin the veil between! The same love and question I still bear.”
Justice stared at the swaying eyed-helm of Argus, listening on as few have, do or will:
“Only that you had sense enough to awake and see as once all did, as I bring flame to this mad darkness She is weaving with words! Do you not fathom that your Lay’d is Entropy conscious, given somehow incarnate form, and thus The Divide of Kenosz upon us, the divine walking among us. She is the authoress of this insanity! She paints me mad while she herself has in her employ a soul whose function is to help her forget her conscience, that she might wreak unspeakable and wanton havoc! Sipping demented teas! She shall assail Time itself if you do not free and heed me! Entropy is Conscious I tell you, for too on-high we climbed, Courtdom too vast and unstoppable did sprawl! And something has recoiled Wrathful, and against it we need what we have always held… Truth! Above all!”
∞
Serib waited and then rushed, being stronger than her size or perhaps it was all surprise that allowed her past Woid. She jumped in her lightning robes with steps across the seats, atop the sturdier heads she saw, scalps as lily pads.
“Wait!” and it was her yell that shook the quiet into uproar. “Not like this? Defenceless and alone?” she pleaded.
Woid had snaked by from a shadow, pulling at her sleeve: “Better for your sake that they manage to do it.”
“It is her!” Argus snapped, and fell again to the consecrated ground, and she alone felt watched by the nonillion bores of his helm:
“She will boil the oceans of Hadaeon, and from them shall brim the atrocious hordes of her Arch-Liege, The Heir Disgraced, The Once-Great Freedom! The Boiled Angels, cursing all skies.”
Sunlight crashed down from above, as the ground where Argus lay struggling against his helm arose, stones scraping across one another, and the moving chambers like a wind blew sparkling dust. Monks fled. The chains in their hands were alive - slithering off untethered as snakes, and the judging platform out of sight did inch by inch into light grow smaller of a ceiling opening wider its call, for spoken had been heard the word of Justice:
“Your madness is a ditch, swallowing darker and darker, all that near it stray. Yet, The Truth will be known.”
Somehow unclear to the record whom he spoke to, Justice flew away with his severed lanterns making no effort to enforce his verdict, and Serib leapt to the rising pillar or platform, grabbing what sharp grooves there were for her hands, gripping fierce as though onto a cliff face rising.