Authors: Thomas Rath
She felt empty. It took all of her strength to not fall to the ground in a heap and weep like a child. Any type of physical pain could not equal the anguish of soul she was forced to endure at that moment. She felt as if her soul, the essence of what made her Jne, was being ripped and shredded apart.
“I see,” was all that the woman said. How she did so without a tone laced in disgust at such a vile admission, Jne could not know. The old woman merely stared into the fire as if enjoying an evening all alone with a cup of tea. “And now you come seeking redemption from your humiliation through judgment.” Again it was not a question but a stated fact. Shifting in her chair slightly, the woman continued to stare at the flames as if she were the only one in the room.
Jne could feel the beads of sweat running a course down her back as the room suddenly felt stifling. She was on the edge of a sword’s blade that at any moment could slice quick and true, ending her ordeal and possibly sealing their doom. All it would take was one word from her aged host and all would be lost.
The old woman sat silent for long moments, the sound of crackling wood as it burned the only sound in the room. Outside was quiet as if all of nature held its breath to hear the final decision. Jne began to dread, feeling certain that her petition for judgment would be denied. She’d failed already, and worst of all to an outsider. By all rights she should not even be here. Her corpse should be lying on the plains her flesh picked at by carrion birds while worms ate her innards for none who lost judgment were worthy of Tjal honors in burial. And yet, the irony was that she still may find herself in such a state should she be denied. But, having been stripped of any morsel of dignity, she found herself uncaring as to what her final state might be or how soon it should befall her. She had failed. She failed as a Tjal-Dihn being beaten by Thane in the first place and now she would fail in warning her people and seeking their help against the evil that would surely overtake them. She was an empty vessel to the point that when the old woman spoke, her words barely touched her. “You will have judgment in the morning.”
Jne did not speak, her face an empty canvas, as she was led from the building and taken back outside the city. The old woman had merely spoken and then arisen from her chair, disappearing behind one of the cloth covered doors before the guard escorted her out. She knew that she should have felt relief at the decision but she had been stripped down so completely that she wondered if she would ever feel anything again.
As the guard took her back to the holding area where she had spent the last ten days, he directed her to a small chamber just across the hallway from the cell she’d occupied before. This time she was left unfettered, no guard was posted by her door, and a small cot with a blanket and a pillow were provided. A hot meal was left for her as well, but she ignored it even though her stomach was now as empty as her soul.
When the door closed behind her she simply threw herself onto the cot and wept bitterly.
Jne woke with a start, the last wisps of the dream she’d been having quickly fading out of memory. Her eyes burned and her stomach ached, though from hunger or the heaving sobs that had almost completely overtaken her the night before she could not tell. Last night’s dinner still sat untouched by the door no longer appetizing even in her state of hunger. She would not eat breakfast either when it came—if it came. She would not risk being judged with a full stomach.
Though in her current state of mind she almost yearned for death, she would not simply offer up her life without showing she still held to some bit of honor by fighting for every last breath. She would not give herself over to total loss of identity, nor would she shame the one who would judge her.
The door suddenly opened and Jne pushed herself up to a sitting position and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. The guard ignored the full tray of cold food on the ground and merely motioned for her to follow. No breakfast was offered and she smiled slightly, releasing a calming and head-clearing breath. She had barely slept the night before giving herself over to the extreme pain and suffering that was her lot at being completely exposed to the old woman in her status as
Jinghar
. Never before had she allowed herself to dwell on her position of dishonor and she admitted to herself that it had been too easy walking in the HuMan world to ignore what would have been a daily reminder should she have remained with Tjal society—albeit forced to exist alone on the perimeter. Even as
Jinghar
she held more honor then most of those she’d mingle with in the past months. But that was now behind her. Being here had almost crushed her in the weight of her guilt. The pain it yielded had almost been too much for her to bear.
Reaching around and pulling her braid to rest in front of her, she rose and strode out of the cell following closely behind her guard. It was a different person from the one the night before; this time a woman strode before her with ease and confidence giving off an air of assurance at who she was and the honor she held as a Tjal-Dihn. Her strides were fluid and sure as her feet, as if on their own, picked the path of greatest balance without any visible effort. Her swords were crossed against her back the hilts worn from use though obviously well cared for. Again Jne felt her hands almost reaching for the swords at her back that she knew were not there. She couldn’t help but wonder if this woman was her judge.
The air was still as they made their way toward the city portending a hot day. Already she could feel the sweat gathering on her back though the sun had barely risen high enough to drink the dew from the grass. Entering the city she found its occupants strangely absent figuring that the streets would be bustling with people moving about on errands and the daily business of life. She soon discovered why.
Following a well-worn street they emerged from a darkened corner shaded from the low lying sun into a bright arena of open space that hailed itself as the famous Tjal marketplace of
Kabu
. It was a vast open space right in the heart of the city as if a great whirlwind had merely dropped down in the middle of the town and wiped it clean of any structures. A wave of people on all sides milled about pushing against one another as they vied for a proper spot to witness what would shortly take place. All the carts, tables, and covered wagons where usually goods were hawked and sold had been packed up and pushed aside against the outer rim of buildings leaving a large empty space in the middle where judgment would be rendered. Jne paused briefly becoming almost overwhelmed by the crowd that was gathered to witness whether she would conquer her shame or die. A loud hiss of disgust greeted her as she followed the guard out to the center of the area and then was somewhat surprised when she was left their alone. Apparently she wasn’t to judge her after all.
Unmoving, she nevertheless turned her head about to see if her judge would soon present him or herself but all simply stared back in disgust as if she were something vile or contrary to nature. She took it all in stride though knowing that soon enough those stares would either become abruptly warm and welcoming or lost to her sight forever.
She suddenly caught movement to her left and turned in time to see the old woman from the night before extracting herself from the crowd. Jne felt her face flush at the thought that someone of such advanced age would actually be chosen to judge her. There was little to no honor to be gained from it. The thought threw a sudden cloud of despair over her mind and she could feel the steel grip she had on her emotions suddenly slipping. Even though the woman had certainly proven herself as able the night before, it was still an unnecessary slap in the face to both of them; to Jne as accusation that she would not pass judgment by anyone else and to the woman as if to mark her as no longer needed or of little importantance to the community.
The woman approached slowly until she finally stood at Jne’s left side and turned about a full circle eyeing the crowd that gradually went silent and still. “We are here to judge this
Jinghar
,” she spoke, her voice carrying farther than Jne would have expected from one her age. “Is there one among you who would give her judgment?”
Jne’s eyes widened in. She felt certain that one had already been chosen to judge her. In this manner, if no one deemed her worthy of it, she would summarily be killed and the matter considered resolved. No one seemed to move as Jne’s hope for vindication slipped slowly away. Death did not frighten her in any sense but a feeling that she was failing her people, failing the one she loved was a bitter cup too cruel to drink.
“Is there no one?” the old woman asked once more, slowly turning toward Jne while pulling a sword slowly from its scabbard at her back. Lifting the blade to Jne’s throat, she turned her gaze back to the crowd who seemed frozen in place as they watched. Jne kept her eyes looking straight ahead, her hope draining as quickly as her blood soon would be upon the ground. She knew she was about to die but she still needed to speak of the danger that threatened. It would doom her further in death but they had to know.
“I must speak,” she whispered just loud enough for the woman holding the sword to her neck to hear. Jne kept her eyes locked straight ahead not wishing to see the look of disgust the woman certainly must have been burning into her at the moment. “It is of great importance to all,” she ventured once more as the blade pressed harder against her throat as if in warning. “I must speak.”
“I will judge her,” a woman’s voice suddenly broke through the silence that had fallen as the crowd moved away to the right revealing her. Jne sighed. Not that she was to be given a chance but that her presumption in speaking may have forfeited the opportunity. Chancing a look at the woman who held her life in the balance she could see the rage in her old eyes as she stared back at her in shocked silence and fury. Jne sighed again, the last breath of one who was condemned to die and rightly so. She had failed.
“I claim judgment,” the woman from the crowd cried again as she made her way to the center where judgment was already in the process toward execution. Jne closed her eyes and awaited her fate. She had heard that beheading was one of the least painful ways to die but it did not really matter to her what type of death was chosen for her. Nothing could match the empty pain she felt in her soul at that moment.
“Judgment has been given,” the old woman spat, her blade suddenly leaving Jne’s throat pulling back for the final deadly blow.
“It is my right,” the other woman’s voice sliced like steal and Jne opened her eyes to see her confront the old woman. “I have right to judgment here and I will not be denied.” Jne stared at the two in confusion. The aged woman was poised to strike her down in a moment and this other woman, who was somewhere in between Jne and the elderly woman in age, wanted the task for herself. The crowd was deathly still, no one moving or making a sound, all straining to catch the exchange and see what would happen.
“What is your claim?” the old woman hissed, her eyes still holding fast to Jne and burning with loathing.
“I claim the right of
fersk
,” she answered, her voice no less hard.
The elderly woman was visibly surprised by the answer, her sword hand relaxing slightly as she turned to regard the woman making the claim. “And what proof do you bring?” she demanded.
The woman smiled, pulling up the sleeve on her right arm until it exposed her shoulder and revealed a mark etched right into her skin. A long line crossed by another and then brought back creating a small triangle on the right side with a tail jutting out in the same direction beneath it. Jne gasped at the mark and before she could even react, the old woman was pushing up her sleeve to reveal the same marking on Jne’s arm.
“Hello daughter,” the woman said to her but without the slightest emotion. Jne’s eyes widened at the revelation but she remained still as if uncertain as to how to react. Tjal children were raised by grandparents or other relations outside the
Tja
into which they’d been born. Jne had thus been given to her grandparents, who were part of the
Rena’ja
, when she was born. She had never met her mother until now. And this would be the last time they would see each other in this life.
Sheathing her sword, the old woman said nothing but motioned toward the crowd. The same guard who had escorted Jne the night before suddenly appeared carrying her swords and unceremoniously dropped them at her feet before turning his back to return to his place in the crowd. Jne looked at her weapons, the joy at having them with her again almost overwhelming. The Tjal were whetted to their weapons as soon as they were weaned from their mother’s breast. To be without them was like to be without a piece of one’s body so much did they become a part of them. Reaching down, she flashed a quick look at her mother who stood by emotionless. Though she never knew her, Jne could not help but suddenly feel a sense of loss. They were of the same flesh and blood and though they never shared other than a sanguine connection, this was the woman that had given her life and she felt an attachment that was soon to be severed.
Lifting the swords still secured in their sheaths, Jne strapped them to her back and let out a breath of relief and contentment. How uncomfortable she had felt the past week and a half without them there giving her confidence and reassurance. Without thought, her hands instantly reached for the hilts pulling them free in one quick, easy movement her body reacting to their weight with ease and familiarity. Swinging them in cadence and movement as if directing a symphony she flashed her blades in a complicated pattern weaving them together and then apart twisting her body as if in an artistic display before pulling them upright in front of her, a slight smile playing across her lips.
Her mother’s face then came back into focus and Jne was snapped back into reality. The woman looked nothing like her, her hair was light in color and her eyes were dark. Her nose was slightly too large for her face and her skin was darker than Jne’s. But that was where the differences stopped. Jne gleaned from her physique and the way she carried herself that her mother was not one with whom to trifle. Her stance was casual, yet balanced and Jne could see death in every move and nuance of her toned form. Neither was there any semblance of pity or care that the one she faced was her own child. But Jne did not expect any such thing. To show any mercy would be dishonorable to herself and to Jne. No, the one who had brought Jne to life did not enter the arena to give her own life as a sacrifice but to bring back honor to her family by also being the one to bring Jne death rather than to let that fall to a stranger with the simple beheading deserving a
Jinghar
who was unworthy of judgment. Jne knew that one of them would die this day only because the other had proven more worthy with the sword not due to familial pity or sacrifice—to do so was not the Tjal way.
Jne crouched at the ready, her swords out in front awaiting her opponent who had yet to draw her own swords. A hush fell over the crowd as all waited for judgment to commence. “I am Naye,” her mother said, in a matter-of-fact tone. “I think it only proper you know by name the one who judges you that the memory of it might carry with you to the afterlife.” She said it without boasting or jest but as one casually giving information to another as one might pass on the name of a horse.
Jne nodded her head slightly but did not reply. To do so would have been a sign of disrespect to the one claiming judgment. Also, her mother would already know her name having pronounced it upon her head in blessing before surrendering the child to her grandparents to raise.
Slowly lifting her hands to her swords, Naye removed them deliberately, her eyes locked on Jne as she did so. “Let the judging begin,” she breathed and then shot forward with one blade slicing for Jne’s neck while the other sought out her midsection. Jne’s body reacted instinctively meeting the swing to her middle with both swords while ducking under the cut to her throat and then sliding a blade along her opponent’s for a jab at her stomach. But Naye caught the thrust with a downward stroke with the blade originally meant for Jne’s throat and then reversed it toward the back of her neck as Jne passed to her right.
Again and again, the two women thrust and parried, slashed and blocked back and forth as they mingled their swords in a rendezvous of death. The crowd having cheered with the first flashes of steel had fallen into a low rumble of activity as they watched intently to see which would retain or regain her honor. Side bets were suddenly being bandied about as an occasional cheer sounded after a particularly good attack or defense. The two women looked as if they had choreographed the whole fight and were now performing for the onlookers so close and quick were their assaults and parries against each other. And neither seemed the least bit winded by their efforts.