Chapter 18

“HE DID What?” Evanis screamed at the top of her lungs. “And you didn’t stop this moron?”

Sybelien stood at the entrance to the hideout and had just finished reporting the latest incident at the Banyan Dream.

“Yes, he did and no one stopped him,” she answered wearily and much less loudly. “I didn’t expect him to do such a thing; he surprised everyone, the bloody Bhansun as much as your mom and me. Jabbit went with them, eager to be tried by the gods. He doesn’t understand that there will be no gods judging him but only the Alorian priesthood, thirsty for his blood.”

Evanis had listened, with white-knuckled fists and glowering at Sybelien. Suddenly she threw back her head and screamed at the sky. Then she stormed into the house, vanished as she turned a corner of the corridor, and finally a door slammed shut.

“Don’t mind her, Sybil,” Anseyla comforted her friend. “Eva always becomes furious when she’s worried ... or when she can’t handle something ... or ... actually, she is always furious. If she isn’t fighting already she is furious and wants to fight. Heavens, she’s furious when she’s fucking and I swear my sister is the only person on the face of the world who even can be furious when she comes.”

“We all know you’re not to blame,” Rhaseris added her opinion. “This isn’t your fault; if Jabbit wants to do something, he does it. He is a god, no one can stop him.”

“The Alorian priesthood accuses a god of heresy,” Anjatta mused. “I wonder what the verdict will be ... and who will be condemned.”

“The trial won’t start until tomorrow,” Sybelien predicted. “The priests want a public spectacle, an example to prove their power. To do that, they need a large audience and they’ll use tonight to spread the news of tomorrow’s trial.”

Kuwasi nodded. “I guess you’re right, but I fear our boy will have a bad night at the hands of the priests. They have to make sure he’ll play the role they want him to play in their game.”

Anseyla shrugged. “I can’t see us doing anything to help him at the moment unless we storm the Marble Cemetery and we don’t have the army we’d need to do that – NO, Eva!”

She finished her sentence with a scream as Evanis chose that particular moment to reappear from inside the hideout – now wearing her leather cuirass, with arm and leg guards.

“Don’t even try to stop me,” she growled. “No one stopped Jabbit and no one stops me.”

Kuwasi stepped into the doorway before she reached it, blocking her path. “Eva, not even you can storm the temple hill all on your own.”

“I’m not going to do that,” she barked. “Now move your fat carcass out of my way!”

“And what are you going to do?” The big Ibanee asked, as he hesitantly moved to obey her command.

“The priests want to play power games and I am going to play,” she answered. “Tonight, I’ll hang up every priest I find in Katerra outside of the Marble Cemetery. But I’ll keep their eyes. I’ll give them to the judge when the trial starts.”

Kuwasi gulped and moved a little faster to get out of her way. Then they all watched Evanis leaving and the patch-men wordlessly following her.

A procession of three hundred Bhansun guarded Jabbit as they went through Katerra. Ten times as many people watched them from the sides of the roads as they made their way towards the temple district. A few hundred of the most curious onlookers even followed them up the hill to the Marble Cemetery. The spectators lost sight of Jabbit as he was escorted into the temple the High Priest resided in and the impromptu gathering dissolved.

On their way to the High Priest, Jabbit marvelled at the sight of all the opulent wall decorations, paintings, and sculptures they passed. Finally, they reached the study and he was led inside. The High Priest sat behind his desk when they entered. Montis Shoban’Rohass didn’t acknowledge their arrival but continued working on his correspondence. So Jabbit and his four Bhansun guards stood and waited. His Excellency finished writing his letter, folded and sealed it, then put it aside and finally looked up.

“Is this the creature who pretends to be the Nameless Son of the Faceless God?” The High Priest asked looking at Jabbit.

“I don’t... ,” Jabbit started to answer but one of his guards abruptly stopped him with a vicious slap in his face.

“You don’t say a word unless his Excellency allows you to speak in his presence,” his guard instructed.

A gracious smile illuminated the High Priest’s face. “You may speak now.”

Rubbing his cheek, Jabbit finished his answer. “I don’t pretend to be anyone’s son since I neither know my father nor my mother. Actually, I wonder whether I even have parents in the human sense of the word.”

“So it’s true,” Shoban’Rohass concluded. “You believe yourself to be a god.”

Jabbit shrugged. “I wouldn’t call myself a god - not yet,” he passionlessly replied but then his eyes came alive. “You are the High Priest, though, and much better versed in concerns of belief than I am. I hoped you could answer those questions for me. Can the people’s belief change who I am? If so, how many people have to believe I am a god till I am a god? Or, if people’s belief doesn’t matter, what do I have to do to become a god?”

A deep furrow appeared between his Excellency’s brows as he listened and then he slammed his palm on the desk. “Silence!” He bellowed. “You’re not here so I can answer your stupid questions. You’re arrested to be tried for heresy and everything you said confirms you are a heretic. The trial will be held at noon tomorrow, in public view, out on the courtyard. You’ll be asked if you submit yourself to the judgment of the Alorian gods and your answer will be yes. Did you understand that?”

Jabbit nodded. “I understand. So the Alorian gods will be in the courtyard and judge me?”

The expression on The High Priest’s face further darkened. “The Alorian gods are all-seeing and stand high above us all. They don’t walk among us on the world they created. We, their priesthood, know their will for the gods have chosen us to act in their stead.”

Jabbit tilted his head to the side and looked at the priest. “That reminds me - I met a man who told me the priesthood of the Alorian gods took his offerings but the gods didn’t answer his prayers. Now I ask you, did you deceive the man or did you betray him on behalf of the Alorian gods?”

The High Priest’s expression softened when he heard the question. “Take him to a cell, chain him to the wall and give him twenty lashes of the whip,” Shoban’Rohass ordered, serenely smiling at Jabbit. “Afterward you’ll ask him once more if he submits to a religious verdict. If his answer still isn’t satisfying, break one of his fingers and continue breaking his bones until it is. I’d prefer him being able to move on his own tomorrow, so break his legs last.”

“As you command, your Excellency.”

One of the Bhansun answered and then they led Jabbit out of the High Priest’s study.

Skoljen Siklas was a nineteen-years-old priest apprentice in his second year and currently schooled by the Order of Purity and Devotion. He took one of the declarations from the stack he carried and nailed it on the door of ‘The Lost Losel’. The parchment sheet successfully pinned at the tavern door, he looked at it and smiled. The announcement had been dictated to him but he was proud of his penmanship. His moment of rapt complacency was disturbed by the sound of a woman’s voice.

“How many of the people living in Katerra do you think are able to read? You have to tell people what you want them to know, you jackass.”

Skoljen turned to give this rude woman a piece of his mind but forgot about it when he saw it was a fierce-looking warrioress with a squad of armed and grisly looking men standing behind her.

“You-you are Evanis Danjala, the-the murmur-murderer of-of the Bhansun,” he stammered.

“Yes - but I don’t feel picky at the moment, so any priest will do,” the woman coldly replied; then she opened the door to the tavern and pushed the young man inside. “Hey, listen up folks!” She shouted. “The priest here needs your attention; he has an announcement for you!”

The crowd of the well-attended tavern curiously watched the unfolding spectacle at the entrance. Evanis slapped the back of the young priest’s head when he didn’t say a thing to follow up. With trembling hands, Skoljen took one of his parchment sheets and read out:

“To-to-morrow”

Evanis slapped him once more. “Louder!” She commanded.

“To-to-morrow at neh-noon oh-on the-the ho-holy grr-grounds of the-the al-Alorian ghe-gods...”

“You’re bloody useless!”

Evanis interrupted, cut the priests throat and kicked him to the floor. Next, she addressed the people in the tavern, completely disregarding the young man, writhing in his death-throes at her feet.

“Tomorrow at noon at the Marble Cemetery the priests will hold a trial against a young man they accuse of heresy. Don’t miss it!” She called out.

She didn’t really need to shout since she had the undivided attention of everyone in the room. Evanis then turned to the patch-men, who had followed her into the tavern.

“Hang the priest next to the door and pin one of his announcements at his chest,” she ordered. “And don’t forget, I want his eyes!”

“Aye, Commander,” the eighteen patch-men answered as one.

Skoljen Siklas was the first of many priests who died this night but he and his brethren had done a thorough job - when morning dawned the news of the coming day’s trial was widely known in all of Katerra.

They had taken Jabbit to the dungeon below the temple devoted to purity and devotion. They didn’t take him into an ordinary cell, though. The room was much larger than a simple cell and its furnishing exemplified this room wasn’t dedicated to either purity or devotion but rather to diligent questioning – or, more simply, torture. There was an open fireplace to heat the various iron tools laid out on a table next to it and an iron maiden stood close to another wall. A rack was placed in the center of the room and numerous chains, with hooks or shackles, hung from the ceiling or were attached to the walls. It was a well-equipped torturer’s workshop and the resident master craftsman was present as well. The only garments he wore were a weathered leather apron and an iron mask.

“The High Priest ordered twenty lashes of the whip and then to break his bones until he submits to be judged in a religious trial,” one of the Bhansun guards informed. “Keep him able to walk on his own feet, if possible.”