I go cold. The “punishment” rooms at Prynne had drains.
The judge isn’t the Firstking. I’ve seen our creator only once, when Archer allowed me to glimpse Troika through his eyes, but he left a strong impression. He’s tall and strong, but Light, such intense Light, radiates from his eyes, even his pores, making it impossible to distinguish his individual features. He carries a rainbow on his back as if it’s a weapon, an actual bow. Power radiates from him, and as I’d gazed upon him, my blood fizzed; my skin felt as if lightning zipped over the surface.
This man is...odd. Half human and half spirit, as Victor and Elizabeth explained. He looks like he’s made of wind and flesh. A ghost, but dappled, like water is raining over him.
—Here.—Deacon’s voice whispers over the Grid. He waves to an open section on the bench, and we ease into place.
—So, what’s going on?—I ask, thankful no one else can hear me.
—In the witness seat is the human on trial. She’s the only human in the room. Her TB is the one seated beside her.—
The human. A thirtysomething female currently sobbing into her hands.
Deacon continues. —The ML, who works within the temporary sub-position of Barrister, is the one slapping the metal wand at the hologram playing beside the human.—
The judge gives us a fierce side-eye, as if he knows we’re having a conversation inside our minds. Then, focusing on the TB, he says, “You are certain you’re willing to do this?”
After a slight hesitation, the TB nods and says, “Yes, sir.”
“Very well. You may proceed.”
—Do what?—I ask Deacon.
—Every court case must be paid in blood. Since both realms agree the human isn’t to be harmed, the Barrister on the losing side pays the price.—
—But why is blood demanded, of all things?—I struggle to understand.
—One way or another, a contract is paid in full, even when it’s voided. Blood contains cells, nourishment for tissues, oxygen, antibodies for disease, hormones and other substances that help maintain health. Blood is the life of all flesh, and there is nothing more precious or priceless. Only blood can bind this woman to her contract—or set her free from it.—
Oh...zero. I get it. One way or another, someone is going to die today.
The hologram changes to reveal...a section of her life? Maybe her past? In it, a younger version of her looks over her shoulder before taking money from a grease-stained purse.
“Are you watching?” the MB demands of the TB. “Her mother worked hard for her cash. Cash she needed to pay for medicine. She had cancer. She existed rather than lived and her pain pills were her only source of relief. This girl, the one you hope to add to your flock of sheeple, stole her dying mother’s money—to get high.”
—Um, why does Myriad want to keep her?—The question springs from me, not out of a place of judgment but out of a need to understand the proceedings. —Why does Troika want her? Why are we willing to risk one of our citizens for her?—
—Love is never about a person’s actions. Love is about the person. This girl is loved. She has family in both Myriad and Troika. Family who will do anything to keep her or win her. More than that, the crimes mentioned...they are things that have eaten at her for years. Today, she’s not the girl she was yesterday. We know it. Myriad knows it, too. They mention these things only as a means of winning the case.—
The scene changes. The human is speaking with another girl. “Tammy is such a slut. I don’t know why we’re friends with her. Payton snapped his fingers, and she came running.” Snicker, snicker.
Another scene change. The human is in bed, snuggled against a boy’s side. She calls him Payton. The boy she ridiculed Tammy for sleeping with.
“You consider yourself a horrible person, don’t you?” the MB asks at her, and she only cries harder. “You steal. You lie. You degrade your supposed friends. Worse, you’re a hypocrite. You cut others down for things you yourself have done. Shall I go on? Does Troika need to know more about your despicable character before you call a halt to these proceedings?”
I shift in my seat, uncomfortable. My gaze locks on the Troikan Barrister, who remains silent in the witness seat.
—Why isn’t the Troikan objecting?—My tone is fierce. I’m struggling not to object.
—He’s only allowed to answer questions about his intent. The human must answer all others.—
—But why?—
Before Deacon can reply, the MB says to the TB, “You can’t want this piece of garbage in your realm. Tell me you’re not that foolish.”
“I want this beautiful life in my realm, yes.” The Troikan Barrister’s voice is firm, assured.
“Beautiful,” the MB sneers. “Did you fail to watch the feed?”
—Even if we win, the human must meet the requirements of our contract. She must forgive herself and even the people who hurt her today. If she can’t do so, we fought for nothing.—Sadness tinged with dread adds a heavy weight to Deacon’s words. They hang in my mind like a noose.
“And you.” The MB sneers at the human. He’s treating her like she’s scum on the bottom of his shoe. “Do you wish to be ransomed from Myriad and given into the hands of Troikans? Those who have been your enemy for so long? Do you truly believe you can forgive yourself for the pain and anguish you caused their people? Do you think they will forgive you?”
She trembles. The MB is attempting to strip her of her humanity, to reduce her to raw nerves and the very anguish she’s been accused of causing others. I grip the edge of my seat.
The judge isn’t the Firstking. I’ve seen our creator only once, when Archer allowed me to glimpse Troika through his eyes, but he left a strong impression. He’s tall and strong, but Light, such intense Light, radiates from his eyes, even his pores, making it impossible to distinguish his individual features. He carries a rainbow on his back as if it’s a weapon, an actual bow. Power radiates from him, and as I’d gazed upon him, my blood fizzed; my skin felt as if lightning zipped over the surface.
This man is...odd. Half human and half spirit, as Victor and Elizabeth explained. He looks like he’s made of wind and flesh. A ghost, but dappled, like water is raining over him.
—Here.—Deacon’s voice whispers over the Grid. He waves to an open section on the bench, and we ease into place.
—So, what’s going on?—I ask, thankful no one else can hear me.
—In the witness seat is the human on trial. She’s the only human in the room. Her TB is the one seated beside her.—
The human. A thirtysomething female currently sobbing into her hands.
Deacon continues. —The ML, who works within the temporary sub-position of Barrister, is the one slapping the metal wand at the hologram playing beside the human.—
The judge gives us a fierce side-eye, as if he knows we’re having a conversation inside our minds. Then, focusing on the TB, he says, “You are certain you’re willing to do this?”
After a slight hesitation, the TB nods and says, “Yes, sir.”
“Very well. You may proceed.”
—Do what?—I ask Deacon.
—Every court case must be paid in blood. Since both realms agree the human isn’t to be harmed, the Barrister on the losing side pays the price.—
—But why is blood demanded, of all things?—I struggle to understand.
—One way or another, a contract is paid in full, even when it’s voided. Blood contains cells, nourishment for tissues, oxygen, antibodies for disease, hormones and other substances that help maintain health. Blood is the life of all flesh, and there is nothing more precious or priceless. Only blood can bind this woman to her contract—or set her free from it.—
Oh...zero. I get it. One way or another, someone is going to die today.
The hologram changes to reveal...a section of her life? Maybe her past? In it, a younger version of her looks over her shoulder before taking money from a grease-stained purse.
“Are you watching?” the MB demands of the TB. “Her mother worked hard for her cash. Cash she needed to pay for medicine. She had cancer. She existed rather than lived and her pain pills were her only source of relief. This girl, the one you hope to add to your flock of sheeple, stole her dying mother’s money—to get high.”
—Um, why does Myriad want to keep her?—The question springs from me, not out of a place of judgment but out of a need to understand the proceedings. —Why does Troika want her? Why are we willing to risk one of our citizens for her?—
—Love is never about a person’s actions. Love is about the person. This girl is loved. She has family in both Myriad and Troika. Family who will do anything to keep her or win her. More than that, the crimes mentioned...they are things that have eaten at her for years. Today, she’s not the girl she was yesterday. We know it. Myriad knows it, too. They mention these things only as a means of winning the case.—
The scene changes. The human is speaking with another girl. “Tammy is such a slut. I don’t know why we’re friends with her. Payton snapped his fingers, and she came running.” Snicker, snicker.
Another scene change. The human is in bed, snuggled against a boy’s side. She calls him Payton. The boy she ridiculed Tammy for sleeping with.
“You consider yourself a horrible person, don’t you?” the MB asks at her, and she only cries harder. “You steal. You lie. You degrade your supposed friends. Worse, you’re a hypocrite. You cut others down for things you yourself have done. Shall I go on? Does Troika need to know more about your despicable character before you call a halt to these proceedings?”
I shift in my seat, uncomfortable. My gaze locks on the Troikan Barrister, who remains silent in the witness seat.
—Why isn’t the Troikan objecting?—My tone is fierce. I’m struggling not to object.
—He’s only allowed to answer questions about his intent. The human must answer all others.—
—But why?—
Before Deacon can reply, the MB says to the TB, “You can’t want this piece of garbage in your realm. Tell me you’re not that foolish.”
“I want this beautiful life in my realm, yes.” The Troikan Barrister’s voice is firm, assured.
“Beautiful,” the MB sneers. “Did you fail to watch the feed?”
—Even if we win, the human must meet the requirements of our contract. She must forgive herself and even the people who hurt her today. If she can’t do so, we fought for nothing.—Sadness tinged with dread adds a heavy weight to Deacon’s words. They hang in my mind like a noose.
“And you.” The MB sneers at the human. He’s treating her like she’s scum on the bottom of his shoe. “Do you wish to be ransomed from Myriad and given into the hands of Troikans? Those who have been your enemy for so long? Do you truly believe you can forgive yourself for the pain and anguish you caused their people? Do you think they will forgive you?”
She trembles. The MB is attempting to strip her of her humanity, to reduce her to raw nerves and the very anguish she’s been accused of causing others. I grip the edge of my seat.
