Another story, fulfilling the Judgment theme... How do you prove your innocence to those who don't believe?
--
He had been in the cold so long that his mucus dried in his nose and there was nothing to do but shiver. Every now and again his mouth would roll open without even being felt, and it would have to be forcibly closed to keep his spittle from oozing out uncomfortably.
Within the dark, the held muttered to himself of something, anything. There were no senses to be had here. His arms held backwards, pulled by the unbreakable weight, yet he knelt and hung forward, powerless against the will of fate that had brought him there.
Sometimes, no matter how long you stayed in the dark, there was never any light to be seen. No growing vision, only solid darkness that consumed your senses and your life. Every now and again, beneath the stone door shadows would dance and move for moments, and then be gone. The man muttered dimly about his lost friends, the shadows appearing and then the light going out, the only lives he knew in such a begotten world.
With no escape, the man wished for the graceful kiss of mercy to collapse him.
When the door did open, his eyes felt as though the sun had kissed them instead, and it was all he could manage to squeeze them shut, tears wrought without sadness streaming down his face.
“Gods be good, what a sad sight.” A voice said, and although the man wanted to open his eye enough to see, the lights they held still blazed like men looking upon God.
“Sad or not, his time is now.” Another said, looking down to him. The chains that held him kept his arms straight back, the man hunched over in disgusting slump. Blood pooled around his shoulders, bruised black and purple. When they released the chains, he struck the stone floor with the side of his cheek.
The pain was a welcome feeling, as his hearing and sight still swirled.
By the time they had gotten him halfway up the stair, he had remembered why he was there, and why he was being pulled back. Shrieking and flailing, he fought against the two gaolers, but their strong bodies kept him down.
He could feel a momentary glimpse of life against him, grass dragging across his legs as they lay helplessly. There was fresh rain upon them, and the smell of the air was enough to make his head light.
The two shadows he had known for what felt like all of his life hauled him into a chamber as his eyes were slowly able to open. Before him, in a room of gold and silver fragments that patterned all, hundreds stood on either side as his worthless legs were dragged, bone beating against the precious metal floor.
“Before you stands.. well, lays, Dak-rah the Fourth, son of Dak-ah, and traitor to the lands of the open world. Understand that the judgement passed here is in the name of our Goddess, Doona, the Sultan of the planet.” A dry, aged voice managed to cough out, timbering at the highs and almost a whisper at the lows.
The man rolled his head up, squinting against the harsh light of reflections and fire. In the center of the room sat a form dressed in layers of silk and sash, all purple, blue, and black. As he looked upon her, the man had finally recalled why he had arrived.
“The sentence passed..” The voice said again, “is treason of the highest order, desertion of military bindings, and moral corruption.”
The man scrambled again as the two gaolers let him go, smacking loudly on the smooth embossed floor.
“I AM INNOCENT!” He cried out, his voice as ragged from disuse as the old man’s was from his veneration. Each word made his throat crack like old wood. “It wasn’t me!”
The man held himself up with one arm, the second outstretched to the sitting figure as they watched him contentedly.
Another man looked to the old announcer. He was tall and stout, with a broad chest, and Dak-rah knew him from long ago. They had served the Sultan together in arms, yet one stood tall, and the other lay crippled on the floor in shame.
“Without doubt, guilt is obvious amongst him and the ilk alongside.” He said, his smooth voice strong. The kind that would lead men to fight and die, someone had told him long ago when they spoke of the man.
“Certainly so.” The old announcer coughed into his sleeve, dressed in high military chaplain raiment.
“No!” Dak-rah cried out again, coughing a thin trail of blood that dabbed along his lip and chin. He had been caught with the men to arrest them, but the officer took them all in together. The Sultan trusted him above all.
The two looked at him, for what seemed to be the first time, and then back to one another. Their momentary silence made the prisoner believe that he was truly not to see his family again.
“Dak-rah, one of high order, was in the only position of leading amongst the conspirators. It is only logical that he would seek to overthrow.” The man said, and the rest of the small court nodded.
“The rest that were arrested all declared that you were at their head, my sir.” A soft voice said, from a well groomed man Dak-rah had not seen before, with sharp blue eyes that stood out amongst their violet companions. “None had spoken to one another, and all named you.”
“No! I am innocent, I meant to arrest them!” Dak-rah said, feeling the strength returning to him as he burned to live. His legs useless before him, he held himself as high as he could and tried to move forward. The gaoler put his heavy, plated boot in his back and the prisoner fell back to the floor, coughing. “Please...”
“By the agreement of the court, we hereby declare... guilt upon your shoulders. With forward of our Goddess sultan, our final verdict will,” the old man took a moment to cough again. Dak-rah had asked him about his health not even two weeks before, in good spirits, he had responded, but it seemed no more, “determine your life upon our world.” The small court all turned to look at the Sultan, who sat sideways in her throne, legs upon the side and her back against the armrests.
“Tell me, my Dak-rah, do the men speak the truth? You were truly there to arrest the conspirators?” She asked in a soft, purring voice that felt as though it called to him, and his ears only, from across the chamber. Dak-rah pulled himself weakly, nodding without hesitation.
“Yes, yes, Sultan you must know, I would die before harming you.” He said, as his arms wavered and his eyes watered, the burning light like he had never felt before. “Please, you must know...”
The idol looked to her court, who spoke to her in hushed tones, and she nodded at them before looking back down to the man who had sworn to protect her.
“Very well then. In the light of the heavens above and our dark nights, I declare the guilt upon your shoulders is true. You shall join your brothers not in valor, but in shame.” She waved her hand in a dismissive fashion, and Dak-rah screamed as loudly as his lungs would take, before a gaoler beat him in the face with a mailed fist. As the world swirled in and out of focus, he thought of his wife and his children, their faces just as much a blur as the paintings and tapestries that coated the chamber.
Teeth chipped all over and his lip shredded, an innocent man was dragged from the floor and taken into the forechamber. Another in pure white robes, carrying a long, thin blade, set him upon his knees, a shirtless and dirty man who had once stood as tall as giants in fabled gear and medals, and brought his blade down swift upon the nape of his neck, killing him instantly.
He died beneath an eloquently painted portrait of himself and the Sultan, the guilt on his shoulders lifted and free.
Discord
Light Style