Freeing Nivaka Page 4

  “We have to get my father,” Ahren said, fighting the panic that threatened to overwhelm her. “He can help.”

  The women linked arms and hurried to Ahren’s home across the Square. They burst through the door together, and Ahren pulled ahead to search for her father.

  She checked the private courtyard first, and when she found it empty, knocked on the door to her father’s study.

  An eternity passed while she waited, heart pounding. She pressed her ear to the door and listened intently to the rustling of papers, the clink of glass, and footsteps on the wooden floor. She stepped back a breath before the door swung open.

  “What’s——”

  Ahren burst into tears. “Father, you have to help!” she shouted, unable to contain the panic any longer.

  Valasa sighed and led his daughter to the sofa. She sank down onto it, buried her face in her hands, and sobbed. She couldn’t force words out between the tears. Thankfully, Zyana had managed to maintain control of herself, and she relayed the situation to the Gadonu.

  When she had finished, he placed a hand on Ahren’s shoulder and waited for her to meet his eyes. “What is it you want me to do?” His voice was gentle, but firm, and it cut through some of the panicked haze in Ahren’s mind. “They knew the risks when they decided to learn to use those weapons.”

  “You can help them, right? Keep Tavan from… from… killing them!” She blurted the last part on a fresh wave of tears.

  Her father waited until she regained control of herself, rubbing circles on her back as if comforting a small child. “You know I’m not allowed to intervene in Tavan’s rulings.” He handed Ahren a handkerchief. “I’m not even allowed in the building during these things. When we had a mayor and council, sure, I had some leverage with them, but the governor doesn’t honor our old ways.”

  “But you have to do something!” Ahren’s voice pitched higher with each word. “We can’t just give up on them.”

  Valasa shook his head. “I cannot intervene, and you should probably stay out of there, too. If you speak up in that hearing, you’ll only make the situation worse.”

  “He’s right,” Zyana murmured.

  Ahren jumped, swiveling to meet her friend’s eyes. “No, we can’t give up,” Ahren whispered, grabbing Zyana’s hands. “You can’t give up on them.”

  “He’s right,” she repeated. “If we say or do anything, we’ll make it worse for them and probably end up in the same situation with them.”

  Dumbfounded, Ahren stared at her father and her best friend. Zyana’s brown eyes flooded with tears, and Ahren choked back a sob. “He’ll kill them,” she whispered. “Like he did the others.”

  “I don’t think he will,” Valasa said, setting a hand on her arm.

  Ahren shook her head, unable to think of a response.

  Her father continued. “Those boys were from the outer edges of the village. Even though their fathers were hard workers, they never managed to move closer to the Square.”

  “What does that have to do with anything?” Ahren shouted, stunned by the direction her father had taken the conversation.

  “More than I’d like to admit,” Valasa said. “Whether we like it or not, Tavan cares about who’s important in this village, and he didn’t see those boys as important.”

  Ahren jerked her arm away from her father and stood, turning to stare blindly out the window.

  Valasa continued as if she hadn’t moved. “Wayra, Alija, Kai, and your brother are all from prominent families—they’re high-ranking young men. Tavan won’t risk the ire of those families by executing their sons.”

  Desperation and panic overtook her again, an uncontrollable tidal wave of terror and hopelessness, and Ahren couldn’t hold back the hot tears. Her eyes burned as the tears fell in unchecked rivers down her cheeks. “I can’t believe you’re not even going to try.”

  A sudden sense of claustrophobia clutched at her throat. She would suffocate if she stayed in that room any longer, she was sure of it. She spun on her heel and dashed from the room.

  8

  Decisions

  Once the prisoners had left the Meeting Hall, Tavan stalked out through the side doors. He made it halfway to his house when an elderly man grabbed his sleeve. “I heard about the young scouts. I can tell you what’s killing all your men. You’re not supposed to approach the Bokinna without her permission.”

  “Did I ask for your nursery stories?” Tavan growled. He tore his arm out of the old man’s grip and shoved him aside.

  “Her protectors will keep killing your soldiers until you stop and ask for her blessing.”

  “I said I don’t need your myths.” Tavan felled the man with a vicious backhand and hurried to his study.

  “Corlim!” he roared as he took the stairs two at a time. “Corlim! Where are you?” Tavan stomped into his study and slammed the door behind him, but it swung open again without a sound.

  “I’m here, sir. I heard. What will you do with them?” Corlim’s straw-colored hair hung in a tangle around his narrow face. He pushed it out of the way and stared at Tavan.

  “I don’t know yet. I need you to help me figure this out.” Tavan dropped into his chair. “It’s been my policy to execute anyone caught breaking that law, but I’m not sure that’s the best course of action here. These men are all from prominent, important families. If we execute them all, we’ll have another revolt on our hands. Maybe just execute the one—their little ringleader?”

  Corlim cleared his throat. “I don’t know, sir. That little one is the Gadonu’s son. He’d probably be the worst to make an example of.”

  Tavan cursed and swung his feet to the floor. “Then who? The others all stood there while he did the talking. If I let them get away with this, we’ll have an armed revolt by the end of summer.”

  “That tall, skinny one might do,” Corlim offered. “I don’t think he’s terribly important.”

  “No.” Tavan huffed out a sigh. “His father is the head of the carpenters. If we kill his son, he may lead a revolt himself, and his men all have augers and hammers and picks they could use as weapons.” Tavan pushed himself out of his chair and stalked to the window. “I hate these political games.” He stared unseeing out into the forest and waited for an idea to come.

  “What if we whip them?” Corlim said, startling Tavan with the sudden question.

  “That might work. A hundred lashes each? Two hundred? That would send a message they won’t soon forget.”

  Corlim shook his head. “Two hundred would likely kill them. One hundred should do the trick.”

  They spent the rest of the hour parsing out the details of their punishment, and by the time they’d made up their minds, Tavan felt as giddy as a child with a new toy. “I wish we could just execute them all. Send a message to all these simpletons that we’re not playing games,” Tavan said.

  “Agreed. I don’t think Helak would like it, though.” Corlim shook his head. “He wants us to keep the peace while we search for his prize.”

  “And so, we will. I’ll show him I can manage this group of tree-grown idiots and find whatever he’s looking for. He won’t be able to resist promoting me, then. How long has it been? Is it time to meet the guards?”

  Corlim glanced at the clock on the mantle. “Yes, sir, it’s time. Maybe they’ve decided to join us. Wouldn’t that be a change?”

  “I won’t bet on it. They hate everything we stand for.”

  “All the more reason to make sure they know they can’t beat you, sir.”

  9

  Punishment

  The entire village showed up for the judgment, or so it seemed to Alija. Nearly every chair was occupied. The restless crowd shifted and moved like a twitchy young deer, but no one spoke. They maintained their silence only because Tavan would throw them out of the hearing for the faintest sound. The only people Alija didn’t see were Dalan, Wayra, and Kai. Their absence set off warning bells in his head, and he worked to appear contrite in front of the
brutal ruler.

  “Well? Alija, right?” Tavan smiled, showing his yellowed teeth. “You’ve had an hour, more even, to consider my offer. Will you join my army?”

  Alija swallowed. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, and he wished he’d been allowed a cup of water. “Where are the others?” he asked, his voice weak. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Where are my friends?”

  Tavan stood, glaring over the table at him. “I’m asking the questions here. Will you join my army, or will you take the punishment for breaking the law?”

  “I’ve broken no law,” Alija said, his voice strong and clear. “And I’ll never join you.”

  “Oh? Do you question my guards’ honesty?” Tavan smiled again, a predatory grin that hit Alija like a fist in the gut.

  “Ask your guards if they saw us using those weapons. If they’re honest, they’ll tell you they didn’t. We had the weapons stashed in the bushes in case our enemies on the ground attacked, but we weren’t using them.” He hoped that matched what Dalan had said earlier.

  “You know the law.” Tavan’s voice echoed off the walls. “Any weapon not belonging to my army must be mounted for display. These were not. Will you join my army, or will you accept the consequences?”

  “I’ll never join you,” Alija said. He forced aside thoughts of the punishments Tavan had ordered for lesser offenses: beatings, public humiliation, executions. His legs shook, and his stomach quivered, but he wouldn’t show this monster his fear.

  “Then you will regret it.” Tavan’s voice dropped low. “Don’t think for a minute that your father’s rank will save you.” He raised his head and shouted to the guards at Alija’s sides. “Take him away. Bring in the next one.”

  The guards dragged Alija out and to an abandoned house nearby. It was the old chancellor’s house, the same spot where he had told Dalan about Bakko trying to recruit the twins. His gaze lingered on the ivy curtain blocking the view to the courtyard, and he tripped on the threshold when the guards shoved him through the door.

  They locked him in an empty bedroom with broken furniture and a cracked window. A guard stood outside the window with his back to the house.

  Defeated, Alija sank onto the remnants of the bed. He half expected rodents to scurry away, but nothing moved in the musty room. In the silence, he struggled to quiet his mind. All the what-ifs and maybes in the world couldn’t help him; they’d just make him crazy. Still, he worried. What if the others caved and joined Tavan? What if that vile governor decided to execute them all? Maybe he should have been more polite, less defiant when he’d faced Tavan.

  “Oh, stop it,” Alija said aloud.

  Before the worries could return, he took up the same pastime that had kept him sane in the jail. He counted the narrow boards that made up the floor. When he’d counted them all, he moved on to the boards on the walls.

  He’d made it halfway through the second wall when the door slammed open against the wall.

  “Time to go,” the guard said, crossing the room.

  “You ready ta die?” Bakko sneered.

  Alija kept his gaze ahead as they marched him across the Square. It was the longest walk of his life, despite being less than four hundred paces. Every step drew him closer to his fate, and Alija’s knees nearly buckled twice. If Tavan decided to execute him, there would be no delay. The governor believed in swift justice and carried out beatings and executions alike within moments of sentencing.

  Alija’s heart pounded against his ribs like a caged animal seeking freedom, and sweat beaded on his brow. He dragged in a ragged breath and stepped into the Meeting Hall with his head held high. He kept his eyes on Tavan as he walked toward the narrow rail. He could feel the villagers’ gazes burning into him, but he couldn’t meet their eyes. Panic boiled just below the surface, threatening to overflow with every breath.

  Dalan stood at the rail, head bowed, and a commotion at the door behind him alerted Alija that the others had arrived. He closed his eyes for an instant, summoning the strength to continue. His steps faltered.

  “Go on!” Bakko shoved him forward.

  Alija stumbled. He staggered a few paces before he regained his balance and stopped beside Dalan at the rail. He traced the wood grain of the bar with his eyes, using it to distract himself from his surroundings. Alija didn’t look at Dalan; he couldn’t. He feared one look at his brave friend would be the end of his tenuous self-control. Wayra and Kai lined up beside him, but Alija kept his head down.

  The villagers fell silent, the soft rustling of fabric and fanning of paper loud in the vast space.

  “I’m going to give you each one more chance,” Tavan said, his voice cold and cruel. “Join my army and learn to use those weapons to further Helak’s goals or face the consequences of your treachery.”

  Good, Alija thought. The others stayed strong. Our best chance is to stay united.

  Before he could register more than that, Tavan pounded a fist on the table. Alija jumped but didn’t raise his head. “Yes or No will seal your fate.”

  “No,” Dalan said, his voice ragged.

  Bakko nudged Alija’s shoulder with the point of his spear, tearing his shirt. Alija swallowed and croaked, “No.”

  Wayra and Kai both gave the same answer.

  Blood roared in Alija’s ears, and he rubbed his sweaty palms together, the movement chafing his wrists against the binds. Blood trickled from the raw skin under the rope, but he ignored it, focusing instead on taking a deep breath.

  “I could execute every one of you for this. You know that.” Tavan walked around the table and leaned against it, staring down at the prisoners. Alija glanced up from beneath his brow but didn’t raise his head. “But I won’t.”

  Alija’s heart jumped, and he held his breath. He never shows mercy. What’s he doing?

  “Instead,” Tavan continued, “I’ve decided to be merciful. As you each pointed out, my guards haven’t done a very good job of protecting you from our enemies on the ground, and so you were partly justified in wishing to defend yourselves. Only partly, though, because you needed only to ask for an escort and I would have provided it.

  “I’ve decided…” Tavan let the words hang for what felt like an eternity. “That one of you will take the punishment for the group. Since you’re all so close.”

  Alija’s stomach sank, but he didn’t move.

  “You’re all so very noble,” Tavan said, sneering, “so, I’m sure you’ll each volunteer. Instead, I’ve talked to my guards. One of you said some pretty foul things to my men during your hour, while the others used that time for quiet reflection.

  “Kai, you will have the honor of taking one hundred lashes for your friends.”

  Alija jerked his head up. “No,” he shouted, but he was too late.

  The guards grabbed him by his arms and dragged him backward out of the Meeting Hall. Dalan and Wayra staggered along in front of him, their guards also tugging them back up the aisle. The procession stopped under the massive Pavilion beside the Meeting Hall—once the favorite spot for celebrations, it now served as the place of Tavan’s retributions: beatings, executions, and other punishments.

  Shackles and chains hung from the wall, descending halfway to the ground, and the guards dragged Alija, Dalan, and Wayra to them. The cold steel of the shackles soothed the burning ache from the rope, but Alija still fought them. The guard kicked at his legs, buckling his knees, and he fell forward, pain shattering through his bones on impact. He tried to keep his head bowed, refusing to watch what happened next, but the guard grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked his head back.

  His gaze met Kai’s across the broad space, and the terror in his friend’s expression took his breath away. Blood roared in his ears, and he leaned over to retch. His stomach churned and heaved, but nothing came up.

  They tied Kai across a barrel in the center of the Pavilion, and Alija tried again to look away. Once more, the guard yanked his hair and forced his head up.

  The next ho
ur passed in an agonizing blur as the soldiers counted out one hundred lashes. At first, Kai stayed quiet, but by the end, he screamed with every strike.

  Alija sobbed, tugging at his bonds, and kicked at the soldier that held his head, but to no avail. He couldn’t help his friend.

  Finally, the soldier reached a hundred and stepped away from Kai’s bleeding back. The guards released Alija’s bonds, and he collapsed to the floor, too weak to stand.

  10

  Enough

  Once Alija had recovered enough to stand, he staggered over to Kai. The injured man hadn’t moved from his position, slumped over the barrel. The flail had cut strips from his back, and blood flowed in rivulets to the floor. Unsure where to put his hands without causing his friend more pain, Alija hovered inches from Kai’s face. He didn’t move, didn’t open his eyes.

  Alija tapped Kai’s cheek with his fingertips. “Kai? Are you all right?”

  He groaned and turned his head away, and relief nearly knocked Alija’s trembling legs out from under him.

  Dalan and Wayra stumbled to Kai’s other side.

  “We have to get him to my father,” Dalan said, his voice brittle as a reed in a summer wind.

  “How do we move him?” Wayra asked. His voice was stronger, but sweat dripped from his face and hair, soaking his shirt.

  Alija knelt in front of the barrel and nudged an uninjured spot on Kai’s shoulder. “Hey, Kai. We have to move you. Do you think you can walk a bit if we support most of your weight?”

  With another groan, Kai nodded and lowered his arms to his sides. Alija scooted close to Kai’s side, searching for a place to put his hands. He draped Kai’s arm across his shoulders and used his other hand to grab Kai’s pants. Wayra took the same position on Kai’s other side.

  “On three,” Alija said through gritted teeth. They lifted Kai off the barrel, the movement awkward and halting. When he found his feet and could support some of his own weight, they moved forward together. The watching crowd parted to allow them to pass, though no one stepped forward to help them.