19ish

when the night fell, Mado fell asleep quickly, exhausted from the day's events. Zula sat in the garden, unable to sleep as the moons rose higher in the sky. There was a tightness in her throat that nothing would ease; every time she entered her room and say Madak's mat on the floor, she thought that her heart would break in two.
"Why?" she whispered to herself, closing her eyes. "Why could i not stay with her? They will come for Mado anyway, and I might have stayed with Madak and spared them the trouble of coming to find us." She bent forward and rest her forehead against her knees, wishing for everything to be the way it had been in the morning.
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Madak huddled against the floor of the metal cage that she had been pushed into. She wasn't sure what animal had occupied it previously, but it had not been a clean one. The priests had been prevailed upon to have a trial, so that all might feel easy in their consciences that they had not condemned an innocent woman. She had no hope that she would survive, but at least she had been permitted this one night to prepare her soul for its flight into the next life. She had said her prayers, and was now simply resting, waiting, watching the twin moons move across the sky, bathing the market plaza with their light.

The priests had established a watch around the cage, and those not on duty slept silently on the hard stones. Two priests were awake, the one on guard and the leader of the troop. He had been the one who had shoved her into the cage, and as he slammed the door shut, he stared into her eyes, as if looking for something. He had drawn back slightly in surprise, then slammed the door shut and locked it.

Now he paced restlessly outside the cage, his boots clattering on the stone. Veren's mind raced--if the Selidian witch was not the one he needed, it must be the child, but she and the mother had disappeared in the crowd when he caught the witch. It would not be difficult to take them later: he knew where their house was, and doubted that would flee into the desert during the night. Still he would feel better once he knew for sure, and was standing in the council hall with her consciousness in his hand. nothing could be assured until that moment.

As his footsteps rang out across the plaza, Zula crouched hidden in the shadows of one of the empty stalls. The moonlight was still bright, but the moons were behind her, and she did not think that th priest would see. She wondered how she could alert Madak to her presence, but at that moment, her friend turned and looked directly at her. Madak's face was in shadow, but the moons lit her hair from behind like a halo, and she gazed at Zula silently.

Zula began to scramble out of the shadows, but Madak held up a hand and shook her head. Zula paused; the priest on guard walked in front of her hiding place, and began another circuit of the plaza. There was no way to get from the shadow of the shop to the cage in the middle of the square without being seen. Zu;a's heart ached, and she knelt on the hard pavement. Linking her eyes with those of her friend again, she began her vigil.

Seeing Zula was almost enough to break Madak's resolve to show no emotion before the Temaltans. It took every last bit of her training to not break down into tears, but she held firm. The night passed slowly, and Zula never moved, and Madak never took her eyes off of her. The moons sank, Lede first, then Lotha, and the darkness fell completely, but the stars sitll shone above. Madak thought she could feel them watching over her, waiting for her to join them. Not after this life, perhaps; her soul was still too earthly and had not sprouted wings, but someday. She prayed, quietly, that she might be allowed to return, and continue growing in the soul's knowledge. She saw the faint starlight glint momentarily off Zula's eyes as she blinked, and almost without thinking, added a prayer that she might be able to help Zula again.

The sky lightened, and Zula still knelt, knees aching, on the cold stone. The priests all rose, and began their daily ablutions, scrubbing their bodies with sand until the skin was red and raw. They suddenly reminded Madak of the winged eels she had seen on the massive sandbars that rose from the southern seas; their robes fluttered in the early morning wind like the leathery wings of the eels, and their quick movements somehow seemed similar.

The sun rose in a blaze of light, and the sand burned brightly. The plaza filled with spectators, and Zula stood to mingle with the crowd. Many of the small children gathered around Madak's cage to taunt her, but she took no notice. As the sun rose, she knelt, and began to say her prayers to Suk, great god of the sun, and she let nothing distract her.

When the sun was above the tops of the buildings, the elders of the town gathered, and the trial was ready to begin.

The elders were seated on small stools at the center of the plaza; ont he other side of the cage stood all but one of the priests. As the elders acknowledged them, they bowed in unison and drew small knives from their belts. Each man pushed back his sleeve, and drew the knife across his forearm,

They raised their arms, and let the blood drip onto the sand; from where each man's blood fell, a rajik arose, shining and amorphous for a moment, then solidifing into a physical manifestation. The beasts growled, baring their teeth, and a child began to cry.

"It is begun," intoned Veren, stepping forward. "May the divine one chain our souls for a thousand lifetimes if we do not judge fairly today." The other priests repeated the oath, and the elders after them.

Veren leaned down and unlocked the cage door. Madak crawled out, and carefully stood up. She had been flexing her legs for the last few minutes, not wanting to stumble and appear weak when she stood before them. Her head was held high, and her eyes had a determined glint.

“You stand here, accused of witchcraft and necromancy. If you are found guilty of these charges, you will suffer the customary penalty: death by beheading. Your body will be left in the desert for the wild animals to strip, and your bones will bleach in the sun. Do you understand this?”

Her voice was quiet but strong, and it did not waver. “I understand.”

“Very well.” He turned to the elders and his fellows priests. “Three years ago, when my comrades and I were first in this village, I was walking about the desert one morning. A strange scent wafted by, and I followed it. I saw this woman in a garden, burning herbs and burying the ashes. I knew the plant; it is common enough, but few know of its uses in magic. She buried the ashes of the plant, as well as the trappings that the herbs had been wrapped in; I believe she intended to cover all traces of her trickery. But such a thing cannot be hidden forever.”

He began to pace again; his quick steps scattered sand across the stone, and grated on the pavement.

“Shortly after these devious rites, a child was born to the household. On the morning of its birth, she could once again be found in the garden. This time there were no herbs, but a song. A song in an ancient tongue, known in full only to a race of ancient witches. Even now, your poets still tell the stories of Suktis, the land of the witches that was destroyed by the mercy of the gods, to protect the rest of the world from their evil. This song is common among the witches we have found, and we have found none other who ever knew it.”

Veren raised a hand toward the edge of the plaza, and the crowd parted to allow the final priest to pass through to the center. He bore Mado in his arms, and Zula let out a strangled cry. At a glance from Veren, two of the other priests stepped forward and caught her as she ran to her child, and held her back.

“And here is the result of these secret labors. A thing in the form of a child, that bears the white hair of the witch-lords of Suktis. The witch has summoned what you call a hadji, a vengeful water-spirit. A soul of a witch, taken from the island that now lies under the sea, and joined it with matter, to create this thing.” Mado whimpered, and tried to hide her face in the priest’s robes, but he held her out to Veren.

The green-eyed man took her, and looked deeply into her eyes. He was surprised to see eyes of brown that looked back fearfully at him; he had expected the brilliant purple of her race, but it was no matter. He could see that she was a young soul, only on her first life, and not the one he sought.

“Here is the proof of this woman’s treachery. Now let us hear from her own lips what kind of defense she can give.” He stepped back into the line of priests, and handed Mado to another priest.

Madak stood silent for a moment, collecting her thoughts. There is no hope that they will let me live after this, she thought, but I intend to give a good account of myself.

“All in this village know that I am not from these lands. I have made no secret of the fact that I was picked up by a merchant ship while I floated adrift in the northern seas. I made this land my home, and have faithfully served my master and his wife these past years. They have, I trust, no words to condemn me, and I have done nothing to harm them or anyone else in this land.”

“Fine words,” Veren shouted, “but what have you to answer? The herbs, witch, the song, and the child. Explain them.”

“The herbs are simple enough. My mistress had a fever that threatened her life, and the life of her unborn child. I knew that herkil could be used against fever, and did so. I burned the remnants of the herbs because I knew that knowledge that is not common to all is often misnamed as witchcraft, or trickery.
“The song is one I learned as a child; I have always thought it pretty, and it tends to come to mind when I am happy. When should I be more happy than at the birth of my mistress’ child?
“As for the child herself, I have no answer because I had nothing to do with it. Children are often born with traits that seem to come from neither parent, and these are not normally associated with witchcraft. Neither is this one.”

One of the elders spoke this time, voice harsh and grating. “You say that you learned the song as child, but where were you born? Who taught you? These are still not answered.”

Madak held her chin high, and spoke calmly. “I was raised in one of the temples in the Selidian islands. I serve the Five Holy Gods and the Sacred Twins. Above all, I serve the great god Suk, whose ship is the sun. These priests would have you believe that this flesh is a shell, a trap, something to be shed as evil. But my people know, and have always known, that the flesh is a gift. You yourselves know it to be so, when you suckle a child, taste the spiciness of the gidics, or feel the sudden cool breeze that heralds the coming of the evening.”

She turned to face the priests, and her voice rose. “You say that this world is a trick of Servak, and that we are to shed every possible earthy affection and desire. But you lie, or you have been lied to. In the oldest stories, it is told that Suk created the world, but Servak had no effect on it, until he was able to sway a man’s soul. It was only then that his desires were unharnessed and his soul began to be pulled in all directions. It is not your body that you must shed to free your soul, but the wickedness of the soul itself must be rooted out. My soul is ready for death; I have spent many years ridding it of hatred, anger, selfishness, and fear. I will take wings and fly into a new life and time, where you cannot reach me.” Her voice, formerly quiet, had slowly increased in volume until her last words rang across the courtyard, and all present could hear them. She stood as tall and straight as Zula had seen her that evening in the garden, and her hair shone like flames.
Veren’s hand struck her full across the face, but she did not fall. She turned towards him, eyes blazng with strength, and stared at him in silence. She had said all she would say, and would say no more.
One of the elders rose to his feet, and shouted, “So you admit to worshipping with forbidden rites? We have heard it from your own mouth. And all your fancy words would not blind us to the sight of this spirit that you have summoned to dwell inside this child’s body.”
The elders conferred amongst each other for a moment, then turned to Veren. “We assume that you and your countrymen are in agreement as to what must be done?” Veren bowed slightly, and assured them that it was so.
“Very well, then.” One of the elders stepped forward. “We believe that she is a witch, and has brought an evil spirit among us. To preserve us, our families, and our crops, the witch must die. The hadji must be destroyed; it is our custom to take such things out a day’s journey into the desert, where they soon loose power and fade away.” He paused, and cast an eye towards Zula, who had gone limp at this pronouncement upon her daughter’s life. “However, we believe the mother and father of the hadji to have been deceived, and believe that they should not be punished. Their enchantment should break when the witch’s bones are spread out on the desert floor.”
“We are in agreement then,” Veren responded, bowing again. “Let us waste no time in breaking the witch’s spells, for much damage may have been done these three years.”

A cheer went up from the villagers, and Madak was made to kneel on the pavement. Veren stood over her, and drew his sword.

“No!” Zula screamed, but one of the priests holding her removed his leather glove, and jammed it into her mouth to silence her, and all that escaped was a low groan.

Madak turned for a moment to look at her friend, and smiled. “Let your wings grow, Zula. We will meet again.” Then she turned her face away, and let her hair flow loosely around her. As it blew freely in the wind, she began to sing:

“It is with joy that I have lived,
And my heart is light as I go,
I have loved much and loved well,
And we will meet yet here below.”

Veren raised his sword to strike the fatal blow, but Madak’s pure, clear voice continued.

“Until our souls take flight above
And go to dwell among the stars,”

The short blade whistled downward.

“With many loves held therein
And a million sunsets in our—“

Zula screamed again, and tears streamed down her face. A few wisps of ginger hair mixed with the sand that swept to and fro across the pavement.