Another rainstorm had swept the hills the day before, sending streams and brooks of water down into the northern savannah. Most of Olston hid in their homes or worked in the mines, though even those began to flood in the storm, and Novar’s trial was postponed another day, like it was a meeting to play dice, not the life and death consequences of a youth’s mistake. Raya sat in her house all day, listening to her mother hum or sing short stanzas of folk music from the Radregar northlands. When she got too bored of watching rain through an slightly ajar window, she whittled wood into arrow shafts.
The next day was bright again. The clouds had passed. And everyone who didn’t have to work in the mine climbed up Old Sun Rock, pressing against the sides of the longhouse, to see the murderer face his accusers, the Council of Olston. Now eight in number, they sat at raised table on the far side of the longhouse; Novar was bound with rope and seated on a simple wooden bench to their left side. The ‘witnesses’ had been notified a few days earlier by guard Tharin, and were seated in a casual row-by-row seating area. There were far more chairs than witnesses, but it was still a cordoned off section from the general seating.
Raya sat with her parents in the front row of the longhouse, and looked back at the crowd. No one was talking about the issue at hand, they were just speaking about the storm and the mine and the refugees. Many refugees had joined them, judging by their state of apparel and their darker-tanned skin.
“Attention,” called out Santhee. She was one of the younger councillors, but still ten years Raya’s senior. Her clear voice rang out over the building, and silence fell.
Raya looked to her right. There were only two others, sitting separately from her parents and she: Tella’s mother and father. They were both shaken, and in tears. Raya’s mother had begun to cry too, but her father remained stoic. He was not a stern man, but he was a grounded and calm one.
“This is not a usual issue for us, or you, the citizens of Olston,” Santhee began. “A murder has been committed in our homes, and must be addressed with all the gravity it warrants. Olston is growing”—Old man Cavthur sighed skeptically through his wrinkles—“and we must change with it, whether we like it or not.” She gave her fellow Councillor a glare as she sat down.
Raya took a deep breath, and looked closer at Novar, for the first time that day. Her brother kept his head bowed. He had red eyes, which seemed to look in any direction but the parents of the young woman he had killed.
Councilman Rother stood up. He had a wiry grey beard jutting from his olive skin, and no other hair to speak of. “The Council will address Raya Ganner first. Please stand young miss.”
Behind her, a short murmur went up from the crowd.
Raya blinked. She was first? She hadn’t prepared—how did one prepare for a trial? She looked at her parents. Her mother was still wiping away tears, but Mister Ganner put his hand on hers and gave her a nod. Raya stood up. “Yes?” she asked, timidly.
Melik Kama was the first to speak, thankfully. “Raya, you’ve been such a loyal help to our town, as your father was before you. We understand how tragic your circumstances are now.”
“Thank you, Councillor,” she said, with a nod.
The longhouse creaked. It was an old building, made with stone walls, wooden supports, and clay shingles. Melik frowned and moved on to business. “Tell me about the night your brother was reported for this crime.”
Raya took a deep breath. She had decided already. She told them the truth. “I came back from a hunt one night, more than a full moon ago. I spoke to Councillor Cavthur at the gate, because some of Viker and Lotha’s supplies were arriving. After that, I went home, and found Novar on our back porch.”
“Why did you go in the back door?” Santhee asked, interrupting her.
Raya nodded, and explained, “I have a shed behind our house for skinning and supplying. Novar was on the porch… he had blood on him.” She shuddered, involuntarily. She had not relived that night yet, not vividly.
In the moment of silence, Cavthur managed a, “Get on with it.”
Raya winced, as though he’d attacked her. “I-I went inside, even though he told me not to, and found Tella there. She was on the floor, with a-a metal candlestick.”
Santhee spoke with none of the emotion that the other two had exhibited. “Raya, is it your belief that your brother killed his friend, as he has claimed since? Or is it other madness that has caused him to take the claim of an imagined guilt?”
“Councillor—” Raya paused. She had been about to say, ‘I don’t know’, and try to find another way out of the issue. She cleared her throat, then said, “Yes. I believe, in some terror and perhaps the loss of his wits, my brother did harm to the only person in this world he truly loved.”
There was silence for a moment, and then mumbling throughout the hall.
Rother stood up once more. There was a single drop of sweat on his forehead, making its way slowly down the age-sunken furrow in his skull. “Next we would like to speak with your parents, Mister and Mistress Ganner. Rise.”
They stood up, and Raya sat down. For them, the Council questioned Novar’s past. Had he ever displayed traits of madness and mental disease? As a boy two years older than Raya, he had always been more quick to action, and more easily angered, but he had never harmed anyone save one fist fight with a neighbour’s son. To Tella’s parents, they asked only one question—would Tella do something to antagonize him? A few of the Councillors seemed to object to even having her parents as witnesses.
“We’ve heard enough,” Councillor Rother said.
Cavthur, with his chin in his palms, sighed loudly. He had heard enough long ago.
“The Council will now vote,” Rother continued. “We have four options considered for Novar’s punishment. Should the Council decide his crimes were the act of an unsound mind that might be treated to prevent further… grievances, he may be pardoned.”
The crowd’s mumbling rose. People were angry by that. “He’s a killer, no better than the bandits!” someone called out, loudly.
“The Council could spend coin from the treasury to escort Novar to a prison in the city, where he may serve a sentence for his crimes, or be bought for the slave market,” Rother continued.
“While refugees starve?” demanded someone in the audience.
“Order,” Viker snapped, and the refugees stopped stirring up trouble. From their perspective Viker and Lotha were their saviours, not the populace of Olston. He folded his arms, hiding the star tattoos on his arm.
Rother sighed, and explained the last two options. “Simplest option: we banish Novar. Harshest, we execute him.”
Novar’s head, where he was slouching, dropped further, but it was a rolled nod not a collapse of fear. He seemed completely surrendered.
Raya shook her head. She knew it would be an option, but after everything, death seemed such a large consequence for her brother. The Council voted anonymously; each member placed a small piece of parchment with a charcoal mark on it in front of them, folded. An usher approached from the audience and collected them. Then, Santhee opened each and marked down the votes. The whole process took little more than fifteen minutes. Fifteen, to define Novar’s life.
With a sigh, Santhee stood up. “I will not deny it saddens me to announce… Novar is to be executed. Let no man commit murder in the town of Olston.”
Raya shook her head. Her mother cried out, and her father sighed. “It’s wrong,” Raya mumbled. This was a crime of an unsound mind, not a murderous intent… Novar did not deserve to die. She stood up, with the rest of the crowd, but her voice was not a cheer, just a quiet curse. She would speak with the Councillors on his behalf, she decided. Not because she owed him anything, not even because they were friends. Because it was right.