115 - My freedom was gone

It was Kaneka shaking my shoulder that woke me. “Chevenga, if we loosen the ankle-bonds, do you think you can walk down to Assembly Palace?”

I had no idea; I was groggy with the drug, and a kind of numb whiteness of the mind that I knew was from no drug. Nor had I any idea what time it was, though it seemed to be daylight; I’d forgotten to ask Kaninjer to make sure the drug would not erase my sense of time. “All I know is I need to pee so badly my back teeth are floating.” My throat hurt and my voice was gravelly. “Assembly Palace? I don’t work there, at the moment.”

“It’s not for that.” Kaneka helped me up. My legs were shaky, but would carry me to the privy at least. Every muscle in my body was sore. No matter that the bite-strap was gone; I doubted I had the strength to cause myself any harm with my teeth.

“Oh? What’s it for?”

“Court. That’s all I can say; you’ll have to ask Surya.”

“What—have I been charged with a crime? I guess I don’t need to ask whether I’m under arrest.” I remembered, to my horror, I’d laid hands on my mother. She was no longer here. Could she have charged me? Worms crawled in my heart.

“No, you haven’t been charged with a crime. But it’s the same as last night…” I saw him strive to find a gentle way to say what he had to, now I was looking at him with myself at least partly back in my eyes. “You’re going, either by your agreement or our action.”

“I’m stark naked and trussed up like a roasting chicken!”

They got me marya, kilt and sandals, but drew me towards the door without untying me. “Blessed All-Spirit, what are you going to do, frog-march me in bonds in broad daylight right through Vae Arahi?” I’d have been happier if I hadn’t asked, because that is exactly what they did. My swearing Second Fire come that I would do whatever they ordered if they released me, my avowals that my mind was entirely calm and I was entirely trustworthy, my pleas for the sake of my reputation, my threats to take them to court for doing this, were all to no avail; they’d been ordered by Surya not to free me without his permission, he was in the courtroom by now and I was due there too and so there was no time to send someone down and back up with a message.

The marya hid my arms, but anyone who looked could see my feet were bound far enough apart to let me walk but close enough to trip me if I tried to run. I’m deceiving myself, I thought. Anyone can tell my arms are bound too, by how I’m moving. I wanted to melt into liquid and soak away into the earth. Even so, it was all distant, in the whiteness of madness. I was out of it, but I also knew it wasn’t far away; with a certain thought it could come roaring right back. I carefully kept my mind away from that thought.

The courtroom in the new Assembly Palace was rebuilt in as close as they could get to the old style, elegant in its very plainness. I’d never been in it before, except as a curious child exploring, and that was the old one that the Arkans had burned down. Once when no one was looking I’d sat in the judge’s chair, and pretended, in as deep a voice as I could manage, to determine someone’s fate, giving them a ponderous talking-to. Back from Arko, I’d gone before the Arch-Arbitrate to confess to what I’d done in the Mezem, but that had been up in Kefara, in a field, since the Arkans still held Vae Arahi. This was just the local court, not the national, and having never had business in it before, I only knew the judge’s face slightly, from passing her in the corridors.

Shaina, Etana and Skorsas were all there, their faces grim and taut. So were Surya, Kaninjer, Krero, three of the Chevengani Mental State Assessment Committee including Linasika, and no small number of notepad-wielding writers. They were all in a bloc in the first rows of seats; my guards and I were closer to the back. We all rose for the invocation and to honour the judge, the scribe opened his book and took up his pen, and the bailiff tapped the bell with her crystal, opening the case. I had the distinct sense that I was the only person who didn’t know why we were here.

It was Shaina, senior among my four, who stood to speak. She was so nervous she read it off a paper. “We the spouses of Fourth Chevenga Shae-Arano-e,” she said, listing them all off and speaking for Niku in her absence, “come to request that our aforenamed husband be declared legally incompetent, and commended to the guardianship of ourselves and his healers, Surya Chaelaecha and Kaninjer of Berit, until we return to request of the court an end to this ruling. We ask this for the sake of his own safety and benefit, in regard to his mental state, as evidenced by his attempting suicide early this morning, and the assessment of Surya.”

I should have known. What else would it be? I leap to my feet. “Honoured judge, this is not necessary. I have a private arrangement in regard to competence and restrictions with my healer, and that is all that is necessary and therefore appropriate. I’ve served this nation unfailingly for seven years as all the world knows, there is nothing wrong with my mind, all I did was lie in a cold stream, I’m no lunatic to be locked up in a cushioned room…”

I only thought it, though. I didn’t say it. I’m not sure what stopped me. Kaneka’s hand, resting gently on my elbow? The back of Shaina’s head? (Skorsas peered at me, his blue eyes saying, “Forgive us, Jewel of the World, we have to, as we love you, I’m sorry.”) Perhaps it was Surya looking at my aura. Or perhaps it was just my own honesty. From what Shaina had read, Surya had come up to examine my aura sometime this morning, while I slept, and what he’d seen even as I lay drugged senseless, he’d judged reason for this. I wouldn’t be able to argue that I didn’t feel it myself.

The judge was thinking, her eyes on me, making me wonder what I looked like; my hair wasn’t even combed. I knew what would come next; she’d ask for details, and I’d hear the frantic pen-scratchings of the writers as they slaveringly noted every one. “What was the nature of the suicide attempt?” she’d ask. “Where did this happen?” “What precipitated it?” “It has happened before, which I understand the Committee has studied; are there any members present who can recount the incidents?” She’d call up whoever was in the best position to know the answer to each question; Surya, Kaninjer (he was holding the leather portfolio in which he kept my file), Linasika… me. My mother and Veraha were not here; they wanted to keep it secret what I’d done in her room, I guessed, and so didn’t want to be called testify. I will thank them on my knees, I thought, swallowing nausea.

“Fourth Chevenga Shae-Arano-e,” said the judge. “Take the chair of testimony.” Kaneka came with me, to steady me as I made the step up onto the dais. Then I couldn’t get my sword-hand forward enough to clasp my crystal to swear. Everything froze for a moment; anyone who hadn’t already known I was bound knew it now, and there was a quiet buzz through the room. Kaneka shot a glance at Surya, Surya signed chalk, and Kaneka set to untying the knots. The judge waited patiently. For me, it took a century.

Finally I was in the chair and properly sworn. “Fourth Chevenga,” the judge said, “it’s claimed that you attempted suicide, early this morning. Is this true?”

For so many reasons, there was no choice but truth. “Yes, Honoured Judge.”

“Did it end with you changing your mind, or someone else intervening, or some other way?”

“It ended with someone else intervening.”

“If someone else had not intervened, do you think you would have carried it through?”

That I honestly couldn’t say; I remembered all the other times. “I cannot know, Honoured Judge. Impending death has changed many a mind, and it might have changed mine.”

“But up until you were prevented, you were determined to carry it through?”

“Yes.”

“I want you to tell me,” she said, looking steadily into my eyes, “under oath as you are, how strong the inclination is in you now.”

“It’s… strong enough, Honoured Judge. I feel it.” A fairly sizable part of me, for one thing, would have preferred death over being here, but I didn’t say that.

I hadn’t quite fully answered her question of how strong, though, so she asked it in the pertinent way. “Could you say with certainty that, if you were free, you would not try again?”

I imagined myself saying it, and so knew it was a lie. “No.”

“Chevenga, your spouses, and your healers, are asking that I rule you legally incompetent and commend you to their guardianship. If I do, you will lose control of your own life; it is they, not you, who will decide where you go, what you do, who you are with; if any decisions must be made affecting you that normally you would make, it will be they who decide; they will be able legally to lay any strictures on you they deem necessary. Do you fully understand that?”

“Yes, Honoured Judge.” All too well; during my time in the House of Integrity, healing from the torture, I’d been deemed incompetent. I remembered how it had grated to send a letter to the Speaking Elder, and have her answer come back not to me but to my healer, asking why was I writing her when I was in the state I was in.

“Also,” said the judge, “I am not certain of the law on this, I’d have to look it up to be absolutely certain, but I am fairly sure that one who is designated legally incompetent by a Yeoli court cannot hold the position of semanakraseye, even ceremonially while he is on medical leave, so that if I do this, you’ll be in effect dismissed from the position, rather than on medical leave… I believe it doesn’t even have to be ratified by Assembly. Do you fully understand this?”

“I understand and know it, Honoured Judge. You need not look it up.” The law was straightforward and I’d learned it fairly young. I happened to glance at Surya; I saw on his face, clear as day, that he hadn’t known, or thought of, this part.

“In light of all you know,” said the judge, “do you dispute the contention of your spouses and your healers, that your being ruled legally incompetent and commended to their guardianship is necessary for your safety and your benefit? Or do you concur, and offer no contention?”

I took a deep breath. She was trying to save the court time, as judges always do, and me embarrassment. If I concurred and offered no contention, that would be it; she’d declare it, tap the bell with the crystal and we’d all be free to go. If I disputed, however, we’d be here examining my emotional entrails until she was satisfied she knew what was best; that might take the whole day or longer, with the writers scrawling every word. She was using that threat, I saw, to pressure me to concur and offer no contention. Like it or not, that is how courts work. As always, you choose.

The words sounded distant to my own ears, in an unfamiliar voice, as if they came out of someone else’s mouth. “I concur and offer no contention.” All around the room, people let out their breath.

“You may leave the chair, Fourth Chevenga,” the judge said. “Does anyone else present dispute the request at hand?” No one spoke. “Given what I have heard here today and in accordance with the request of the spouses and healers of Fourth Chevenga Shae-Arano-e, I declare Fourth Chevenga Shae-Arano-e of Vae Arahi legally incompetent and commend him to the guardianship of his four spouses and to the healers Surya Chaelaecha and Kaninjer of Berit, indefinitely but subject to review in this court in a half-year, if no reversing request has been granted by then. And on behalf of the court, I wish him the best.” With one tap of the crystal to the bell, I was Chevenga Aicheresa again, and my freedom was gone.




--