136 - Absolutely nothing to worry about

Where my case was weakest, of course, was that I had essentially decided I was wiser than Assembly and the laws of Yeola-e, before I’d even reached age of majority. Even if I’d been right, it was a precedent, that could open the door for a future stripling of a semanakraseye who might be just as wrong as I had been right.

We decided at this point not to argue for acquittal by justification, but for lenience only. “In fact,” Chosaiya said, “you could even state willingness to accept a harsh punishment so as to atone. It’s insane how utterly wrong it would be, but… if you did, it would leave you cleaner for Assembly’s approval vote. Given the choice, would you submit to, say, a flogging to keep the semanakraseyesin? Have you ever been flogged?”

I unclasped my shirt and showed her my back. “The Yeoli whip would be a relief after the Arkan,” I said. “You see how each line has a series of little gashes, evenly spaced?” She just signed chalk, tight-lipped; I could almost feel her fight down bile and think this will look good at the same time. “It’s by number of strokes in Arko, but I got flogged to falling Yeoli-style twice during the Lakan war, too. Yes, I’d submit to that.”

“Then we have that option; I will remember. It could be a little like the Kiss of the Lake, an expression of humility and submission to the will of the people, and thus a way to reassure Yeolis who fear you… you know they exist and are many, don’t you? I ask because it’s just the sort of thing people like you are blind to, because you know they have nothing to fear and you don’t want them to.”

“The point was brought home to me rather forcefully by Sharaina Anina,” I said. Chosaiya was right, though; it had never been truly real to me until then, and in a sense still was not, since Sharaina was now gone.

“True. We can let them negotiate us back to flogging, if necessary.” My other court cases had been too simple and fast to teach me what I was learning now: a trial is like a cross between a battle and a market-place haggle.

Finally she told me what I should do if the prosecution did make the argument that Linasika was already giving the writers by the shovel-full: that my decision betrayed a breathtaking arrogance, especially given my age.

“The reading by Jinai we will spring on them in the trial,” she said. “In the meanwhile… this will be hard for you, because you’re appropriately mortified by the thought, just as you’ve been so strictly trained to be. And, as with everyone of good conscience who is falsely accused, part of you wonders if it’s true, and can’t imagine you’d be accused of it if it weren’t, because, at heart, you see the world as a truthful place. There is nothing that makes my work harder than that tendency…

“But I know you can do what I ask, because I’ve seen it in you as we’ve spoken. Every now and then you say something that in anyone else would be the height of arrogance, but the way you say it is matter-of-fact, straightforward and free of even a trace of conceit. You have to say, ‘I judged right, and not by chance,’ without sounding arrogant… or shy. I think you know: arrogance comes from shyness. And they are both indulgences. Answer about deciding in the same spirit in which you decided, tell it as you told me. In other words, just be yourself.”

I swallowed a quip about the irony of using just being myself as a courtroom tactic. (“Should I just be myself in a carefully calculated way, or just be myself just being myself?”) It occurred to me that I’d possibly have done better without even thinking of this at all, same as a sword-stroke. Could I keep from thinking on the chair of testimony, same as on the field? “Maybe I didn’t even need to tell you this,” she said, as if reading my mind. “You’re not going to be able to help being yourself. But what I don’t want you to do, when you’re explaining why you did it, is hold back out of humility.

“Let me put it another way: the witness’s oath is not only to tell the truth, but to tell it clear and complete. That means you can’t leave anything out, even that which you cringe to say publicly out of long habit. Chevenga… the time has come to open your heart completely to your people, and throw your fate into their hands.”

She looked long into my eyes while I sat frozen. “Deep inside, you’ve wanted to do that all along, haven’t you?” I had not known that excellent advocates can sometimes be like excellent healers, bringing out into the light a truth of yours you’ve never known. I signed chalk, speechless for tears. She put her hands on my shoulders. “Then there is nothing to worry about. Absolutely nothing.”

†

The first appearance in a trial like this is very brief, and all formalities; I told family and friends they shouldn’t bother coming.

The prosecution enters and signs its statement, which was but two sentences this time:

“By his own admission while under the effects of Arkan truth-drug, sworn in its efficacy by Krero Saranyera, kengakraseye darya semanakraseyeni, as recorded by the Chevengani Mental State Assessment Committee of the Assembly of Yeola-e, proceedings of etesora 83 1556, Fourth Chevenga Shae-Arano-e of Vae Arahi, hereinafter referred to as the Accused, breached the Statute semanakraseyeni sections 21-1 and 21-5-7 as of his first taking office on atakina 19 1547, by, respectively, not revealing to Assembly his certainty that his life would end after ten years in office at the most, and by accepting approval despite this certainty, though he should have known the existence of this certainty could well cast doubt on his suitability for the position.

“The prosecution will provide proof in the form of the aforementioned transcript as well as the testimony of the Accused and others as deemed necessary but not without due notice, and hereby argues for the most severe penalty and measures as is appropriate.” (The last sentence was standard wording; as Chosaiya had said, everyone knew I’d broken the law even before I’d confessed; all that had done for the prosecutors was save them a little work.)

Chosaiya had been fairly right, about which prosecutor it would be; Tresaha Shae-Kila was one of the middling-experienced ones. He was so perfectly, officiously impassive as he spoke, there was no telling his true feeling.

The defense enters and signs its statement also. Mine, which Chosaiya and I had worked over carefully, read thus:

“I freely admit breach of the Statute semanakraseyeni sections 21-1 and 21-5-7 as of first becoming semanakraseye on atakina 19 1547. I do not contend that I deserve acquittal, but I will argue for lenience by reason of my having made the decision I did in accurate anticipation that Yeola-e would benefit by having a semanakraseye of my ability, even if only for a short time.”

Then the procedures were done by which a trial is taken before Assembly, and court adjourned until the next day, when we’d get into the meat.

I went with her back down to her office in Terera, and we spent much of the rest of the day rehearsing, like actors preparing to go on stage. She played herself, and so we planned out her questions and my answers, almost to the word; then she played Tresaha and the Servants of Assembly, throwing the questions at me she anticipated they would. Finally she told me how to dress, and saw me off with a confident smack on the back and her usual, “Don’t worry, and sleep well.”

†

The next morning, there was a line of people at the Assembly Palace door stretching most of the way through the village.

The writers had reserved their places the moment I’d been charged, of course, but my family and friends hadn’t done the same, nor I for them, though I should have thought of it.

We went to one of the back doors, and I managed to talk one of the stiff-chinned old courtroom guards, who’d known me since I’d been a bothersome tyke, into letting everyone into the gallery who was either my kin or a dear friend.

In Assembly Hall, the Servants were milling, gradually getting to their seats, their feet shuffling on the wooden floors and papers in their hands. Though they greeted me with their eyes, a raised hand here and there and a hello from those who were closest, they showed nothing other than a certain grimness. When I saw Linasika, I turned my eyes away before he could turn his to me, afraid of what I might let him see.

The Arch-Arbitrate came in together, greeting no one, as is traditional, though I wanted to greet them, since their faces were so much more familiar. How many times have I been in court since I started with Surya? I counted them on my fingers. Sharaina’s trial, being deemed incompetent, being deemed competent again, and now this. I hoped it was the last, at least in Yeola-e.

The election-stealing case against the hawks was dragging on interminably as they do in Arko, but I suspected the prosecutor would ask me to come to Arko to testify, or at the very least ask me to enter a statement. If it made a stronger case, of course, I’d go in a heartbeat.

The warning bell was rung, then the start bell, and everyone went silent for the starting ceremonial. How it grated, to hear “Fourth Chevenga Shae-Arano-e of Vae Arahi, hereinafter referred to as the Accused” intoned, in this place. What a strange place my world had become. How many more times would that happen, in the indeterminate length of my life?

Tresaha laid out the prosecuting case first, citing the relevant law, reading the text of my announcement to Assembly about having believed I’d had foreknowledge, and then reading my truth-drug confession.

But that was all; he ceded to Chosaiya without making any strong arguments about the possible precedent or abrogation of Assembly’s rightful choice or that I’d been arrogant; it did indeed look as if he wasn’t going to try as hard as he could.

Chosaiya kept it short, sticking to the middle line we’d planned, that I should neither be absolved nor harshly punished. She did not mention re-approval; in her confident way, she’d felt it best to let it go without saying.

Then it was Tresaha’s turn again, this time to call witnesses. “Get comfortable in that chair,” Chosaiya had told me. “You’re going to be there all day.” In this phase, only the two advocates and the seven judges can question, though the judges generally only listen unless they are curious about a point that hasn’t been raised, or want something clarified. It goes until the advocates and judges are finished their questions; then it is thrown open to Assembly, and any Servant may ask questions of any witness. (Artira, of course, had recused herself, and the angaseye dagra krisa would preside.)

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