141 - I did not know my own heart

Darosera’s questions, of course, took my side. So it went for the rest of the day: a debate in the guise of a questioning, back and forth between those who wanted to forgive and re-approve me and those who wanted to retire me, augmented by the few who wanted to fling me off a cliff. In answering, I hammered on the spirit versus the letter, the way the war had turned out, and my other best points; in asking, they took me to task on my weakest, including having told others, including three Arkans (Kallijas, Skorsas and Idiesas) before telling Assembly. Chosaiya’s signs were invaluable several more times.

It’s impossible, in truth, to discern well from how many speak which way the whole will vote—the majority remains silent, and gives no sign—but it’s also impossible not to try anyway. I had a feeling all but a few were with me, on this; whether they’d still think I was capable of being semanakraseye after they read the Committee’s report was another question entirely.

During the mid-afternoon rest break, Chosaiya slipped away somewhere. When we adjourned for the day, she took me into a corner of the courtyard again. I still remember the sun on the flagstones, dappled with the shade of a rowan tree, and the fast-cooling autumn air.

“We almost have it,” she said. “I met with Tresaha and the Arch-Arbiter in the break. You said you’d take a flogging to stay semanakraseye. What if it were to falling?”

I signed chalk, and felt a sudden streak of nausea up my centre and tang of bile on my tongue. I hadn’t known my body so remembered.

“Are you sure, Chevenga? You know what it means.”

“Yes, I am sure.” I signed chalk again, harder, for emphasis. Sweat broke out cold all over the skin of my back, and my mouth was suddenly parched. I know what it means. We try to master these things, we try to be so strong that the pain of the past can no longer touch us, but it lingers in the cells, and they are involuntary. Of course it showed on my face; she patted my shoulder in a motherly way.

“Understand, though, it’s just the Arch-Arbitrate I’m dealing with now, not Assembly,” she said, in a tone like a healer takes when telling you that the treatment will cause some pain. “No judicial impeachment doesn’t mean no Assembly impeachment, or, more exactly, yes to re-approval. You could be flogged to falling and still have it taken away from you, especially if the Committee reports unfavourably.

“I think, though, that Assembly is more likely to re-approve you with the more severe punishment. As I said before: it’s atonement, cleansing, an acknowledgment of the seriousness of what you did and acceptance of an accordingly serious punishment.” Breathe in acceptance, I thought. It helped, actually. “The people who fear you are out in the open, now; Linasika gave them their voice. The greater and freer submission you are willing to show them, the more their fear will be eased.”

I swallowed the words I wanted to rail, They have nothing to fear, why do they fear, what have I ever done to earn fear, where does all this mad hate come from?, and just signed chalk again. People are people, that was all.

“Flogging to falling, public apology and no judicial impeachment—agree to that, Chevenga, and we’re done. It’ll be the last arguments and the open negotiation first thing in the morning, and we’ll have a decision by midday tomorrow.”

It was not the plausible best case, but it was far from the worst. I reminded myself, the trial of the street and the dinner-table. “When would I do the apology, and get flogged?”

“You could do the apology right then. After the midday break, if you want my help with it. Or you could take more time to prepare it; I wouldn’t suggest longer than seven days, though. Your choice.” It seemed odd to have any choices here. “The flogging… the interesting thing there will be finding someone who’s willing to do it. Every warrior around here knows you, true? Maybe I’ll ask Linasika if someone in his shadowy horde of Chevenga-fearers has a good whip-arm.” I let out a snort of laughter, in spite of myself.

“Same thing,” she said. “You don’t want to put it off by your choice for longer than seven days. The trial of the street—”

“And the dinner-table,” we said in unison.

“It might have the greatest effect to do both at once, actually, in the place where the largest crowd can witness,” she said thoughtfully. “Because there will be a backlash, too. A great many people feel that it’s a bitter injustice that you were charged at all, and they’ll be even angrier and louder about it seeing you flogged. You can imagine the letters they will write to their Servants. That is… if you’re willing to bear the humiliation.”

“Terera Square,” I said, my voice weaker than I’d intended.

I was about to give my consent when a thought stopped me. It was not three moons and a half since I’d torn off the seals and the signet, stopped only from quitting by Kall braining me, and then the true argument that there’d be bloodshed in Arko if I did. Which no longer applied. Surya and I had deferred the question, and not yet taken it up again.

I had been absolutely certain that I no longer wanted to be semanakraseye then; and yet more recently, the moment I’d been deemed competent again, I’d gone at a fair run to Assembly to be ceremonially reinstated. Had the urge to quit come purely from exhaustion? Or the urge to stay, purely from habit? I realized, I did not know my own heart.

“You’re not sure,” Chosaiya said gently, her hand on my shoulder again, like that of the most confident of mothers. “You want to sleep on it? Let me know early enough tomorrow morning and it might still be over midday tomorrow.” I signed chalk.

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