(USFB): Eight: No Good Deed

The morning brought the unburdening of Orathone’s mind. Shadows were vanquished by the sweet rays of amber sunlight. Songbird’s tender choruses swept through the wind on a breeze infused with the calming aromas of nature itself. Yet, what kept Orathone from finding true peace in rising was the frantic tone Litheiuss took as he shook the buck awake.

“Come on, up. They’re waiting for us.”

“Who?”

“All about everyone, lad. I don’t know where you went or what for last night, but there is uproar in the camp. They’ve got one of their own awaiting judgment. Haven’t got a clue why, so come on.”

Within minutes, Orathone was stumbling out of the cabin behind Litheiuss, unsure what he would see but hardly guessing his mentor had been even half-truthful about the extent of the emergency. However, as he laid eyes on the milling masses that were the combined camps of the Westerners, the northern emissaries, and their collection of exiles, he realized just how severe the situation had become.

Litheiuss led Orathone through the throngs of foxes and coyotes, puma and lynx, and the few of their own who had joined the fray. At the heart of the matter were exactly who Orathone may have suspected to be leading the affair. Atlai, the Wyse of Roya, Jaium, clearly his right paw, a third wolf bearing a family resemblance to Razien who was bound in cords of leather, and Imfay, who seemed to float in the rear of it all, his eyes hollow and sunken into his skull. The Wyse gave a brief nod to Litheiuss as he brought Orathone forward. The older buck gave his apprentice a hopeful look, but nothing to say he could soften the blows to come.

“It has been brought to my attention that in the night, a very unkind incident occurred. Be it by whatever means, it matters not, but what should be done with those responsible is paramount,” Wyse Atlai entombed as Orathone was brought beside Razien. For his part, the young wolf gave the buck a mirthless turn of the lips before directing him to keep his attention fixed on the Wyse. As the aged ebony wolf continued, Orathone felt a paw on his shoulder and then the tightening of a leather thong around his wrists. Litheiuss offered a look of regret as Jaium tied off the strip of material without ceremony or excess force.

“When we have such occurrences, the punishment must be severe. Your Balyen, Balyen Jaium of the Fallen Spire, I know to be firm but fair. In him, I have authorized punishment up to and including death and rot. Balyen, be your judgment of these two swift and just.”

“Thank you, Wyse Atlai,” Jaium came before the two as Litheiuss gingerly settled Orathone on his knees, “The two of you have been brought forth today for your part in the wounding of Yerra Imfay. From my understanding, though neither of you touched a hair on the man’s head, you are equally responsible for his being in harm’s way. You found it fit to deny your superior’s son the proper rites of your tribes. And you led on to permit these two into the hands of something that would attempt their lives and the calling of the Goredrinker. Considering the circumstances, I am willing to turn you, Orathone, over to your superior to await his punishment. Razien, on the other paw, you, I stress my complete jurisdiction over, and not nearly do I hold patience any longer. You shall be exiled.”

“Never!” came a cry from the congregation. As the milling masses of spectators parted, the diminutive, snow-furred lynx pressed through, her various rings and bangles singing over the hushed onlookers. Coming just out of reach of Jaium, Greshalin let her rage fully bloom, “Balyen, you would not dare send this man to exile in such times, in any times. You know Razien, you know him to be a good man when it comes to blows and when it comes to the care needed for those lost in such battles. And I know that you have judged him harshly, time and time again, since I arrived in the south this season. Have you no shame or no sense?”

“This is not a matter to debate nor one to weigh against your insight, Lady Greshalin. Your concerns for the man can be to see him safe to the north, but he will not return to us. Now, away, else you find yourself forced from these lands as well.”

A pillar of pale white ice erected itself from the ground just beside Jaium as he moved to face Razien once more. Those in attendants unfamiliar with the priestess would never have guessed it was an act of her lone will. As Jaium met her again, he found the girl joined with her uncle and a litany of other north men, “Don’t be a fool, Balyen. I will drag the truth out, expose to light your intent, your mind. Forget the matter.”

“The matter won’t be forgotten so easily, child,” Imfay spouted as he moved into the midst of the fray, “It would be simple to forget when you are not the one who fell victim to a lurking devil that no one should have been exposed to without, of course, someone’s arrogance. I have half a mind to allow the Balyen to set punishment for my own servant in the matter.”

“Then permit it! It’s hardly this man’s fault we were out there last night. The blame lies on me. Whatever that thing was, it wanted me. I only asked this man to help me give the prince proper rest. If any crime has been committed and any discipline to be met, I owe more than half the share he does,” Orathone rose from his knees shouting. The Balyen was the only one to maintain calm as the deer voiced his share. Imfay’s face quickly knotted back into a glower of irritation while the lynx looked at the buck as awe-struck as anyone else in earshot.

Finally, Jaium answered the demand, “Fine, I’ll suit all three of you. No exile today, not across all of Verillia and the Endless. No, instead, both of you will spend the day exiled beneath the earth itself. Wyse, do you have any objection to my ruling?”

“Carry on as you see fit, Balyen.”

With a signal from the Wyse, the throng began to dissipate little by little. First, those immediately beneath the Wyse’s rule returned to their various duties about camp. Behind them, the northerners evaporated until the only sign of them could be seen about their wagons. And finally, the Westerners, so many still ignorant to all that had transpired in the night, milled away to their cabins or joined the other warriors in practice. All that remained were the interested parties and a pair of men each for those found guilty.

As they rose, Litheiuss came astride Orathone taking one of his bound arms. Greshalin attempted to do the same for Razien but was waved off by Jaium, who led the procession. Only paces away, the two men found themselves before a pit and two salt-laddened boxes. To the outsider, it was not a wholly bizarre thing. Orathone knew, in better times, his people were settled in such cases and set into the earth when they had passed. However, to have as much done while alive seemed unspeakable. For Razien, the punishment was met with hardly suppressed fear, despite having seen the inside of one such casket the morning prior.

Litheiuss leaned to his apprentice’s ear, “They’re going to put you in there, seal it, and put both coffins down there. You’ll need to stay calm, panic, and you’ll run out of air, and though I don’t think you’ll find yourself in the Golden Plains, you won’t feel well after. You may request to be unbound before being set inside.”

Jaium started with Razien, who shrugged off the attempts to remove the leathers that bound his arms to his sides and his paws above his tail. Defiant within reason, the wolf stepped into the box and laid himself down as best he could. Greshalin stood by, watching with icy eyes that looked ready enough to melt. She took her gaze away as the two coyotes who had helped Razien along pounded spikes into the corners of the lid pulled over the box. As Jaium approached Orathone, he asked, “Will you follow him down without your arms or would you like to claw your way out? Trust no harm will come. The salt won’t permit the Goredrinker’s influence in.”

“I’d like my paws, thank you.”

“Breath easy in there, and you’ll come out just fine. I don’t much care to deal death by mistake.”

Without further ado, Jaium slid a knife beneath the chord and split it in two, allowing Orathone to regain his arms. The wolf took his hand and led him to the box before helping him settle in. Once Orathone was inside, he shared Jaium’s gaze a time, sympathy plain in the dull and unamused expression painted on the wolf’s features. He leaned then to pull a water skin off the ground and offered a drink to Orathone. Though he wasn’t thirsty, he forced in water as he watched the first coffin be lowered into the abyss. Loosing his lips from the bladder, Orathone set his ears to the salty boards that would be his confinement. All light was stricken from sight as the cover was set over and the nails crushed through into the borders of the box. In the blackness, it was impossible to tell when or how far he was lowered. It was not until dirt and rock crashed atop the lid that Orathone began to panic for what might seize him in the lightless tomb.