The largest execution pit was a circular depression a good four chains across. Tall stone walls surrounded it, together with steep amphitheatre seating rising behind. This was the Civic Pit, and here the two priests found gathered many of Kartool’s citizens, gossiping and passing the time by betting on how long each of the condemned – man, woman or child – would last.
Tayschrenn and Koarsden climbed the rising cobbled walk. They were among the crowd, but not crowded, as their robes announced their calling and they were scrupulously avoided, lest offence be given.
They left behind the mundane citizens when they took a side ramp that led to the seating permanently reserved for the priesthood. Here the curving stone benches were almost entirely empty. A few elderly priests dotted the seating, looking like bedraggled crows awaiting a sick animal’s death. A few noticed Tayschrenn and rose, bowing their respect for the red sash he wore cinched about his robes – the sash of the highest rank beneath the Demidrek.
He and Koarsden took their seats near the front. Across the pit floor of jagged stones and gravel, dotted by bones, the day’s Overseer of Justice, an older priestess whose name he could not recall, also rose and bowed her shaved head. Tayschrenn acknowledged the bow.
The rising rows of stone benches gradually filled, and he was surprised by the size of the crowd; he wondered if today were a feast day or lunar observance of one of the minor titular gods subservient to D’rek, such as Poliel, Beru, Burn, or Hood. Koarsden had fallen into conversation with one of the elderly priests, and inwardly Tayschrenn shook his head. Typical of the man; he seemed somehow able to get along with everyone.
After the conversation ended, Tayschrenn murmured aside, ‘Quite the crowd.’
Koarsden nodded. ‘Indeed. I was just commenting to Reuthen here on that very fact, and he filled me in. Seems we have a special attraction today.’
‘A murderer?’
‘No. An interloper. A priestess of that meddling enchantress.’
Tayschrenn was quite surprised. ‘Really? The Queen of Dreams? Proselytizing here? Rather impudent. Still…’ and he put the tips of his fingers together and touched them to his chin, thinking. ‘It does set one to wondering. How does one capture the priestess of a goddess who claims to be able to predict the future?’
Koarsden chuckled. ‘Good question. The goddess is false, of course. Only in D’rek can one see daily demonstration of truth in the world. And that truth is the cycle of death, decay, and renewal. Rebirth and Return. Such is the balanced double face of D’rek. Destruction and Creation.’
‘Well said!’ one of the nearby hunched old priests put in, approvingly, then hawked up a mouthful of phlegm and spat aside.
Tayschrenn and Koarsden shared a wry smile and settled into a mutual silence. Their words were not as private as they’d hoped.
As the most minor of the punishments began – thieves having their hands eaten away before their eyes by the especially virulent grubs the priesthood bred – Tayschrenn reflected on the hoary old litany supplied by Koarsden. Yes, D’rek alone of the Elder faiths – and D’rek was among the most ancient – emphasized that enduring truth: that out of death came life, and that each was thus necessary to the other. The ill-advised worship of Hood came closest, but in the eyes of those who embraced the teachings of D’rek it represented at best a half-measure, or mistaken turn. A wrong path, if one would. Death was not an ending, nor a destination. Rather, it was a doorway. A doorway into transformation and service to the new generations to come. The merest glance to the world around should convince anyone of that. The leaves fell, but were renewed. Out of rot and decomposition emerged new life. Such was self-evident. So did D’rek bear two faces. The male of destruction and the female of fecundity.
A couple in chains were led into the pit. They were pelted with rubbish and rotten vegetables. These two must be divorcees. They had had the temerity to end their marriage and so naturally they must be put to death. For who knew how many future lives had been sacrificed by their selfishness? Any society or religion that valued birth and fertility must perforce denounce the separation of a mated couple as the worst of offences. Any who divorced had of course to be stoned to death. It would have been absurd to claim to value life without doing so.
After the punishments of these common offences the priestess overseeing the day’s justice – Salleen, that was her name, Tayschrenn remembered – raised a hand for the final execution. A bound woman was led into the pit. Tayschrenn was surprised by her youth. She was bloodied and bruised, her clothes torn. Yet she held her chin high, proud without appearing disdainful.
He approved; after all, she was a priestess.
Salleen raised both arms for silence and the crowd quietened. She stood and crossed her arms, her hands disappearing within the folds of her black robes. ‘Messinath of Purge,’ she began, ‘you have been found guilty of manifold crimes. Of encouraging apostasy. Of heresy. Of spreading religious lies and denying the truth of D’rek’s message.’ Salleen paused here and the crowd took their cue, booing and hurling refuse. This call and response struck Tayschrenn as amusing. The routine and predictability of all this public theatre was of course necessary – people had to know what their roles in society were, what was expected of them, and how to behave.
Salleen raised a hand once more for silence. ‘Therefore you have been condemned to death. You are allowed last words – I advise you to use them to beg for D’rek’s clemency.’
The young priestess of the Enchantress raised her chin further, talking a deep breath. ‘Priests and priestesses of D’rek,’ she began loudly, startling Tayschrenn, ‘I am come to bring you warning. Change your ways or you shall suffer the consequences of your recklessness.’
Across the pits, Salleen met Tayschrenn’s eye and he raised a brow in commentary. Astonishing.
‘Otherwise,’ the woman continued, her voice ringing throughout the amphitheatre, ‘there shall be a time of reckoning. And you shall know D’rek’s displeasure and punishment yourselves.’
Salleen surged to her feet, thrusting a finger. ‘Further pitiable lies!’ She shook her head in regret. ‘We generously offer you a chance to pray to D’rek, and instead you spout further profanation.’ She threw her arm down. ‘Let the punishment begin!’
Down at the pit level, behind the inner stone wall, a line of drummers took their cue and began hammering the fat kettle drums set on the bare ground before them. The muscular musicians were naked from the waist up, and a fine black filigree of tattooed scorpions, beetles, and centipedes covered their backs and arms. The insects seem to writhe as the drumming intensified.
Everyone waited, even the condemned priestess of the Queen of Dreams. She stood panting, glancing left and right as if searching for some executioner; this told Tayschrenn that she was indeed a stranger to the island. That she hadn’t fainted or started begging for mercy showed the strength of her inner convictions and character.
A shame, really, that someone so strong should be so wrongheaded. But then, whom else would the cult have chosen for such a dangerous mission as proselytizing on the island of Kartool?
A ripple of anticipation ran through the crowd as a hissing noise reached the benches. It emanated from the holes in the pit floor; the condemned had noticed it as well, as she was now backing away from the nearest of these openings.