Aĉaĵego

XII: What Karesema Kept to Herself, Part 2

7 Days Later

"Are you happy now?" Karesema asked Saĝulo when she met eyes with him. Like she'd planned, she hadn't bothered to greet anyone when she flung open the door to the priests' meeting room. Unlike she'd planned, her voice sounded more tired than triumphant.

The two guards in the room seemed taken aback, and made as if to grab her for half a second before freezing with their hands held awkwardly in the air as they looked towards the priests for cues. Saĝulo sighed, looked at his underlings at the table, gestured towards an empty chair. "We were expecting you. Why don't you sit down?"

Karesema looked at the identically-dressed men that sat before her; they were staring her down like she was some encroaching animal they were trying to scare off, hoping they wouldn't have to bother to shoot at it. She shouldn't have bothered to come here. She should have marched straight to the orphanage for Jadinda, and if anyone wanted to stop her they could fight her. "Why don't you give me my sister back already?"

"We don't make these decisions lightly, Karesema. We were just talking it over, but please, join us."

Her child-name had never sounded so disgusting to her. Who was he to be acting so familiar? And the way he'd said "talking it over," so reasonable. He was using the exact same calm tone of voice he'd used two weeks ago, after she'd been caught stealing. He'd very gently persuaded her to tell her own side of the story, because "the goddesses were merciful," and, "surely they'd take pity on a young girl just trying to help her sick sister," if only she was penitent and cooperative. And she'd been stupid and gone along with it, thinking, why shouldn't she be honest? There were witnesses. There was a motive they'd easily guessed. Trying to lie when everyone knew what she'd done would just make her look bad. In hindsight it was so obvious why they'd needed her cooperation: the other guy, Rakontisto, hadn't confessed. A confession from her was all it took for her crime to outweigh his on the scale of provability, and if her crime was proven and his wasn't, it didn't matter how bad his crime was.

And of course, they'd choose to save a temple guard over her, an unmarried farm girl. No one would give them trouble about sacrificing her. It made her feel sick just looking at those connivers. She'd been so stupid.

"There's nothing to talk over," Karesema said. "I told you what happened. You didn't believe me. Now the Aĉaĵego hasn't come for the last sacrifice. What more proof do you need that I'm telling the truth?"

"If only it was that simple." He sighed. "We know something happened to cause the Aĉaĵego to become... tamed. We do believe your sister had something to do with that, and we're willing to honor her accordingly. That said, we have no proof that everything happened the way you said it did, and frankly, you coming in here hissing like a rabid mongoose isn't helping your credibility."

She ignored his critique. He knew and she knew that he wouldn't be any fairer to her if she was bowing before him and pleading. "What do you mean honor her? Do you finally have the medicine?"

"Yes, but – "

"So if you can't give my sister back, give me that!"

"But," Saĝulo continued, "I must commune with Terdiino before I can proceed with this situation. Then, I must discuss it with my brothers under Terdiino, and get word out to the priests of the other temples. If Terdiino wills it, we'll get the medicine to your sister by tomorrow. After that, we'll decide what to do about the little one."

Karesema almost screamed, but then she noticed something in his voice in the last few words he spoke, a very subtle rise in pitch. He's terrified, she realized. He was caught up in something completely unexpected, and he had no idea how to handle it. His power, his sole authority to make and approve of any changes, had been undermined. For just a split-second she realized how this must feel for him, how his perfectly predictable life had crumbled under his feet. And for the first time in a long time, she laughed genuinely.

"Did I say something funny?" Saĝulo demanded, the subtle edge of panic still present in his voice.

"No," said Karesema. "The Aĉaĵego said something funny. 'Tell them to send medicine or I'll swoop down and kill them all,' it said. And you know what else it said? It said the priests have no power over it, and it's never met Terdiino. That means the only two people in this land that know the truth are me, and you, Saĝulo. You are like a storyteller, making up tales for a living, but at least storytellers admit that their stores aren't true. All of you are just liars!" No sooner had the words left her mouth than the guards on either side of her moved to grab her. Their hands dug into her wrists, but she barely felt it. She'd just spent a week waiting to die, and another week worried sick about both her sisters, and now she'd finally found someone – someone she hated – who was more powerless than she was. She felt high, like an exhausted hunter must feel after finally spotting a sleeping boar.

"Blaspheme will not be tolerated," said some priest she didn't know by name.

"Not tolerated? What are you going to do, sacrifice me to the Aĉaĵego?" was the last retort she managed before the guards yanked her out the door.