The Tale of Outh'n Durr

Chapter 3: Trial

When he was certain Ailyin was away, Outh'n let loose howls and curses, exorcizing his hatred and frustration in the shadows. Scratchy throat paired with the pounding headache punished him for the careless spew.

"My apologies, great Tugansol," he rasped. He'd sound like a raug'l for a while. "But it's hard to think there can be any good in losing my best friend, the woman I loved. Why did you snatch her away? And why allow the others to threaten me because she died?" He ran his hands through his hair and groaned. "I haven't done anything wrong. They have treated me horribly before, but this? I'm so stupid to have ever hoped my own village would accept me after all this time has passed," he murmured.

Silence hissed in his ears between the surges of his own heartbeat. He snorted at his pitiful behavior. As if Tugansol would suddenly speak to him, the least desirable person in Prichud! He shook his head slowly, mindful of the throbbing.

*****

Keys jangled against the lock startling Outh'n from a fitful doze. Cold dread flooded his stomach and he clenched his jaw in preparation. Moving wasn't going to be pleasant. If they were opening the door, judgment had been determined. Whether he was ready or not, it was time to hear the verdict.

"Come on you son of a silti," the guard growled at him from the door, blinding him with a brightly burning torch. "Come on, I say! You're in luck. Looks as if the council's letting you off lightly, though I can't figure out why. Neither can most of the village." He spat on the dirt near Outh'n's feet. "You're the worst kind of bistarra, Outh'n Durr," he sneered. The curse stabbed at Outh'n's heart. "Anyone who'd kill a friend deserves to die in my mind." He shook his head and turned sideways to allow Outh'n to pass in front of him. "Now. Let's go," he pushed Outh'n's shoulder as he growled, "Move your feet, trash."

Outh'n stumbled awkwardly to the wooden door of the kaila. He couldn't see it yet but the thought of it beckoned him to freedom — in one way or another. Every step he took shuddered through him, radiating shards of pain from his head wound. He tried to focus on the guard's words wondering at the sickening hint of hope. Had he been cleared of all wrong? Did someone beside his family believe he was telling the truth?

His ankle gave way as he stepped into a dip. Catching himself proved more difficult with a staff prodding him onward but he managed it. The primal growl of pain leapt out of his throat before he could clamp his jaws to trap it. A sharp rap to his shoulders with the flat of the staff punctuated the guard's clipped rebuke and propelled him on. A brilliant, silver line close to the floor confused Outh'n at first, until he realized the door to freedom was near. Or was it the door to doom?

As they reached the ray of questionable hope, it widened on one side. The door squawked on it's old hinges and the searing light and warmth of the middawning suns lanced his eyes. He'd thought the torch was bad, but now he cowered as the cheery rays lanced his eyes. Instinct squeezed his eyes shut, strengthening the throbbing behind his right ear and at his temples. He whimpered and gripped his head once again, willing the pain to cease. His eyes streamed and burned, his feet stumbling along the uneven path he could barely see. Through the ceaseless torment, he barely registered the strikes on his legs and back.

"That's enough, Garrik," a gruff, unfamiliar voice reprimanded the guard.

"But, Senya, he isn't —" the guard's complaint was cut off by a resounding crunch followed by a grunt.

"I said that's enough. He can barely walk as it is."

"As you say, Senya," Garrik's voice was muffled as he stumbled off to one side. The guard hovered near enough to catch Outh'n if he tried to run, though the younger man shuddered at the thought of it. Outh'n wasn't going anywhere they didn't make him go.

A gentle hand clasped his shoulder. He jerked, expecting the sharpness the guard had displayed. "Come Outh'n Durr. I will see you to the gathering hall."

Outh'n stood a bit taller, though his hands still cradled his head. The throbbing had increased and it seemed his head might roll off his shoulders. "Thank you," he murmured and waited.

"I am Bazhbet Mehya of Chefvna, called in for special deliberation on your behalf. Your parents must love you a great deal to send so far away for help. They are certainly convinced of your innocence."

Outh'n nodded, then winced, berating himself for his stupidity. "Yes," he croaked, "as I love them, Senya." So his parents sent away for a Senya who would not be swayed by the village council members who hated him. "But the real reason is most probably because my accusers are sons of our village Senya."

"So that's the way of it, is it?" A gruff laugh rippled through the air. "Well, we shall see how this goes, then, youngling. Come on," he gently nudged Outh'n's shoulder and walked a bit behind him, allowing Outh'n to set the pace.

A new kind of torture it was. He didn't want to be here, didn't want to face all the villagers who were surely filling the gathering hall to the rafters. Their jeers and snubs were difficult to hear on the best of dawnings. He trudged forward, reluctant, yet knowing there was no way out. Garryk's thudding steps followed on the opposite side at his back and he knew the guard would take any opportunity to thwack him again.

Outh'n stumbled and pitched forward. A vice clamped around his bicep and kept him from plowing face first into the hard-packed dirt path. "Thank you, Senya," he replied dutifully.

A grunt was the only reply and he started forward again. Cold stones piled up in his belly before melting to burning lava as he neared the side door. Maybe Tugansol would take him quickly, for at least the Creator could see the truth of matters. Surely, the very Breath of Life would be willing to steal his before the guilty ones could.