Lord Treon [chapter]

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© Ang Jing Wei 2009-2011
}Chapter: The Spire (end part)
Scene: Council Room in the Spire
The Spirals [Spire members= council]
Treon, Gyffes, Urien, Gleirio, Glyn, Folant, Iudael, Llew, Drogheda, Drustan and Morcant.
[Each man is a representative from the settlements, villages and towns that have joined the Creed.]

Drustan stepped over the threshold to the Council Room. Folant and Iudael came towards him, hauling the fresh corpse of a boy. Flowerets of blood splattered their white habits . Drustan winced, not at the sight, but at his bad timing. Even so, the news could not wait. He braced himself.
Treon sat on his marble seat drinking from a goblet. There was nothing remarkable about the receptacle—most likely a villager’s gift. He barely looked at the corpse that the men had left outside the threshold. His eyes were fixed on the circular depression before the throne.
“Iuri, bánt isha. Ve’d-kuduru a-pia-gi.”
Drustan knelt in the center of the depression, palms together and the outer edge of his hands on the floor, a sign of apology. The other Spirals in the chamber fell silent and sank to their knees.
There was no change on Treon’s face. It was as if he did not hear Drustan’s words, nor see the Spirals’ reaction. Drustan thought of repeating the news, but decided against it.
Treon tipped back his unshorn head and drank the last drop of Courmi . Goblet in hand, he stood up with some effort.
“Anar ,” he said evenly.
Only Drustan stood up. When he saw that he alone stood, he felt uneasy, but dared not kneel again.
Treon burped once as he descended the four marble steps to where Drustan stood. The two men stared at each other for a long stretch. Drustan wanted to look away but found that he could not; he needed to watch out for any change in his leader’s face.
In the dead air, Treon swung his arm before Drustan, striking him across the face with the goblet. Drustan fell. The blow had drawn blood.
He quickly resumed his kneeling position, ignoring the steady trickle.
“You sons of whores! You sully the Old Language , you deserters!” Treon roared, tearing at his hair.
Drustan’s blood formed a small pool of iridescence. He kept his eyes focussed on the liquid, wishing it was deep enough for him to drown in.
“Get up, get up! Begone! You defile this place! Wretched scum, begone!”
They left in a hushed shuffle. They did not return to their quarters, but hung around in the shadows of the stairwell—criminals awaiting a verdict.
To their surprise, their judge began to weep. The keening echoed around the chamber, plangent as a minstrel’s song. As he wept, Treon staggered across the room and over the threshold, to where his son laid uncovered.
He mourned. But there was no funeral. Keevan O’ Treon would not be sent off like a man; they would toss him on the hill like offal. The Captain held the cold, mangled body and mourned. This much Treon would give his treacherous son.
They watched from the shadows. There would be no punishment for them. Treon had allowed himself a lapse. The Council-men owed it to him.
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[end of scene]
In the gloaming, they carried the body into the hills. The grass was soft and dry underfoot as they went in silence. Behind them, the Spire shone silver-white against the darkening sky. When they reached a low hilltop, the two carriers laid the body on the ground with the top of the head facing West. The stood in a loose circle.
Unsure of what to do, the Council-men kept their eyes on the corpse, despite their revulsion, pretending to reflect on the purpose of the boy’s death; if there was a purpose at all. Treon spoke at last, his voice mild.
“Let this be a warning to those who will give up the hopes of the Common People, in order to follow their own selfish hearts.”
Stepping forward, Treon said sternly to the body, without any anger, “Who do you think you are, boy? To abandon your post in a moment of self-worship? Are not the hopes and dreams of a simpleton equal to yours? Are not the hopes and dreams of an entire nation worth more than your own?”
He spread his arms to conclude the ceremony.
“Love all in equal measure.”
They started down the hill in a single file, Treon walking staunchly ahead. A few of them turned around to bid their silent farewells. The dead boy was now a carcass, not worth anyone’s remembrance.
A smatter of white stars blinked coldly between scarlet clouds. As they walked away from the hills, the vultures began to scream.

[END SCENE]