Chapter 17: Under the judgment of light

Every four hours, someone opened my door, bringing a breath of fresh air and a platter with food. I had two big servings, morning and night, during which I received meat, fish, or equally satiating plates. The others would bring fruit, bread, or some snacks. Whichever way you looked at it, it didn’t seem like I was their prisoner. Yet, I was.

The cell was too small to practice with my daggers, and even if there was room enough, I might have still refrained from using them; I was afraid someone would barge in and consider me a dangerous individual. I had to make do with static exercises, trying to keep my physical condition in check. I lacked stamina, and muscles, so I resorted to a cardio routine with bodyweight exercises mixed in.

I still had Ink Formations carved on me, so I made sure not to break my routine, allocating the afternoons to learning new formations. My pace quickened noticeably; I could read one formation per day without mentally struggling. Spare hypothesized it might have been due to my experience with the Drak’gath rune, that it had broadened my understanding and allowed me to grasp new concepts quicker. I learned advanced applications of what I had done for my La’er, and other ways to draw abstract images like coldness or heat.

Overall, my life as a prisoner was quite similar to my stay in an inn. I was brought food and water and spent the day training. They were by no means hard days. That doesn’t mean I wasn’t worried about my future, which I, of course, was. Spare saw a few possible outcomes, some of them too gloomy for my taste.

They could choose to kill me if they thought I was not worthy of their secrets. For instance, if I gave them reasons to believe I would misuse my knowledge or somehow betray them, they would end my life without any hint of doubt. The consequences of, for example, revealing a way to enter their little underground town could be atrocious for them.

If they considered I wasn’t Drak’ga material, but my existence didn’t pose any threat, they might just let me go. But that was highly unlikely; one way or another, there was too much I knew already.

A somewhat neutral outcome would be being locked here with limited freedom. I wouldn’t be considered a Drak’ga and wouldn’t be able to leave, but I would still be alive.

Ideally, although he saw little chances in that, they would recognize me, and I would enter their society. That would imply me having access to their formation and resources, which apparently were not a few.

It’s obvious I rooted for the last one; I wanted to see what more could be done with Ink. There were little things I desired more than that. Perhaps, only finding my father and his house would top the list, but then again, that was something I could not do.

I was enjoying my stay, peacefully eating some grapes, when the door was knocked. At first, I thought it was food, but I had just received my breakfast. “Come in!” I said, still not used to letting people in my room, especially one I was captive in. It was a weird custom to ask prisoners if they could enter.

The door opened, but nobody came in. A step away from the frame, a man stood, carefully examining me. Maybe he was surprised to see I didn’t show any signs of boredom. “The Drak’oora request your presence by the Chamber of Light.” Just as after announcing that, he turned around to leave.

“W-wait!” I hurriedly said. “Could you please tell me how to get there?” Seeing how alike the words Drak’oora and Drak’ga were, I imagined they were the power behind the town. Maybe they were elected, the most intelligent members, or inherited the charge; that was beside the point at that moment. However, there was no way I could tell where Chamber of Light was.

He looked at me, finding it strange I had to ask for that. “I can guide you there,” Spare said in a low voice, a few seconds too late. Of course, I could either ask Spare or try thinking of his memories. I knew how to get there; I just didn’t remember it.

“I’m sorry…” I said to the announcer, “I have just realized I can get there by myself.” I chose to be honest, which granted me a nod and a smile, quite more than I had expected. He gently closed the door behind him, leaving me alone once more.

Spare, should I take my shirt out? I was almost convinced I should, given everyone walked around without any. I felt that assimilating into their society was crucial, especially if I had to be questioned.

“You should,” Spare confirmed with security. “It’s important that you act as a Drak’ga, and it’s in our nature to show our tattoos. At least here and now,” he pointed out, “you don’t want to be an exhibitionist in Lamar.”

I laughed as I took my shirt off, carefully folding it and leaving it on the bed. Truthfully, I hadn’t realized until now that I was wearing pieces of fabrics and burlap sacks as clothes. No wonder Yaraq didn’t trust me; I must have looked like a beggar, at best. I shook my head as I saw the number of small tears on them. It was a miracle my private parts weren’t showing from a hole.

Sighing and feeling sorry for myself, I head off towards the Chamber of Light, taking straight streets one after the other. Spare guided me, telling me when to turn and where to go. After five minutes, though, his help wasn’t needed anymore; I could clearly see a towering spike not far from me. It had been hidden by the narrow streets, but it dominated the scene as soon as I entered the avenue. It was a spire higher than any other building, wide enough to fit five of my cells inside.

I was spellbound by the show of lights that exited from its bay windows, realizing that the effect I had seen while climbing down the hole was probably an illusion cast by the tower. Its colored glass projected shadows and shapes to every corner, and the inherently wild nature of the flames made it seem as if they were dancing. Suddenly the name made sense, Chamber of Light; I had been called to the origin of those lights.

Nobody was waiting for me, so I entered the building and started climbing the spiral staircase. “Tarar, they are going to interrogate you. You must be sincere, even if you think it would mean being killed.” The gravity on Spare’s voice made me engrave the message to my mind. “Any more lies and your future is sealed.”

I walked the rest of the way with false calm, my stomach in a knot. The unadorned wooden door that separated me from my interrogators felt like an impossible obstacle. It took me great effort to make my hand obey and knock on the door. Three times I hit the wood, and each of them made my heart skip a beat.

“Come in!” A voice, probably the same that I met a few days ago, let me in.

I inhaled as I grabbed the knob and exhaled while I turned it. I was trying to get a hold of myself, but it proved impossible. As the door opened, the dim light of the candles that illuminated the staircase was overshadowed by a bright ray of orange light. Being blinded by the sudden change didn’t stop me from fully opening the door, but it did wonders to increase my anxiety. Not knowing what awaited me on the other side was a cruel punishment.

I blinked rapidly until my eyes grew used to the light. Its source was somewhere hanging from the roof, but I couldn’t risk directly looking at it and being blinded again. Instead, I inspected the seven figures staring at me from a semicircle of red armchairs arranged on the other end of the room.

“Stand under the light,” Spare instructed me.

A thin halo of light, barely thicker than my arm, descended from the roof and stopped on the floor. Unlike the other rays that danced and blurred, that one was a focused line of white brightness. It was pure, discordant with the orange ambiance of the room. I robotically moved until I was directly under it, expecting to feel a warmth that never came.

“You stand under the judgment of light.” The woman in the center announced the moment my head intersected with the light. “We will ask you questions and decide your fate based on your answers. Think carefully of what you say.” There was no compassion in her voice, just monotony.

I nodded, trying to decide if my arms should be on my side, crossed below my chest, or on my back. I discarded the chest, thinking it would be unwise to hide my tattoos, and finally settled to grabbing one hand with the other behind me.

“Drak’oora Quintar, you may ask first.” She said, looking at the man on the leftmost.

He stood, examining me in the process. “How old are you, Tarar?” He knew my name, making it clear that they had prepared themselves before meeting me.

“I am… Thirteen?” I hesitated; I wasn’t sure of how old I was. Seeing that he didn’t understand my incertitude, I continued. “I was ten when I met Spare, and I estimate it had been three years, add or take a few months, since then. I had to hide numerous times, so not seeing the light for months was usual.” He nodded, understanding now my situation.

“What did you study under Spare?” He scratched his head while he was asking the question.

“Theory of Ink, drawing, imagining, formations, glyphs, and sigils.” I enumerated, this time without any doubts.

“You were in Lamar? What rank were you?” He asked both questions without leaving me time to answer.

“Officially I was just a Ga’sarar, I had to flee, and I couldn’t take the other exams. Spare believes I meet the requirements to be a Ga’ar.” My answer was once again spoken without qualms, everything I said was true, and I was confident in my abilities.

“That tattoo on your side, is it your own work?” He was referring to La’er, and albeit I felt a bit insulted by the doubt, I could understand the question. I could have just asked someone to carve it for me, which would mean I didn’t have the skill at all. Yet, the tone of voice with which he asked was far from cordial.

“Indeed, I drew La’er myself,” maybe my eye twitched a bit, but I think I managed the situation reasonably well.

He nodded and looked at the woman without saying anything. It must have been the agreed-upon way of finishing the turn because she immediately gave the word to the next one, a man of pale, sick skin who, as I saw it, threatened to collapse on the ground at any moment.

“I’m Drak’oora Kasd. Hello, Tarar.” His voice didn’t betray that first impression; it was shaky and broken, low enough that you had to focus on hearing it. He weakly smiled while saying my name. “Why did you feel the need to lie?”

The moment I was most afraid of had come. Unexpectedly I must add, I wasn’t ready for that question after a smile; it almost seemed he had done it on purpose. I inhaled, collecting myself and rearranging my thoughts. I had thought about it during all those previous days, and I had only come to a conclusion; I couldn’t say it was Spare; he only said I was unlucky of having met Yaraq, not to hide the truth from him. Everything that happened was my own actions.

“I was afraid I wouldn’t be allowed in. I had just lost Spare a few days before, and I was still assimilating all the information regarding the Drak’ga.” I paused briefly, trying to convey the mental state I was in during that time. Perhaps I had exaggerated a bit, but it was true that I was exhausted, afraid, and even excited at the same time. “I knew how important the acceptance ritual is, and I was too conscious that I had skipped all of the formalities. And…” I didn’t find how to word it, Yaraq was intimidating? I couldn’t just say that. “And perhaps I judged Yaraq too hastily, based on first impressions and the little I knew of him.”

“Good, good.” His voice was barely a murmur, but it still reached me. “And why is it so important that you found us?” He was caressing his white beard as he spoke.

“That-I… When-” I had to stop; I wasn’t making sense of myself. I was overthinking, trying so hard to make a good impression that I couldn’t answer. “Fighting stance,” Spare suggested. It took me a second or two to understand he was not referring to my physical stance, which luckily I didn’t adopt, but rather my mental state. It was hard, I don’t think I managed to abstract myself as much as the other times, but I immediately felt my muscles relaxing and my mind clearing up. “I would lie if I said I had somewhere else to go, but I don’t think that was my main reason. I want to learn.” I paused a brief moment. “Yes,” I nodded, “that’s it, I want to learn.”

“Very good…” He let the words hang in the air before turning to the woman.

The next man stood up, as all had done before him, showing off his topless tunic, closely reassembling a straight skirt. It wasn’t something I was used to, so I had to try really hard not to stare for long.

“Drak’oora Weirar says you are not welcome here,” I was met by something ever weirder than his clothes; he speaks of himself in the third person? Based on that, his clothes, and the odd way he pronounced the ars, I deduced that his mother language was some other. “Weirar will ask no questions.”

I was crestfallen; out of seven people, one of them has already expressed his complete negative.

“Drak’oora Weirar is right,” the only other woman in the room said, “I won’t ask any questions either.”

Two out of seven, I corrected myself, more sunken than before.

“You’ll have to excuse those two,” the rightmost man spoke immediately after the woman, almost cutting her short, “they are quite the infl-”

“Don’t you remember what happened the last time we let a stranger in!?” Weirar burst into a fury, emboldened by a righteous feeling, standing from his chair and energetically waving his hands. “We are still suffering from the con-”

“Silence.” The woman in the middle, whose name I didn’t know yet, spoke with calm. It wasn’t even a shout; she simply said the word as you would to the person next to you. Yet, somehow, it managed to shut the hodgepodge of voices that had become my judgment. “We will now vote.”

I stood there, frozen. I could only think that there were still four people that hadn’t asked me anything. I cursed inwardly, frustrated that I couldn’t help turn the situation, which looked particularly gloomy. I gulped, conscious of the effort it took. My breathing was agitated, my heart was beating out of my chest.

“In favor of terminating Tarar’s life.” She announced it like it was nothing, as if I wasn’t in front of them. I saw two hands rising, Weirar’s and that woman’s. Five seconds passed, but no one else raised theirs. I shakily exhaled, knowing I had dodged a bullet.

“Dismissed. In favor of exiling Tarar.” This time, their two votes were accompanied by the hand of the only man that hadn’t spoken yet. But again, after the reglementary five seconds, those were all my opposing forces.

“Dismissed. In favor of letting Tarar study with us.” I was already celebrating; this must be the only other option, I thought. My first two interrogators raised their hands, and so did the man that had just excused his colleagues’ behavior.

I was perplexed, only three hands; I was missing one. The woman occupying the central seat, who I believed was the leader, hadn’t raised her hand. I started counting the seconds. One. Two. Three. I quickly arrived at four, and she was still not doing anything. Fi-

“I want to speak with Spare.” She demanded just as we were about to enter the last second.

I was lost, speak with Spare? I knew I could just repeat his thoughts out loud, but would they believe I wasn’t twisting his words? Maybe I would just make up the whole conversation. Perhaps they had a way to restrict my mind or to let Spare free? I was in the middle of an internal discussion when her voice spoke again.

“L’tar R’ra, Tarar.” I didn’t understand what she said, yet I felt that I should. It was like trying to understand a language you hadn’t spoken for a whole century; the sounds felt familiar, but you missed their meaning.

“Kat'ta Qa'a, T'las Drak’gathari.” I repeated Spare’s words, trying to sound exactly as him. In retrospect, I know I loudly failed, yet she somehow managed to understand my horrid pronunciation. It was a tense moment; I trusted Spare, but I didn’t know if the interchange had been favorable or not.

“Tarar,” her hand raised to the air, “is welcomed to our society, effective immediately.”

It was not pretty, but I fell to my knees, giving in to all the tension I had been holding inside. I have done it, Spare! I was elated and couldn’t help but celebrate in some way.

“You have, and I truly am happy for you.” I knew there was a but, so I directly said it, but? “But let’s not forget that two of them would rather see you dead.”

Let’s not forget that, I repeated, with all my previous joy wholly gone. I returned my eyes to the armchairs, focusing on the different faces, clearing seeing the anger on those two. Will they try to kill me? If I was to judge by their expressions, I would have said yes.

“Not openly, but they are in a powerful position and have resources. Also…” he paused for a moment, “there are more people like Yaraq.”

“Now that you are one of us-” I listened to the woman continue while standing up amid a colossal sigh, still thinking about my newfound enemies. “-you should know I’m Drak’oora Layan, acting as leader of this tribe.” I bowed, showing my respect for my leader. “Go back to your cell, tomorrow someone will come for you, and you’ll start your formation.”

They weren’t expecting an answer from me, already discussing my situation among themselves. I left the room and undid all the way to the residence, tumbling down on my bed the very second I saw it.