“Washing room in twenty minutes,” the sentinel said, leaving Rabam’s food on the table of his cell.

He approached it once the man had left. It was weird to hear that, since bathing was something that usually happened in the morning, and as far as Rabam could tell it was afternoon.

He reflected on that as he ate. It was unlikely they changed the schedule without reason, since it was the same as when he’d been imprisoned the first time. Something important was about to happen. He wondered whether the reason they needed him to be perfect and shining was showing how well he had been treated before killing him. He knew it was a possibility, but the rules required the abbot to let him know of that decision at least one week in advance.

He quickly finished the food and focused on the stool he’d been sitting on. He had almost managed to loosen one of the screws that attached the legs to the top enough to extract it from the wood. An improvised instrument to carve, completely inadequate for statues, but more than enough to draw a pattern. He resumed his attempts, despite the burning sensation on the tips of his fingers.

He had read about executions, but never seen one. They hadn't happened in a long time, and they were usually reserved for dangerous criminals who had perpetrated violent crimes. Maybe that was the reason he didn't feel more worried than usual: he didn't actually believe they would kill him. He probably wouldn't have believed it even as they thrust a sword in his midsection and left him to bleed on top of the well. It was too surreal.

Still, he felt a tightening at the base of his throat when multiple series of steps started to resound from the end of the corridor. Two sentinels appeared on the other side of the door. He obediently followed them out.

Prisoners didn’t follow the same washing routine as regular monks, meaning a general rinsing with a basin followed by a swim inside the pool. They could use a bigger basin filled with water in a separate room that was right outside of the prisons.

He entered alone into a room small enough that the vapors leaving the bath had filled it completely.

He started taking away the tunic as soon as the door was closed behind him; he couldn’t stay there indefinitely, they’d call for him to get out soon, and he really wanted that bath.

“Don’t scream,” said a calm voice at his left.

He jumped, hitting the wall with his back. There was a person standing on the corner to the left of the door, facing away from him.

“Daira?” he asked.

“Yes. I’m sorry for this intrusion, but they wouldn’t let anyone visit you, let alone me.”

She was turned toward the wall, but he could still imagine the bitter smile that shaped her lips.

“The abbot removed me from my role, but he couldn’t remove the allies and connections I’ve made in a decade of work as a prior,” she continued. “I have a lot of things to say and not enough time. First of all, did they tell you what’s going to happen today?”

“No. Are they going to kill me?”

“Not today. The abbot decided not to decide your fate personally, so he has indicted a process.”

Rabam relaxed a bit. ‘Process’ sounded so much better than ‘execution’, even if it didn’t exclude it completely.

“They’ll still push to have you killed,” Daira said. “The abbot wants to make an example of you. Things are less under his control than he lets on and he’s scared the situation will get worse. Since you escaped from exile and confessed to having worked with the traitor, you’re the perfect victim.”

Rabam felt a shiver down his spine. Since Daira was turned away from him, he reached the bath and sunk into the warm water.

“Thank you for telling me,” he said. “Is there a way I can avoid that?”

“Yes, but it won’t be easy. There are some people who still trust me and want me back as a prior. Other scholars, mostly, and the ones who were bitten by the snakes when Saia became a goddess. They'll be present during your process, among the crowd. They’re on your side, so if you manage to rally the rest of the crowd in your favor, they'll support you. But they won't be the majority of the people there, so you need to be convincing."

Rabam scrubbed his arm with a piece of rough soap he'd found next to the tub.

“Sounds difficult. What should I tell them?”

"Try to be practical and distance yourself from the traitor's actions as much as you can. You could point out the problems of the village, question the rules…”

A fist banged against the door, startling them both.

“Ten minutes!”

“Nevermind,” Daira said in a whisper. “The process could go in a thousand different directions and I can't prepare you for everything. If you succeed, your punishment will be delayed and I'll look for a way to have you punished that doesn't resort to an execution.”

“Thank you for your help, but... Why are you doing this? I thought you were removed from the priors because of what Saia did.”

“And I want my place back, but I won't gain anything if everybody is too scared to contradict the abbot. I was arguably in the wrong to save those people, but he'll definitely be if he manages to kill you. I want to avoid that situation and be in a place where I can prevent it from happening again.”

Rabam nodded, scrubbing his scalp. He touched the bald spot the sentinels had left before putting him in prison.

“They have my hair,” he said. “They can control me. If I try to rally the crowd…”

But Daira had raised a hand, holding something that looked like a short piece of rope.

“I’ve replaced the viss on it with the one of a sheep. As a scholar of viss, it wasn't difficult to gain access to it.”

Rabam gave her a nervous smile, even if she couldn't see him.

“Thank you.”

He rinsed his body, thinking about what awaited him. He hated that his only way out of that situation relied on him giving a speech.

“You said you'll try to help me if I succeed. But what if I fail?”

Daira tensed.

“Then I fear you'd be on your own. I really wish I could do more, but my hands are tied.”

“Can I ask you to get something for me, then?”

She almost turned toward him, but stopped halfway through.

“Rabam, you're still a traitor. Twice, if I may add. I don't want you to get killed, but I can't let you go unpunished either.”

Rabam put on the clean tunic with more strength than necessary.

“So all you can tell me is that I have to rally the people in some way,” he tried to keep his tone grateful, but bitterness started to seep in despite himself. “And if I manage to do that you’ll find a way to maybe not get me killed? And that’s it?”

Daira didn’t answer.

“Can I at least make my request? Then you’ll decide what to do with it.”

She sighed.

“Ask.”

“A magnet. Small, if…”

He stopped when Daira turned abruptly.

“A magnet?”

She stepped closer and grabbed his arm.

“I want to create a device…”

Daira touched his hand instead, and he knew she was checking his viss.

“What do you know about the magnet?”

Rabam had the sensation she was talking about something else.

“I… Nothing. I just need a piece.”

She briefly closed her eyes. The guard knocked again.

“One minute and I’m entering!”

Daira let go of Rabam and returned to her corner. He fixed his tunic.

“Coming!” he answered, then stopped with a hand on the door. “Can you get me one, then?”

She didn’t move or answer, so he had no other choice than to leave.

The temple was ready to host the process. The platform at the end of the room was empty, the abbot and priors sitting behind a table to its right instead. There was another one near the opposite wall, where Rabam was made to sit alone, two sentinels standing a few steps behind him. The last table was perpendicular to both and positioned right in front of the platform, facing the small crowd that had gathered in the first half of the room. It wasn’t an official event, so most of the monks were still working and couldn’t assist.

Rabam made the mistake to glance at the people sitting in the front, searching Daira’s supporters, but only found stares of curiosity and blame. He looked ahead, deciding to ignore everyone from that moment on. Which wasn’t easy, since right in front of him there was the abbot, sitting at the other table with five priors at his left and four at his right.

Maris was particularly relentless with their fixed glare. Rabam still remembered the idea they had expressed after his interrogation.

“Let’s threaten Zeles to kill him if he doesn’t give us his shard,” they had suggested. “Either way, we’ll solve a problem.”

Thankfully, the abbot had rejected their idea.

“I don’t think he’ll give up his plans just to save one man,” he had said. “And we’d reveal that Rabam is in our hands. It’s better if he thinks us completely clueless about what he’s doing.”

So they had escorted him back to prison, and eventually brought him out again to execute their new plan. He hadn’t even tried to read the book while he was bringing it to Zeles, aware of all the sentinels ready to jump on him at the first mistake.

Five monks entered in a line, escorted by two sentinels, and reached the empty table to Rabam’s left. They were law scholars, the only ones who knew the village’s rules just as well as the abbot did, sometimes better than the priors. The crowd's chatter swelled when they sat down and dispersed as soon as one of them stood.

“We're here to judge the behavior of our brother Rabam, who is accused of: one, escaping his exile in the village of Namuri. Two, admitting to having conjured with a declared enemy of our village. Three, eluding the sentinels' surveillance to steal two library books for the purpose of favoring said enemy, causing chaos and panic inside the village. The abbot and the nine priors are accusing him of these actions on behalf of the monks and the population of the nine villages. What do you ask of us?"

The abbot stood.

"We ask you don’t exile him, because he has already escaped once and could be capable of doing it again. We punished the god that let him go, but we have no guarantees it won't happen again.”

The standing scholar nodded, and two of his colleagues jotted down something onto the stack of papers they brought with them.

“We can't have him out of our control,” Laius continued. “So I'm not entirely sure the prisons are secure enough. We should keep in mind they're a limited resource that we can't avoid to waste.”

The abbot sat down, leaving the scholars to transcribe his words. Rabam produced a bitter smile: of course the abbot wouldn't outright suggest his execution, but only advise against the alternatives. If the scholars decided to execute him, it would look like it was their idea entirely.

“Rabam,” the scholar called him as the abbot sat down. “You have heard the accusations moved against you, how do you respond?”

Rabam hesitantly stood, risking a glance in the public's direction. No one from his family was there, not even his mom and dads, who technically weren't involved. Part of him knew it could be a trick of the monks to make him despair, and part of him despaired.

“There isn't much to say. You already have proof that I escaped my exile. I admitted to stealing the books and conjuring with Zeles.”

There was a murmur in the public. The abbot stood immediately, addressing them.

“The official communication will be given on fourthday, please don't come to conclusions based on his declarations.”

“Vizena isn't Menea anymore,” Rabam continued, hoping to elicit more reactions from the crowd. “The priors killed her believing she was Zeles. Zeles is the current Vizena.”

Some chatter broke out, but nothing serious enough that would make him think they would side with him if the scholars decided he should be executed. He wondered what Daira wanted him to say.

“So you admit you did all of it?” the scholar asked.

“You already know that, right? I would just worsen my position if I lied. But I haven't killed anyone, so I don't deserve to be executed.”

“Nobody has talked about execution,” the abbot commented.

“But it's a possibility, right?” Rabam asked, moving his eyes from the abbot to the scholar. “We all know it is.”

The scholars ignored him. Rabam saw one of the sentinels behind him approach out of the corner of his eye and sat down before she could touch his shoulder.

“We know your family is involved,” the scholar continued, while one of his sitting colleagues made a gesture toward two of the sentinels scattered along the walls. “Now we'll hear what they have to say.”

A sentinel ran out. After an instant, they returned with two more that were escorting a person between them: Cailes.

He was led to the center of the room and left standing in the middle of the space between the desks.

He glanced at Rabam with hesitation, as if scared to actually find him there, then quickly looked away. He was startled when the scholar addressed him.

“You, Cailes, have helped Rabam steal two books and concealed him inside the village with your husband's complicity. What do you have to say about that?”

“Rabam coerced us. He threatened to involve us regardless of whether we involved him. We were reluctant to alert the sentinels because we didn't want him to be hurt or thrown into prison, since he's still my husband's brother and part of the family. As I told you, he didn't mention his plans to us, only the fact he wanted the books, so at the time it didn't look like we were doing anything exceptionally wrong.”

As much as his words hurt, Rabam was glad it was Cailes to testify against him: Ebus and his grandma would have never accepted to say those words during the process, even under the promise of being freed of all accusations. They would probably take full responsibility for the theft in the hope of saving him. Cailes was the only one with the necessary detachment to save the three of them.

Still, it hurt.

One of the sitting scholars, who up to that point had been writing and observing, whispered something to the one at the center.

“Do you think Rabam will try again something similar in the future, if given the chance?" he asked.

Cailes hesitated.

“He looked intent on his mission. I think it's a possibility that can't be excluded.”

The scholar sat down and talked with the others for some minutes. Rabam focused on the crowd as he waited for them to be done. He had no idea of how to bring them to his side as Daira had suggested. Maybe he needed to tell his story, why they put him in exile and he had chosen to help Saia.

The monks finished speaking before he could choose what to do. The one at the center stood again.

“We have decided that the crimes of your family will be forgiven, and your punishment added to Rabam's. You can go home.”

Cailes nodded. Rabam tried to give him a small smile of reassurance, but he never looked his way as the sentinels escorted him across the room and past the exit.

He stared at the scholar, hoping to be addressed again. When he saw him turning to the priors instead, he stood and raised his hand for good measure. The sentinels behind him were already moving to make him sit, but the scholar saw him in time and gestured for them to stand back.

“Is there something you wish to add, Rabam?”

“Yes. I would like to explain my reasons for doing what I did. I think they're relevant.”

The scholar briefly consulted with his colleagues.

“Go ahead, but we'll stop you if it takes more than five minutes or if you say blatant lies.”

“I fell in love with a woman of the villages during a mission,” Rabam said, at first talking to the scholars, then slowly turning to address the public. “I tried to spend as much time with her as I could, but I didn't want to lose my family. I was found out and exiled…”

It wasn't going to work, he realized as he spoke. If he'd never met Mili and stayed in the village, those words would have just sounded like the empty excuses of a desperate prisoner. Nothing that was relevant to him personally. Being exiled had made him care because it was his life being influenced by the monks' rules. If he wanted to convince other people that the way the monks lived had to change, he needed to convince them their lives were on the line.

“You all know what happened next. But what I want to express is that I didn't decide to help Zeles out of a desire to destroy you, but because our rules are too rigid and need to be changed. Or at the very least we shouldn't have to rely on these people,” he gestured at the abbot and priors, “To know when will be the right moment to change them, because they never did, and soon we'll desperately need to.”

“Can you back your claim?” the scholar asked.

“Yes. We live in caves. Large and well decorated, but still caves. And the space is getting smaller, to the point we've started building outside. But how much time will pass before we'll need more food, or to build houses in places where we can't hide?”

“We can't consider hypotheses as truths.”

“How will our lives be like, if the rules will say that we have to stay hidden no matter what? Without ever being able to swim in the sea or see the outside for more than a few hours a week? Is this the life you're giving your kids, for fear of breaking a rule?”

The more he talked, the more he realized his words were true: his life in Namuri, despite being an exile, had been more vibrant and rich than anything the village could offer.

Even if maybe it was only because he knew that Mili existed and loved him.

“Enough!” Both the abbot and the scholar screamed, at slightly different times.

Despite that, the chatter had broken out all around the room. It didn't stop despite their subsequent attempts to make it quiet down.

“That's why they want to kill me,” Rabam yelled, pushing against the two sentinels' hands trying to put him back onto the chair. “They don't want anyone to question their rules, but it's what we need to do more than…”

A hand managed to wrap around his mouth, muffling his words. He stopped struggling, for fear they would frame him as more dangerous than he actually was. At least, that scene had contributed to the chaos in the room. People were standing to directly argue with the priors about something he couldn’t understand in the storm of words.

“Bring him away!” the abbot ordered.

The sentinels took Rabam by the arms and started leading him toward the door.

He heard something break and instinctively ducked. Something hit his shoulder and bounced onto the floor.

“Who did that?” one of the sentinels shouted, turning around.

Rabam pretended to stumble. He closed his hand onto the fragment of rock and slipped it into his shoes before being dragged away again.