#9, The Judgement

The Judgment

I follow the messenger into a room with a cavernous feel. The room is set up like a theater, with a staging area, and seats, one hundred in total, set up in rows, stadium style, ten across, ten deep. On the platform stage, there is a single chair. It looks uncomfortable, and I know, that is where I will sit.

I do not need the messenger to lead me to it, instinctively I know. Where else will I sit to be judged? Not amongst those passing judgment, but before them, where my crimes can be lain out, and my guilt ascertained.

I take my seat, and look up to the seats. Doors on both side of the rows open, and the counsel of Elders file in to take their seats. They have been in some sort of anti-chamber, awaiting my presence. As they walked in I try to read their faces, to see if judgment has already been passed, or if I will truly have a chance to plead my case. I see nothing. Whether human or boto, the faces reveal nothing of what they are feeling. The only indication that I am in over my head is the sole empty seat, front row, middle. That is where my mother would have sat, had she been an unbiased judge, and allowed to attend.

The only sound you can hear is the shuffling of feet and fin across the polished marble floor. The room is bright and open, but the overwhelming sense of gloom makes it feel stuffy, cave like, dark. I tug a bit on my collar, I try to free up my throat, and get some air to steady myself. I have to present a good case. I have to give them a reason to let me leave unpunished. I can’t do it if I can’t breathe, if I can’t think.

The room smells old, like a book that has been on the shelf too long, or an article of clothing that had not been worn or aired in years. The smell of mothballs and mold, of dust, and decay. The smell of an ancient society, of a group of Elders. The smell of doom.

The noise stops, and I know without looking that each Elder had taken their seat. I know that even now all eyes are turned to me, and I am pinned in place by their stares. I take a deep breath, filling my lungs with the putrid air, and falter in my attempt to calm myself enough to appear at ease. I fail completely. So, instead of the cocky grin I had hoped to wear on my face I do my best to hold a blank expression, and hope the counsel are unable to see the terror I truly felt at knowing my own fate.

“Stand.” A small voice commands as if amplified 100 times.

I stand, my chair pushes back and scrapes across the marble floor, making a loud sound. I look to the Elder who commands me to stand. I have not seen this Elder before. She is in boto form, and from the looks of it, pushing 50,000 plus years. There is a good chance she had never ventured outside the great hall walls in the past 20,000 years. I avoid eye contact. The humans have a legend that says if one were to make eye contact with the boto, or Amazon river dolphins, they will have nightmares for the rest of their lives. I look at this Elder, and I do not doubt it.

“State your name.” The same small voice, with amplification orders. It is a dry, humorless voice, one that rings with authority. I want to laugh at the irony, as if anyone present doesn’t already know my name.

“Kyson Drake.” I reply. I do not voice any of the sarcastic, or irreverent thoughts I have about the waste of time it is to go through these formalities. Despite the fact that it is just that, a formality, I am grateful for it, as it gives me a chance to calm my nerves, and prepare myself for what lies ahead. It gives me a chance to think more clearly.

“Do you know why you stand before us?” A high pitched, bolder voice, coming from the fifth row, an Elder in human form, asks.

I debate my answer. I have several ideas of why I may have been summoned, but none of them seem to fit the bill, as none seem to be monumental enough to warrant a full counsel hearing, and the resignation of my mother.

“The reason has not been made known to me,” I answer in as honest, yet diplomatic a fashion as I can muster. I hope my avoidance of the question, giving a non-answer will buy me time, and keep me out of hot water. I do not want to incriminate myself by admitting to something they do not know of, or incense the Elders with a comment made too hastily.  I had hoped to give an answer that would lead to a calm manifestation of the facts. It appears to have an opposite effect, however.

A murmur goes up. I catch a few phrases: “Waste of time.” “Toying with us.” “Unmannered.” “Irresponsible.” “Outlandish.” And others along the same vein of thought.

A gavel sounds, and the room quiets again. This time the trickle of fear is more of a tremor. The Elders rarely lose their tempers, rarely speak out of turn. They have each had thousands of years to perfect their manners. I try to speak again, to somehow repair the damage I have done, “I have…”

“Stop.” This from a long-haired Elder in human form, with a gray beard, and leathered skin. “We do not need to hear your excuses.” He sighs. He stands then, and being on the front row, he is able to take a step out toward the stage area. He turns to face the Elders, and silently seems to send them all a message. One by one they acknowledge his silent message with an ever-so-small nod of the head. When it appears all agree he turns once more to face me, and takes his seat again.

My eyes dart from Elder to Elder, and then behind me, to the left the big wooden doors creak again, and my family, my parents, and my aunt, and cousin Angela enter the room. The stricken look on their faces sends fear through my body, it washes over me like a tidal wave, they know something I do not.

“Welcome.” The same long-haired Elder says in muted tones. “Please, please be seated.” He gestures to a row of chairs on the far wall, I had not noticed them until now. I watch my family walk slowly toward them. My father first, his strides no longer the powerful, purposeful ones he used in the park that same day. My mother, bent over with grief, she barely keeps it together, my aunt on her arm, helping her as though she were an invalid. And last, came my cousin, Angela. She walks slower than the rest, as if she can stop what is happening if she slowed it down enough. At last she reaches the chair, and turns her head toward me. The shame I feel, the guilt, stops me cold. Her eyes are accusing, there is an anger there, regret, I know she will never forgive me. She knows. She knows far more than I have ever shared with her. It is like she has bared my soul, and can see every ugly part of me.

My mind is whirling, what can I have done that is so horrific that my best friend looks at me that way? What did I do to disgrace my family so badly? I search mentally for the answer, but none comes. A booming voice, as if on loud speaker stops the search cold, and begins my sentencing. It is a dry, papery voice. It comes out scratchy and foreboding. It holds authority. It is a voice you do not question, not even I would question this voice.

“Kyson Drake, son of Kathy and Matthew Drake, the counsel of Elders has gathered today to pass judgment on your head. That which we decide is binding, and cannot, and will not be broken. As a member of the race of Encantado, you are duty and honor bound to uphold the laws. Any and all transgression of said laws results in judgment and execution of punishment.”

This is the purpose of the gathering, to execute a punishment from my transgressions. I know this, and I will him to move forward. To enlighten me with the information I so desperately seek, the information that will give me the power to refute the accusation against me. The information that will give me what I need to know to manipulate the situation, and get myself out of trouble, and back to my cushy life. He continues on.

“Your just reward will be meted out today. We have judged you.” He pauses here, and glances at each of the front row Elders, for confirmation of what he will say next. I can see what he is doing, but do not understand it. I have already been judged? When? Why hadn’t I been given a chance to defend myself? Or had I?

His voice starts up again, and I make myself focus on his words, “We have found you lacking. You have broken the rules that hold our society together. We have searched your heart. We have found no remorse. We have weighed the effects of your offense, and found that balance must be restored to this world. Your actions, your inactions, your deeds, your misdeeds, have threatened, and damaged our race, and have interfered with, and damaged the human race. As a result of your folly, we have determined, as a counsel, the only course of action we can take.” He pauses again to take a drink of water, as if to soothe his throat, and ease his papery, scratchy voice. I move to the edge of my seat, intent on not missing anything, although I feel like I have already missed something very important. I feel utterly and completely lost.

He starts up again, the scratchiness still there, the papery feel of his voice even more pronounced, “I hereby banish you from the Encante, and from contact with our world. On behalf of the counsel of Elders, I revoke your ability to feel true emotion when in human form. We sentence you to a life amongst the surface dwelling races, and away from those who can understand you. We sentence you to a superficial, and empty life, much like the one you have cultivated here. Your punishment is simple, we will give you just what you want.”

A scream tears from my mother’s chest, and she hurls herself at me, but is restrained by my aunt and my father. My mother’s tears are streaming down her face, her sorrow so genuine, her pain so real, I can read it plainly on her face. I can do nothing to stop it. I cannot even feel remorse. I know I should, but it is as if my mind and my body re separate. My mind is telling me to apologize, to comfort her, to beg for forgiveness, but my body stays in place, ignores her cries, and physically turns away from her. “Stop,” I want to scream at myself, but instead, I stand up from my chair, and walk out of the room. I continue walking, down the long corridors of the great hall, and out the massive front doors, past the staring eyes, past the pointing fingers, past all that is so innately familiar to me, and out the gates of the city. Once outside the gates I am forced to transform into my boto form in order to swim to the surface. When I do, an unbelievable pain, longing, and sorrow overtakes my body, and all I can do is swim as quickly as I can to the surface where I can transform to human once again and escape the awful nagging feeling of regret, and try to forget the look on Angela’s face as my punishment was read.