‘The habits of the island’s spiders are no matter to us.’
Koarsden tilted his long, hound-like head. ‘Well, some commoners say it is a sign of D’rek’s displeasure.’
‘Displeasure? Displeasure with whom?’
‘Well … with us, of course.’ And he offered his ever-ready smile.
Tayschrenn waved a hand. ‘The superstitions of the ignorant are no concern of mine.’
Koarsden did not answer, but his lips pursed in censure of Tayschrenn’s dismissiveness. Finally, he cleared his throat. ‘Tay … there may come a time when even you will need to pay attention to the concerns of those around you.’
‘I do not see why,’ he answered, only half listening. He was, in truth, now scanning the towers for any further signs of Kartool’s infamous poisonous spiders. After a long silence he glanced to his companion and noticed his bunched brows and sour expression. He asked, prompting, ‘You said…?’
‘Nothing,’ Koarsden sighed.
The way ahead was now jammed by a large party crossing the street. The crowd was festive, cheering and laughing, holding long banners aloft; children among them waved twisting black and red paper worms. Koarsden took his arm to stop him. ‘The executions are on. We should stop in.’
Tayschrenn groaned and pulled onward. ‘D’rek spare me.’
Koarsden would not release his arm. ‘No, no. It would be good for you to show yourself. The Demidrek’s right hand visiting the pits. Can’t have your critics painting you as soft on enforcement of the Worm’s will.’
He relented, allowing Koarsden to drag him along. Critics? Why ever would I have critics?
The execution pits occupied a central position in the city of Kartool. They were just that, pits, roughly circular, of greater and lesser size and capacity. Any visitor ignorant of the city’s traditions could easily fall into even the smallest, as, indeed, some unfortunates had. These were no more than mere cylindrical depressions in the stone, as deep as a man and no wider than a man’s shoulders, in which the guilty were chained upright to await D’rek’s punishment. Said punishment arrived over time as more and more flesh-eating insects fell or were drawn into the pit, to feast upon the transgressor. Or not. For in such diverse fates was the will of D’rek revealed.
The largest execution pit was a circular depression a good four chains across. Tall stone walls surrounded it, together with steep amphitheatre seating rising behind. This was the Civic Pit, and here the two priests found gathered many of Kartool’s citizens, gossiping and passing the time by betting on how long each of the condemned – man, woman or child – would last.
Tayschrenn and Koarsden climbed the rising cobbled walk. They were among the crowd, but not crowded, as their robes announced their calling and they were scrupulously avoided, lest offence be given.
They left behind the mundane citizens when they took a side ramp that led to the seating permanently reserved for the priesthood. Here the curving stone benches were almost entirely empty. A few elderly priests dotted the seating, looking like bedraggled crows awaiting a sick animal’s death. A few noticed Tayschrenn and rose, bowing their respect for the red sash he wore cinched about his robes – the sash of the highest rank beneath the Demidrek.
He and Koarsden took their seats near the front. Across the pit floor of jagged stones and gravel, dotted by bones, the day’s Overseer of Justice, an older priestess whose name he could not recall, also rose and bowed her shaved head. Tayschrenn acknowledged the bow.
The rising rows of stone benches gradually filled, and he was surprised by the size of the crowd; he wondered if today were a feast day or lunar observance of one of the minor titular gods subservient to D’rek, such as Poliel, Beru, Burn, or Hood. Koarsden had fallen into conversation with one of the elderly priests, and inwardly Tayschrenn shook his head. Typical of the man; he seemed somehow able to get along with everyone.
After the conversation ended, Tayschrenn murmured aside, ‘Quite the crowd.’
Koarsden nodded. ‘Indeed. I was just commenting to Reuthen here on that very fact, and he filled me in. Seems we have a special attraction today.’
‘A murderer?’
‘No. An interloper. A priestess of that meddling enchantress.’
Tayschrenn was quite surprised. ‘Really? The Queen of Dreams? Proselytizing here? Rather impudent. Still…’ and he put the tips of his fingers together and touched them to his chin, thinking. ‘It does set one to wondering. How does one capture the priestess of a goddess who claims to be able to predict the future?’
Koarsden chuckled. ‘Good question. The goddess is false, of course. Only in D’rek can one see daily demonstration of truth in the world. And that truth is the cycle of death, decay, and renewal. Rebirth and Return. Such is the balanced double face of D’rek. Destruction and Creation.’
‘Well said!’ one of the nearby hunched old priests put in, approvingly, then hawked up a mouthful of phlegm and spat aside.
Tayschrenn and Koarsden shared a wry smile and settled into a mutual silence. Their words were not as private as they’d hoped.
As the most minor of the punishments began – thieves having their hands eaten away before their eyes by the especially virulent grubs the priesthood bred – Tayschrenn reflected on the hoary old litany supplied by Koarsden. Yes, D’rek alone of the Elder faiths – and D’rek was among the most ancient – emphasized that enduring truth: that out of death came life, and that each was thus necessary to the other. The ill-advised worship of Hood came closest, but in the eyes of those who embraced the teachings of D’rek it represented at best a half-measure, or mistaken turn. A wrong path, if one would. Death was not an ending, nor a destination. Rather, it was a doorway. A doorway into transformation and service to the new generations to come. The merest glance to the world around should convince anyone of that. The leaves fell, but were renewed. Out of rot and decomposition emerged new life. Such was self-evident. So did D’rek bear two faces. The male of destruction and the female of fecundity.
A couple in chains were led into the pit. They were pelted with rubbish and rotten vegetables. These two must be divorcees. They had had the temerity to end their marriage and so naturally they must be put to death. For who knew how many future lives had been sacrificed by their selfishness? Any society or religion that valued birth and fertility must perforce denounce the separation of a mated couple as the worst of offences. Any who divorced had of course to be stoned to death. It would have been absurd to claim to value life without doing so.
After the punishments of these common offences the priestess overseeing the day’s justice – Salleen, that was her name, Tayschrenn remembered – raised a hand for the final execution. A bound woman was led into the pit. Tayschrenn was surprised by her youth. She was bloodied and bruised, her clothes torn. Yet she held her chin high, proud without appearing disdainful.