Crime and Punishment
Chapter 12:
There were three racks, each one designed to stretch out the arms of whoever was unfortunate enough to find themselves restrained by the implement. Each of them contained one of my assailants from that morning. My eyes darted between each of the airmen. I couldn’t see their faces, as they were covered with cloth hoods.
The whole of Zealot’s flock had gathered in what I was told was the “Disciplinary Chamber”. It was even smaller than the mess hall, curving around in a semi-circular fashion like an auditorium, which made it perfect for the grim purpose that Zealot had put it to. A plethora of glyphs and line markings covered the room from floor to ceiling in a pattern that resembled a forest. The floor below was bare except for one lone circle in the center that glowed dimly.
Three figures filed in through an impromptu aisle that the crowd had left open with some difficulty. Each one was dressed in what passed for clothes of mourning in this place - black rags painted with prayer lines that jutted across their surface in bone-like patterns. Zealot was at the head of this macabre procession, and his gaze swept around the room coolly as he took his place behind the racks.
Behind him, a masked follower with a revolver made her way to the front of the ensemble, clearly getting in between the rest of the herd and the captives. At the end, the bruising fellow who had detained them at Zealot’s behest lumbered to take a place at the leader’s right hand.
“So that must be him.” I heard Yuri whisper at my side.
“Zanenir.” I watched him carefully.
I hadn’t given him much thought when the adrenaline had been surging through my system. He was a gigantic human being. Veins trailed along the length of limbs that were more akin to tree branches. Instead of boots, he wore rough sandals that had been cobbled together from various bits of scrap leather - I briefly wondered whether or not it was even possible to find a pair of boots that would fit such a person. His face was criss-crossed by a disfiguring array of scars that hid a formerly chiseled face. What sent chills down my spine was the utter lack of emotion on his face as he began to wrap his hands tightly with lengths of cloth.
Zealot first declared, “Let the sins of these young ones be read out.”
Zanenir’s voice rumbled over the crowd like a gigantic ocean wave. “These ones attempted murder on one of our own, a repentant, carrying out judgment without the Master’s authorization.”
“And what is the corrective measure to be taken to return the fallen back into the River’s embrace?” Zealot’s response was vaguely musical.
“Ten hits with the Hand of the Teacher.” Zanenir rejoined.
“Let this be performed for the building of character and the repentance of the fallen.”
Zanenir stepped forward. The room was deathly silent as he paced between each of his hapless victims. Each moment felt like an eternity as he kept them guessing which one he would strike first.
Finally, he drew back and launched the solid length of his arm against the face of the one he had selected to begin with. A sickening smack followed as his fist collided with flesh. An audible gasp of shock escaped the first victim.
“One!” Called out Zanenir.
His arm curled back into a spring as the victim crumbled slightly, his knees smashing together. Zanenir came in for a second attack.
“Two!”
A small spatter of blood hit the floor as a stunned groan escaped the victim.
“Three!”
The next hit smashed into the victim’s ribs. An audible crack echoed through the room.
“Four! Five!”
Brutal crunches continued to sound out with every hit.
“Six! Seven!”
I turned my head down and closed my eyes.
“Eight!”
Someone called out, “Bless the River, Flow Well!”
“Nine!”
“Bless the River, Flow Well…” I whispered under my breath.
“Ten!”
Finally the onslaught stopped. I opened my eyes and immediately wished I hadn’t. The pile of bruises that was masquerading as a human being was shuddering in pain. He continued to groan as Zealot stepped forward and stripped off his hood to once more hold him in a mesmerizing gaze.
“Do you turn away from your wickedness, recognizing the wrong way in which you have flowed?” Zealot’s voice thundered above the choked gasps of his follower.
“Yes!” He gasped out. “Yes! I see the light! I am not worthy to walk in the footsteps of the Teacher as I am. Master, please, show me the way! Mend my steps! Straighten my banks so that I may flow in the direction the River chooses! Master, please! Please!”
Desperation infected his voice.
Zealot nodded at Zanenir, and the titan brought forth a steel knife. He wasn’t gentle with the victim. Zanenir let him tumble to the floor.
Zanenir then bodily dragged him out into the crowd for all of us to see the wounds that had been inflicted on him. The man was taken up by his compatriots and pulled to the back of the room, where someone acting as a doctor tended to his wounds. It was an open question in my mind whether or not he would survive the rhythm.
Zanenir turned his attention towards the remaining strung up forms. One had started trembling in fear already. As Zanenir took up position at his rear, he called out, “Please! I fear the River! Have mercy! Please! I know I’m not innocent but I repent!”
Neither Zanenir nor anyone in the crowd answered his pleas. The hulking brute once again raised his arm to strike.
I joined the chorus of pious murmurs that flooded the room, trying to drown out the continued cries of pain that washed over the congregation.
When he was finished. Zealot stepped forward again and asked his insistent question of the penitent.
Zanenir did much the same as he had before with his first victim. Once more, a body displaying a travesty of brutal wounds was paraded before us before being taken back to be nursed back to health if it was possible.
The third victim stood mute.
Zanenir’s footsteps were noticeably quicker as he made his way back to the front of the room and readied his chain. For a moment, he paused, then I saw him lean into his prisoner’s ear and whisper something through clenched teeth.
There was no response from the victim.
Zanenir immediately brought the full force of his punch to bear on the victim’s chin.
Something was different this time. The victim flinched, but there was no associated gasp.
Zanenir called out the number of his punches. One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
The victim didn’t faint or call out. The flecks of blood on the floor expanded.
Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.
I was in awe of the man, even though he had tried to kill me. The audience was silent.
After the tenth blow, Zanenir stepped back to make room for Zealot once again. Zealot ripped off the hood. “Do you turn away from your wickedness, recognizing the wrong way in which you have flowed?”
“Yes.” The simple reply came. In spite of his words, there was still dignity about him.
Zealot said nothing. If his eyes were lances, they would have gored the attempted murderer. Unexpectedly, he turned slowly away from the airman and strode away, raising an arm in the direction of Zanenir.
Zanenir drew back his mighty fist again and beat the man once more. This time, he did whimper. His tormentor prepared another blow, but Zealot raised his hand. “Do you truly turn away from your wickedness, recognizing the wrong way in which you have flowed?”
“Yes.” The man said, tears starting to flow from his face.
Another strike fell against his chest. Murmurs spread through the congregation. I felt as though a riot might start. The woman at the front with the revolver raised her weapon, pointing it at the members of the crowd.
Zealot turned back towards the man and rushed up to his face, whispering something in his ear. The man swallowed and nodded. Zealot asked a third time, “Do you truly turn away from your wickedness, recognizing the wrong way in which you have flowed?”
The man spoke as calmly as he could through tears, “Yes I do. I am sorry for my actions and how they have harmed others. I will not betray the River again, nor step away from its light.”
I breathed a sigh of relief as Zealot nodded at Zanenir to release the man. Zanenir wordlessly cut through the ropes and practically tossed him towards his compatriots, who promptly took him back to be treated like the others.
Zealot’s voice was final as he closed out the disturbing spectacle: “Let all who choose to fall from the River’s path beware, as the price of that fall has been shown this rhythm. Bless the River, my young ones, and Flow Well!”
***
Di, Yuri, Fenrir, and myself were assigned to clean up the grisly place. After the mass of people had filed out of the torture chamber, we set to work cleaning up the small but still disturbing splatters of blood.
“So…” I mused while trying to calm the feelings of disgust inside of me as I scrubbed at the floor. “What made you want to follow Zealot?”
“Straight to the point, huh?” Di responded, his back and head bent low over the floor as he scrubbed with me.
“I mean…” I shrugged “Whatever lifts your ship, I’m not gonna lecture you for being religious, but uh…” I looked around. “This seems rather extreme to me.”
Di nodded. “The current dispensation is flawed and draconian, but I would follow Zealot into the very depths of hell if he asked me to.”
“Really?” An incredulous expression broke free across my face.
“It might be hard to justify for you, but many of the difficulties and disciplinary measures we face here are necessary in order for us to survive. Sometimes the River tests whether we’re truly able to face hard times.”
“What on Earth could the River possibly want with that information? And doesn’t it know everything in the future anyway?” I countered.
“Some say It knows the future. I’m not so certain.” Di blew his nose. “In any case, we are the River’s hands and feet in the world. Although a more apt analogy would be instruments or tools. If a pair of tongs breaks when you try to put it in the forge, does that make it useful? It’s better to know that ahead of time.”
I worked silently with that thought for a while, faced with the results of that justification in front of me.
“Again, I’m on your side. I think the less people have to be punished, the better for everyone concerned.”
“This is torture, not punishment.” Yuri grimly noted.
There was a sharp exhalation from Fennarir. “From the River’s point of view, they are one and the same. Omniscience justifies the means.”
“What Fennarir means…” Di broke in, “is that the River has a better idea of what is necessary for us to become its servants than we do. If we rely on our own sense of right and wrong, we’re no better off than when we were fighting each other up there in the sky.”
“So you both are true believers then.”
“Is that really so surprising?” Di crushed the bloody water out of his swab into a bucket.
“Kind of. That you would let this kind of thing happen to your men and women.” I stood up and walked over to one of the racks, looking at the stress marks in the wood where the victims had pulled at the irons holding them aloft. “This is the reason I don’t put much stock in the Riverrun. It can be used to justify any kind of action so long as you think you have access to the truth of it all.”
Di paused his work to look up at me. “Zealot has a direct line of communication to the River. We don’t always like what we hear from the heavens, but we can be sure that it is the truth.”
“What makes you think that?”
Di threw a hand cloth over his shoulder. “When we first left the city center with the others, I doubted, like you do right now. I’d never been one to have strong faith. In the moment, my faith was entirely built on seeing… the River?” he furrowed his brow with his remembrance of his doubt, “I’d backslid into doubt when I stopped to think about whether or not Zealot was right about his apparition.”
“Ever since then, I have seen one miracle after another. From bringing us food from the building itself, to repairing the shield above us. His knowledge is beyond human comprehension. And his form…” he exhaled in awe, “He has taken on a truly celestial form.”
I kept my eye-rolls out of Di’s sight. The man sounded like he had the hots for Zealot.
“He looks to me like he’s a little off-center.” Yuri stated bluntly.
“Asymmetric.” I smiled to myself.
Di didn’t take offense, as I expected him to. “One finds beauty in the asymmetry. To me it is the complement of the different colors in his eyes that are truly reflective of the inner purity of his soul.”
“Yeah, when did that happen?” I asked, returning to the floor scrubbing.
Di paused. “Not long after we’d left the first building where you’d tried to approach us.”
“Oh?” I raised an eyebrow.
Di sighed. “Yes. Sorry, I feel bad about that. You had seemed as though you were trying to negotiate with us, but Zealot had declared it wasn’t the right time yet.”
One part of me wanted to give Di a hard time for that, but now didn’t seem like a good time. “You’re not the only one who may… possibly… have pointed weapons at people they shouldn’t have.” My memory of Tian’ Xi’s face floated into my consciousness.
He glanced at me.
“Yeah. Anyhow. Leaving that aside. How did the thing…” I pointed at my eyes. “That thing…”
The airman laughed. “Hell if I know. Zealot claimed a vision from the River during which two of the River’s streams flowed into his eyes and changed their color. I’m inclined to believe him.”
I kept my thoughts to myself. In that moment I figured Zealot had somehow accessed a dream world like the one we’d left behind. One that had changed him. But maybe just the act of accessing the city’s controls had changed his appearance.
I paused my work as heavy footsteps approached from the entryway of the room, looking up I saw the titan Zanenir thudding towards me with intimidating power in his strides. I seized up, preparing to defend myself. The others in the room stopped their work, looking between the two of us in confusion.
When he was halfway across the room from me, he snorted and spent a few moments looking me over. What his intent was, I didn’t know.
Finally he stated in a deep voice, “Zealot demands your presence in his study.”