Fists of Justice (Schooled in Magic #12)

“Yeah,” Emily said. “It was just my first time inside a major temple.”

Caleb gave her an odd look as they waited for Frieda. He knew the truth of her origins now, but she suspected he had a hard time believing it. It was easier to believe she was Void’s daughter, raised in isolation, than that she might have come from a whole other world. She wondered, absently, what he’d make of the Christian God. A single all-powerful being made more sense, she felt, than hundreds of limited entities. A god wasn’t anything more than another powerful creature.

Frieda joined them, a moment later. “I’ve never seen such a large temple,” she said. “How many people does it feed?”

“I have no idea,” Caleb said. “But anyone can come for a meal, if they wish.”

Emily kept her thoughts to herself as they walked down the steps and onto the street. It was less crowded now, although there were still too many people around for her peace of mind; priests, citizens, tourists…a dozen more Hands of Justice, walking around as though they owned the place. The handful of city guardsmen gave them a wide berth. Emily couldn’t help wondering precisely what was going on, behind the scenes.

“Another statue,” Frieda said. She jabbed a finger towards the center of the road. “That wasn’t there yesterday.”

Caleb nodded and led them to the statue, pushing his way through the crowds. Few people seemed to want to get too close, as if something about the statue spooked them. Emily studied it with some interest, reaching out with her senses in the hopes of touching whatever magic had been used to make it. But there was nothing, no wisp of magic at all. The only clue that the statue had once been human was its sheer perfection. No sculptor ever born could carve so much detail into stone.

She reached out to touch it. But all she felt was cold stone. Marble? She wasn’t sure.

Screams split the air. Emily jumped back, expecting…she wasn’t sure what she expected. She readied a spell, turning around to see the crowds moving back from the Temple of Justice. The screams grew louder…she glanced around, looking for a proper vantage point. Perhaps if she climbed up…

The crowd parted. Seven people – five men, two women – knelt in front of the temple. Their shirts had been removed, leaving them topless. A Hand of Justice stood behind each of them, holding a nasty-looking whip. Emily watched in growing horror as they brought the whips down again and again, drawing blood as they lashed bare flesh. The victims screamed, then pleaded for mercy. She wasn’t sure who – or what – they expected to answer.

Emily reached for her magic, then stopped. She didn’t know what to do. Could she help them? Should she help them? They were making no attempt to escape. Even the women – both bare-breasted, both barely older than Emily herself – weren’t trying to hide themselves, let alone trying to run. Had they chosen to be whipped?

She looked away, feeling sick. The sound echoed in her ears, the screams mingling with the crowd roaring after every stroke. Men and women cheered, mocking the victims as they suffered. Insults and catcalls echoed, followed by whistles and lewd suggestions. She recoiled, then forced herself to move. Caleb and Frieda followed, pushing their way through the growing crowd. She couldn’t help realizing that both of them seemed to take the punishment in stride. It was just part of their world.

The screams faded, slowly, as they made their way down the street. But her ears still rang.

“They would have offered themselves for punishment to balance the scales,” Caleb said, quietly. A dozen youngsters pushed past them, no doubt eager to see the whipping before it was over. “Justice is about balancing the scales.”

Emily shook her head. She’d heard that argument before. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, a life for a life…such punishment didn’t really change anything. The scene she’d unwillingly witnessed was more about retribution than anything else, a grim reminder that anyone could face such horrific punishment. She’d seen men and women in the stocks, or forced into slavery as payment for their crimes, but public whippings were worse…

“It’s sick,” she said.

“They chose it,” Caleb said. “They thought it would provide balance.”

“My father said the same thing,” Frieda said. She shivered. “He was always drunk at the time.”

Emily reached out and squeezed Frieda’s shoulder. Her friend rarely talked about her childhood, but Emily had seen the scars. Frieda had been beaten savagely, time and time again, from an early age. She’d been lucky, very lucky, to be sold to a passing magician and taken away to Mountaintop. She’d certainly never shown any interest in going home.

But if they chose to be whipped, she asked herself, is it wrong?

Despite herself, she had no answer.





Chapter Seven


THE BANK OF SILENCE WAS AN immense building, easily larger than most of the temples she’d seen as they made their way to Bankers Row. It was larger than every other bank on the street, with a longer line of customers waiting outside. And yet, Markus had hired more guards to patrol the walls and placed more complex wards around the building. He clearly expected trouble. The other bankers had hired guards of their own.

“We’ll be taking a look at the shops,” Caleb told her. “Do you know how to find your way to Railway Street?”

Emily shook her head. “I’ll ask someone.” She wished, suddenly, that she’d thought to bring the chat parchment with her. It was astonishing how much she’d grown to miss cell phones over the last few years. How had people coped in bygone days without their friends and family at the touch of a button? “If I meet you in a couple of hours…?”

“If you can’t find us, just go back to the house,” Caleb said. “We’ll come back eventually.”

“Try not to get into trouble,” Emily said. She glanced at Frieda. “And don’t get him into any trouble either.”

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