‘I’ll have silence during these proceedings,’ Olise commanded. To Janelle she added, ‘Tell the court what he did with the rest of the coin.’
‘He drank himself merry, and bought drinks for his friends, that they might toast his generosity. Then, when the coin was all gone, he . . .’ Her voice faltered.
‘Tell the court what he did then,’ the magistrate prodded.
‘He said the Gorge Prayer.’
More grumbling came from the crowd, and when several women spat on the ground, the children copied them, although I doubt they understood why. I didn’t yet, not exactly, but I thought I was beginning to work it out.
Nehra whispered into my ear, ‘When the men of these villages believe they can no longer provide for their families, they leap from the cliff at dawn. They believe if they can catch the very first light of the sun on their bodies as they fall to their deaths, they will attract the Gods’ attention and bring good fortune to those they leave behind.’
‘Someone should probably tell them the Gods are dead,’ Brasti said.
I’d been about to make that very point, but I doubted these people would truly believe it. And to be honest, I wasn’t convinced the Gods would stay dead. Despite the Blacksmith’s machinations, faith in Tristia was inexorably drawn to take physical form, and if that was true, wouldn’t Death himself be one of the first Gods to return?
Something else was troubling Kest. ‘I can understand the emergence of this sort of ritual suicide cloaked as sacrifice – but why the expensive meal and drink?’
A shadow passed over Nehra’s features. ‘Because the Gorge Prayer is all shite, that’s why. The men tell themselves they must eat and drink well so that the Gods will know this is what they wish for their families.’
I glanced around the crowd. No men had attended this trial. ‘What about the rest of them?’ I asked, keeping my voice low. ‘Or are there any left? I can’t believe every man in the village got drunk and jumped off a cliff—’
‘Many are already dead,’ Nehra replied. ‘Others fled the hard times, some with their families, some without – they take work as soldiers or guards, but these days they’re lucky to be paid at all, and there’s rarely enough to send any back to their families. From time to time a man will return, but most stay away unable to face the destitution that awaits them here. Some even start new families, new lives, leaving their cast-off wives and children to their misery.’
I found myself breathing heavily, full of futile sorrow and rage, with nowhere to direct it, as Nehra went on, ‘It’s an easy enough lie for a man to tell himself that by taking the Gorge Prayer he relieves his family of the burden of one more mouth to feed. He tells himself that perhaps Death will accept his sacrifice with good grace, and in turn provide prosperity for those he has left behind.’
‘Then they are fools,’ I said uselessly. ‘Death is always glad for a sacrifice, but I’ve never known him to pay for it.’
Nehra shook her head. ‘Again you miss the point, First Cantor: the practice of the Gorge Prayer isn’t a delusion, but rather, a convenient fiction. It provides an excuse to flee from the burdens of life, cloaked in noble intent.’ She gestured at Olise and Janelle. ‘These women hold trials for the dead to show there is nothing virtuous or honourable about the Gorge Prayer, to stop their children growing up thinking that this is how you deal with hard years.’ She gripped my arm, so tightly I could feel her fingers pressing through the thick leather. ‘Falcio, these women are fighting for the very survival of their villages.’
My attention was pulled back to the trial as Olise rose from her chair. ‘Having heard the crime of abandonment well proven, its foul nature compounded and aggravated by the harm done to the victims, I am prepared to render my verdict.’ She stared down at the broken body at her feet and addressed the man as if he could hear her from whatever hell he now made his home. ‘Cyrin Turisse of Vois Calan, through cowardice and greed you have stolen that which you swore to give: support, strength and life. Thus will your own life be taken from you. Hear now my verdict’ – for an instant her eyes went to me – ‘as true and sanctified as any in the land. You are guilty, and the sentence is to be hanged by the neck and remain that way until Death himself is sick of you and sends you back to face true justice.’
She rapped on the seat again and this time four women stepped forward, lifted up the body and carried it to the gibbet. Janelle watched as they went, but now her daughter, crying, broke free of her mother’s grip and ran towards her father’s corpse.
But Brasti was already on the move; he raced to her and picked her up in his arms. ‘There now, my love,’ he crooned, ‘let’s you and I look out on this fine ocean together and sing a merry song and leave this bothersome business to others.’
The child sobbed, but she melted into his arms, and that reminded me how quickly Aline had come to love Brasti when she had been equally frightened and full of grief. For all his brashness and ego, no one could match the unquenchable warmth of Brasti’s heart.
‘Stop!’ Olise commanded. ‘Set the child down.’
Brasti turned his gaze towards her. There was no warmth in his eyes for the magistrate. ‘You would force a child to watch her father die a second time?’
The girl’s mother came and pulled at her arm. ‘Give her to me.’
Brasti looked at me, waiting for a sign, an excuse to take the child and run, but when I shook my head, gently, he carefully passed the girl to her mother.
Janelle held her tight in her arms, just for a moment, before setting her down and facing her towards the gibbets.
‘Why?’ Brasti asked.
The young woman blinked away her own tears. ‘So that she will see cowardice for what it is. So that as she grows, her eyes will never fall with favour upon those whose hearts are not as strong as her own.’
Brasti turned and stood to face the clear waters and the open sky. He never could stand to see the horrors our world forced upon our children. Kest and I left Nehra to stand beside him, and the three of us pretended not to hear the grunts of effort, the squeal of the rope against the pole, and the quiet sobbing of the children.
When it was done, Brasti said, ‘Falcio, what’s happening to our country?’
*
We left the women of Vois Calan with what supplies there were in the hold of the Margrave’s wedding barge. Kest, Brasti and I offered up what little coin we could spare as well, in case someone from the village might be able to travel far enough to buy seed with it.
None of these things were in as short supply as hope.