Salome
01-04-13, 10:04 PM
Knife’s Edge suckles at the teat of magic. The people revel in it, rely on it, devote themselves to it, and study it. More than anything else, they fear it, and when men need something they fear they strive to control it. The greater the fear, the more zealous their method of control, and there was nothing in the world that men feared more than magic.
Well, except women.
The Gaol Occulta was a black spot upon the world of magic in Knife’s Edge, the eye of the barely-contained storm. It was usually easier to kill those that refused the Church’s strict hold over magic – public executions were held three times a day, five days a week, except on holy days when there were more – but death isn’t always a politically viable option. For example, when the accused is a noble.
For those unfortunate souls, the people of Salvar built a terrible wonder: a jail where no magic flows. They did it with astounding quantities of dehlar, and with wards, and holy relics, and with ill-understood machines shipped in from Alerar. The walls themselves – the heaviest, thickest, sturdiest walls in the known world – drank magic as they oppressed men. There were dehlar bars on every window, and ingenious wards etched onto every brick, and the mortar itself was laced with magebane.
The guards of that prison were drawn from the ecclesiae, men that were devout, ruthless, and physically imposing. They had to be from the very best stock, because they were expected to wear full-plate forged entirely from dehlar, and carry rods shaped of the same. Holy marks covered them entirely, tattooed on their skin and sewn into their clothes, and even branded on their tongues and their eyelids. Every one of them would happily drown an infant, if they were told that infant would grow up to become a wizard.
And three of them were standing outside Salome Shestova’s cell.
The leader produced the key, unlocked the door, and then the other two began dragging it open. The doors were sandstone encased in dehlar shells, ostensibly to prevent prisoners from carving runes or sigils, and it took at least two very large men to open them, ostensibly to make them really hard to open. It gave off sparks whenever the frame met upraised flaws in the floor. Salome was pleasantly surprised to see that the joints still worked. This was only the third time she’d seen the door opened.
“Uh, hi guys,” she said.
The leader backhanded her with his gauntlet, which sent her straight to the floor and the room right to spinning. She tasted blood, and tongued her teeth to make sure she hadn’t lost any.
“When words are required of you,” the guard pronounced, “they will be demanded. Until that time, you shall say nothing.”
Salome spat a nice mixture of blood, snot, and spit onto one of those big dehlar boots, and then gave a sweet red-stained smile. For that, the guard dragged her out of her cell by her hair, and right down the hall. She spat and snarled but, as per the rules, she didn’t say a damn thing.
They took her to a guard post at the end of the cell block and they hung her from the ceiling by the shackles on her wrists. It wasn’t very difficult for them. She was muscular, but also thin and short, and they were particularly large. And there were three of them, and she knew better than to put up much of a fight. She liked her teeth and really wanted to keep most of them.
A fourth man entered the room, metal boots thundering on the bricks. He had badges welded onto his colossal breastplate, and a tassel on his helmet, which made him look very fancy indeed. She almost said so, but her teeth needed protecting.
Blood-Boot gave a stiff salute, and Tassel-Head returned it before turning to regard Salome through his visor. He made a thoughtful noise, which echoed inside his helmet, and then he reached up and lifted the helm off. He handed it to Blood-Boot without looking at him. Underneath he was blonde and square-jawed, meticulously clean-shaven, and his hair was tied back in a tight knot.
“I am Commandant Turbide,” Tassel-Head said. “I was appointed by the Sway themselves to oversee this prison, a sacred duty for which I was created. The Sway gave us all such duties, bequeathed to us at the moment of our births, some heroic and some humble, but all…all are divine. I know you don’t respect me, or your government, or your king, or the Sway themselves. I know this because you broke your oath to those that created you.”
Salome stared at him, and after a long moment of silence she raised her eyebrows.
“You have nothing to say in your defense?”
“Sorry,” Salome said, giving a wry chuckle like she’d just made a tiny social faux pas amongst friends at court. “I’m just easily confused, ‘cause Slappy told me to shut up and then you want me to talk and it’s just really hard for me to keep up. I get by on my looks, see?”
She turned her head to show Turbide the side of her face, where she was sure a nice bruise was forming.
“Yes, I see,” Turbide said. He made a motion, and Blood-Boot stepped forward and punched Salome in the stomach. Hard. She spent the next five minutes coughing and struggling to curl up as she slowly rotated. Turbide waited patiently before he began speaking again. “Do you see your mistake? If one is to play dumb, it would be best if she weren’t actually dumb.”
“Yeah,” Salome said, taking a shivery breath. “I think I see your point.”
“I knew you would. It always takes time for your kind to come around to the proper path, but ultimately they do. Of course, they always fall back off it later. That is why the Sway appointed me, I suppose. Here I’ll serve until I die, and surely on that day they will appoint another to take my place.”
“They’re going to put a baby in charge of the prison?”
That earned her two punches, and this time Turbide didn’t wait for her to stop coughing.
“I see you are one of the stubborn breed. I’ve met your type before. It’s difficult for me to blame you for the way you are, because I see where you’ve erred, and it is only human. You were coddled, and this made you mistake your station for Heaven early on. When you discovered that you did not sit at the highest point in creation, you developed a severe contempt for your betters, including the Holy Sway, from whom all good things and wisdom come. The devotion you should have for them, you have instead – in your perverse selfishness – turned away from them. This is an insidious trap, but I understand it. Punishing you and all heretics is righteous, and it fulfills me and my men. You believe that you are righteous in your own cause, and thus enduring your punishment fulfills you.”
“Wow,” Salome wheezed. “You’ve got me all figured out.”
“Yes,” Turbide said, allowing himself the smallest smile. “I do. Now, Miss Shestova, I always prefer to make an offer before we begin this dreadful process. I do this because despite your failings, you are my sister in the eyes of the Sway, and thus I do love you, as is right in the eyes of the Sway. I wish to put you on the righteous path, and I wish to help you keep your way true though you will stumble. Will you allow me to help you, Sister?”
“That sounds great,” Salome said, looking up at her shackles. “I’d love for you to help me out of here. I think Slappy has the key.”
“Unfortunately, I can only offer so much. You still have decades on your sentence, Sister, though I will gladly speak in your favor when it comes time to discuss your release. In the twenty-some years we shall enjoy together, though, I vow to teach you humility, propriety, and piousness. And if you will commit to the path with me, I will strive to do all I can to aid you on it, and keep you comfortable.”
“Great,” she said. “I’d rather you let me out, but that stuff sounds good too, I guess. Hey, it’d be a lot easier to walk on the path if you let me down and quit punching me.”
She wiggled her feet in the air demonstratively, stretching her bare toes out in a futile attempt to touch the floor.
“I will be happy to return you to your cell,” Turbide said, “but I require something first. As I said, I do love you, and if there were a gentler punishment, I would choose it. But I must set you right.”
“Wow, um. I'm flattered, and you're a great guy, but you're moving a little fast for me and, you know, I'm not into gentle punishment.”
Turbide narrowed his eyes. Blood-Boot began to step forward, but the Commandant stopped him with an upraised palm.
“Miss Shestova,” Turbide said in a warning tone, “let me make myself clear. I am about to ask you a question, and if you do not answer immediately and satisfactorily, Lieutenant Crispin is going to have to hurt you severely.”
“Aw, shit.”
“Where is the book you stole?”
Salome looked up and to the right, creasing her forehead in thought, and then smiled bright and dumb and said, “Which one?”
Turbide smiled, almost kindly. “It has many names, and all of them are forbidden. I have heard it colloquially called the Book of the Mad, which is apt, for you are reportedly the last person to have seen it. Ah-ah-ah, don’t say anything clever just yet. Let me just…let me warn you first. If the next words out of your mouth aren’t the location of that book, I am going to hurt you very badly, Sister. So please, think very carefully.”
Salome stared at him thoughtfully for a long moment, a moment that dragged.
“TELL ME!” Turbide roared.
“Gods, hang on a second,” Salome chided. “I have to make sure I say something really clever.”
They unchained her from the ceiling and pinned her to a table, and then they stretched a sheet of folded linen over her face and spent the rest of the night pouring buckets of water on her head and watching her choke.
Well, except women.
The Gaol Occulta was a black spot upon the world of magic in Knife’s Edge, the eye of the barely-contained storm. It was usually easier to kill those that refused the Church’s strict hold over magic – public executions were held three times a day, five days a week, except on holy days when there were more – but death isn’t always a politically viable option. For example, when the accused is a noble.
For those unfortunate souls, the people of Salvar built a terrible wonder: a jail where no magic flows. They did it with astounding quantities of dehlar, and with wards, and holy relics, and with ill-understood machines shipped in from Alerar. The walls themselves – the heaviest, thickest, sturdiest walls in the known world – drank magic as they oppressed men. There were dehlar bars on every window, and ingenious wards etched onto every brick, and the mortar itself was laced with magebane.
The guards of that prison were drawn from the ecclesiae, men that were devout, ruthless, and physically imposing. They had to be from the very best stock, because they were expected to wear full-plate forged entirely from dehlar, and carry rods shaped of the same. Holy marks covered them entirely, tattooed on their skin and sewn into their clothes, and even branded on their tongues and their eyelids. Every one of them would happily drown an infant, if they were told that infant would grow up to become a wizard.
And three of them were standing outside Salome Shestova’s cell.
The leader produced the key, unlocked the door, and then the other two began dragging it open. The doors were sandstone encased in dehlar shells, ostensibly to prevent prisoners from carving runes or sigils, and it took at least two very large men to open them, ostensibly to make them really hard to open. It gave off sparks whenever the frame met upraised flaws in the floor. Salome was pleasantly surprised to see that the joints still worked. This was only the third time she’d seen the door opened.
“Uh, hi guys,” she said.
The leader backhanded her with his gauntlet, which sent her straight to the floor and the room right to spinning. She tasted blood, and tongued her teeth to make sure she hadn’t lost any.
“When words are required of you,” the guard pronounced, “they will be demanded. Until that time, you shall say nothing.”
Salome spat a nice mixture of blood, snot, and spit onto one of those big dehlar boots, and then gave a sweet red-stained smile. For that, the guard dragged her out of her cell by her hair, and right down the hall. She spat and snarled but, as per the rules, she didn’t say a damn thing.
They took her to a guard post at the end of the cell block and they hung her from the ceiling by the shackles on her wrists. It wasn’t very difficult for them. She was muscular, but also thin and short, and they were particularly large. And there were three of them, and she knew better than to put up much of a fight. She liked her teeth and really wanted to keep most of them.
A fourth man entered the room, metal boots thundering on the bricks. He had badges welded onto his colossal breastplate, and a tassel on his helmet, which made him look very fancy indeed. She almost said so, but her teeth needed protecting.
Blood-Boot gave a stiff salute, and Tassel-Head returned it before turning to regard Salome through his visor. He made a thoughtful noise, which echoed inside his helmet, and then he reached up and lifted the helm off. He handed it to Blood-Boot without looking at him. Underneath he was blonde and square-jawed, meticulously clean-shaven, and his hair was tied back in a tight knot.
“I am Commandant Turbide,” Tassel-Head said. “I was appointed by the Sway themselves to oversee this prison, a sacred duty for which I was created. The Sway gave us all such duties, bequeathed to us at the moment of our births, some heroic and some humble, but all…all are divine. I know you don’t respect me, or your government, or your king, or the Sway themselves. I know this because you broke your oath to those that created you.”
Salome stared at him, and after a long moment of silence she raised her eyebrows.
“You have nothing to say in your defense?”
“Sorry,” Salome said, giving a wry chuckle like she’d just made a tiny social faux pas amongst friends at court. “I’m just easily confused, ‘cause Slappy told me to shut up and then you want me to talk and it’s just really hard for me to keep up. I get by on my looks, see?”
She turned her head to show Turbide the side of her face, where she was sure a nice bruise was forming.
“Yes, I see,” Turbide said. He made a motion, and Blood-Boot stepped forward and punched Salome in the stomach. Hard. She spent the next five minutes coughing and struggling to curl up as she slowly rotated. Turbide waited patiently before he began speaking again. “Do you see your mistake? If one is to play dumb, it would be best if she weren’t actually dumb.”
“Yeah,” Salome said, taking a shivery breath. “I think I see your point.”
“I knew you would. It always takes time for your kind to come around to the proper path, but ultimately they do. Of course, they always fall back off it later. That is why the Sway appointed me, I suppose. Here I’ll serve until I die, and surely on that day they will appoint another to take my place.”
“They’re going to put a baby in charge of the prison?”
That earned her two punches, and this time Turbide didn’t wait for her to stop coughing.
“I see you are one of the stubborn breed. I’ve met your type before. It’s difficult for me to blame you for the way you are, because I see where you’ve erred, and it is only human. You were coddled, and this made you mistake your station for Heaven early on. When you discovered that you did not sit at the highest point in creation, you developed a severe contempt for your betters, including the Holy Sway, from whom all good things and wisdom come. The devotion you should have for them, you have instead – in your perverse selfishness – turned away from them. This is an insidious trap, but I understand it. Punishing you and all heretics is righteous, and it fulfills me and my men. You believe that you are righteous in your own cause, and thus enduring your punishment fulfills you.”
“Wow,” Salome wheezed. “You’ve got me all figured out.”
“Yes,” Turbide said, allowing himself the smallest smile. “I do. Now, Miss Shestova, I always prefer to make an offer before we begin this dreadful process. I do this because despite your failings, you are my sister in the eyes of the Sway, and thus I do love you, as is right in the eyes of the Sway. I wish to put you on the righteous path, and I wish to help you keep your way true though you will stumble. Will you allow me to help you, Sister?”
“That sounds great,” Salome said, looking up at her shackles. “I’d love for you to help me out of here. I think Slappy has the key.”
“Unfortunately, I can only offer so much. You still have decades on your sentence, Sister, though I will gladly speak in your favor when it comes time to discuss your release. In the twenty-some years we shall enjoy together, though, I vow to teach you humility, propriety, and piousness. And if you will commit to the path with me, I will strive to do all I can to aid you on it, and keep you comfortable.”
“Great,” she said. “I’d rather you let me out, but that stuff sounds good too, I guess. Hey, it’d be a lot easier to walk on the path if you let me down and quit punching me.”
She wiggled her feet in the air demonstratively, stretching her bare toes out in a futile attempt to touch the floor.
“I will be happy to return you to your cell,” Turbide said, “but I require something first. As I said, I do love you, and if there were a gentler punishment, I would choose it. But I must set you right.”
“Wow, um. I'm flattered, and you're a great guy, but you're moving a little fast for me and, you know, I'm not into gentle punishment.”
Turbide narrowed his eyes. Blood-Boot began to step forward, but the Commandant stopped him with an upraised palm.
“Miss Shestova,” Turbide said in a warning tone, “let me make myself clear. I am about to ask you a question, and if you do not answer immediately and satisfactorily, Lieutenant Crispin is going to have to hurt you severely.”
“Aw, shit.”
“Where is the book you stole?”
Salome looked up and to the right, creasing her forehead in thought, and then smiled bright and dumb and said, “Which one?”
Turbide smiled, almost kindly. “It has many names, and all of them are forbidden. I have heard it colloquially called the Book of the Mad, which is apt, for you are reportedly the last person to have seen it. Ah-ah-ah, don’t say anything clever just yet. Let me just…let me warn you first. If the next words out of your mouth aren’t the location of that book, I am going to hurt you very badly, Sister. So please, think very carefully.”
Salome stared at him thoughtfully for a long moment, a moment that dragged.
“TELL ME!” Turbide roared.
“Gods, hang on a second,” Salome chided. “I have to make sure I say something really clever.”
They unchained her from the ceiling and pinned her to a table, and then they stretched a sheet of folded linen over her face and spent the rest of the night pouring buckets of water on her head and watching her choke.