Tzalaii’s Trial
Tzalaii stands trial as a major threat to the stability of the regime of lies permeated by the wicked emperor; he is amazed to find that they are accusing him of attempted murder…
Warriors of Transcendence, Part 31
Tzalaii was troubled by many unanswered questions, and he had ample time to ponder them while imprisoned in the Tower. The King’s cloak was now in his bag and he marveled that he had been permitted to retain his unexamined possessions even as his trial approached.
Of what use was the cloak? What was the purpose of his trial? Was there a chance he might be released from the Tower? And if not, what would become of him? Why had no attempts been made to obliterate him? His meetings with the Inviewer seemed like fair attempts to convince and educate him, not forced invasions of his mind.
Tzalaii understood from his captors that his trial was to take place on the Tin Level, the Level of the Planet Venus. Three warriors unlocked his cell and escorted him through long, windowless, seemingly endless corridors. Torches on the walls cast faint lights, barely illuminating the path. After a tedious and silent walk through an endless maze of turns and twists leading to even more corridors and more turns and twists, they finally reached a large decorated, wooden door. Stern-faced guards, situated on either side of the door, wore simple gray clothing with a crimson flame on their fringes. Each guard was armed with a short, sharp sword at his waist.
Tzalaii was surprised by the immensity of the chamber in which he found himself. Elongated benches in tiers, providing seating for five hundred people, filled the entire lower end of the chamber. The well-dressed, high-ranking spectators gazed in tense silence as the prisoner was led to his seat.
They seem to be expecting to be entertained, he thought.
How was he to know that his trial had been engineered as a show, to engender respect for the Emperors and their belief system?
Throughout the Towered City, preparations for this important event had been under way for many days. Only high officials were permitted to attend, though all awaited news of the trial.
Tzalaii was seated in a raised chair on the right side of the chamber.
Guards with crimson flames on the fringes of their garments were positioned around him and the judges sat on a higher podium. The chamber was silent as the three judges arose, and Tzalaii noticed how similar they were, as if they had been formed by the same sculptor. They wore long, dark purple robes, their faces were narrow and elongated, and their hair was long and pulled back with a black cloth band. Small beards adorned their chins, pointed and elongated like their other features.
From the silence, a tune emerged, a foreign tune that Tzalaii had never heard before. It was simultaneously threatening and harsh yet inviting and seductive. Tzalaii tried to shut out the sounds, but the tune entered his hearing against his will and erased his negative feelings about the trial. As if commanded by the sounds, Tzalaii and all of the spectators in the chamber arose. A tall, silver- haired man emerged from the audience and approached the judges’ podium.
The three judges were seated, followed by the spectators. Only Tzalaii remained standing. Once again, he was filled with guilt over his childish deed, and fear of his future rippled through his bones. He tried to cheer himself up, attempting to call forth his remaining strength, but the atmosphere of severity in the courtroom, cast terror upon him and weakened his remaining hopes.
As the silver- haired man spoke, Tzalaii was horrified to learn that he was none other than the prosecutor.
“In the name of the Mars Emperor,” the man spoke harshly, “The villager, Tzalaii, is charged with the gravest of crimes.”
He paused for a moment and then announced the accusation, directing his words to Tzalaii: “You are hereby charged with attempted assassination of the Emperor!”
A low humming sound resonated throughout the chamber, and terrifying glances were sent in Tzalaii’s direction.
They are mad! thought Tzalaii, his entire body tense from the severity of the accusation.
Tzalaii had assumed that he would be tried for thievery, for stealing a stone from the wall, or maybe as a trespasser for attempting to invade the Tower.
But attempted assassination of the Emperor? Were they mocking him?
Having no advocate, he was forced to defend himself. In a shaky, hesitant voice, he began: “I am but a simple village boy. I never conspired to harm an Emperor. All I wanted was to approach the wall and examine its composition…”
The prosecutor cut him off, announcing sternly. “It is absolutely clear to us that we are not dealing with a childish prank, but with a severe and threatening mission. Who would dare to inspect the wall, were he not sent by the Master of Transcendence?”
The silence intensified. The accusatory stares of the spectators were replaced with furtive glances of fear mingled with awe. If the defendant is really a servant of the Master of Transcendence, he must be feared, and his false words are but a cover for his despicable, cynical scheme. The judges began whispering to each other and Tzalaii was not offered an opportunity to speak again.
The tune was heard once more, this time followed by the shrill beat of a drum, and accompanied by distant wails and myriads of echoes. Tzalaii felt his sight blurring as reality dimmed and he fell into a dream-like state, deep in a vision. He felt that the entire chamber was immersed in fog, out of which spirits were beginning to emerge. Spirits of the sand, and spirits of the sea, spirits of the fish and spirits of the heavens, spirits of the stones and spirits of men, spirits of the past and spirits of the future. They all extended their hands towards him and begged for their lives- “Creator, father, grant us life!”
He felt painful stings throughout his body; his throat was dry and his breathing was labored.
“For you have touched us!” insisted myriads of begging hands.
The tune was amplified and it echoed through his senses. Beyond the noise he could still hear the voices, piercing, crying and demanding, “Grant us life, for you have touched us!”
Tzalaii tried to recall the events that had occurred in the stone house on the eastern shore, but the creatures he had created and touched rose up as painful waves, and produced in him the Mark of Tumult. His hands fell lifelessly to his sides, he was just a step away from losing his senses entirely. He felt his hand touch his bag and one of his last memory shards entered his conscience; it was the King’s Cloak. With his remaining strength, Tzalaii battled the scorching waves of tumult, as he reached into his bag and grasped the golden cloak.
“Sound your voice before the great king!” a soft voice spoke to him from afar, “Tell him. Ask for his mercy!”
“Touch us, revive us, be unto us a father, a creator!” called the life that pulsated around him. “Remain empty, wait for help and assistance, ask for life from he who created life,” said the voice as the waves of tumult burst forth, attempting to silence him.
“You created everything, Tzalaii. The strength, might, and power of the Kings of the Ancient Progeny are in our hands…”
Tzalaii wrapped the cloak around himself and immediately order was restored. The winds died down, even the howling sounds of the tune surrendered to the golden cloak, becoming soft and sweet.
I created all of the creatures, Tzalaii felt with complete certainty. Nothing in the world is inaccessible to me!
Tzalaii observed the spectators in the chamber, and the judges and prosecutor on the podium. They appeared frozen, their mouths agape, small, weak and powerless. He raised his hands as a champion, as if the entire world had surrendered to him, ready to serve him.
Three of the White Emperors’ soldiers arose from their seats and the smug, satisfied laughter of victory filled the chamber as each one saw with his own eyes that the prisoner was indeed a Senior Warrior of Transcendence. The golden cloak which now adorned him, and his royal and regal bearing left no room for doubt. No punishment in the world would be great enough for this transgressor.
“Take him away!” ordered the judges.
Their assessment was correct. He had been touched with royalty. The Obliterators would be able to make advantageous use of the prized segments of his soul, now almost in their hands. A tall Shadow of Illusion, wearing a gray wavy cape, rushed towards him and removed the King’s Cloak. There would be no greater gift than this to present to the Emperors- the King’s Cloak itself! The map of the Tunnels of Time was clearly etched on the inner side of the garment. Soon the map’s secret codes would be deciphered.
Tzalaii’s vision vanished as the tune once again assaulted his brain. He found himself defeated, bereft, and destitute in the defendant’s podium. Now, confused and fearful, he was dragged from his chair by two soldiers.
“Where are they taking him now? To the Abyss of the Shadows?” someone asked.
“He would beg to be taken to the Abyss of the Shadows, if he knew his true destination,” replied his comrade, mockingly.
Unable to cope with this harsh situation, Tzalaii plummeted into a deep Abyss of loss and forgetfulness.
To be continued.
***
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