Wizard of Jatte - Rowan Erlking (year 2 reading books txt) 📗

said.

Both the Carpenters and the Shoemakers gasped at such a sentence. Both trades required the use of their hands.

“But one boy initiated the matter and the other acted in the defense of himself and his friends. It would be unfair to cast such a harsh judgement on one whose intent was earnestly good.”

“But the other boy must learn not to take matters of punishment into his own hands. He has a dangerous skill. Just as he can heal, he can kill.”

“Yes, but his intent was not to kill.”

“The road to hell is paved with good intentions, my friend.”

Theissen listened to the elders argue, something he had heard of but had not witnessed at his last trial. Perhaps it was because he had not offered a defense before. This debate seemed to question how severely both he and Lonse should be punished. That they were to be punished was not in question at all. It was clear punishment was inevitable.

“I suggest they both lose one hand, but the wizard puts them back on. That way they will be punished and yet due to the childishness of their arguments they can have some future restored to them.”

“What a thought!”

“Can he do that?”

They all peered over their high table down at him. Theissen suddenly felt like an animal in a cage. His desire to run almost took over as he practically shrank to the floor.

“Can you heal a severed hand? Can you reconnect the two pieces?” one of the more spry elders asked.

Theissen glanced at Lonse. The boy had already had pulled away from him in terror groping his own hands as if he never wanted to lose one and have the carpenter’s son reattach it for him. It seemed the horror of Theissen holding onto his cut off hand was worse than the idea of losing it.

He nodded to the elders. “I can.”

The crowd murmured again. The bailiff banged his stick over and over again, but it really seemed to be of no use. The floor under him was starting to form severe dents in the wood. The wax on it was chipping in white pieces. However, no one would be silenced.

The elders looked over to the bailiff. “Then it will be done. Both boys must lose their hands.

“And boy wizard, you are to reattach his hand, leaving a scar to remind him never to brawl again. Is that understood?”

Theissen nodded. He looked at Lonse again.

Lonse practically bolted for the door. The sheriffs were faster though, and they dragged him back to the center of the room kicking and screaming. The bailiff met them there carrying over a large box. The bailiff opened the box first and revealed an axe looking sharp and well oiled. That he set aside. Gesturing to the younger bailiff standing at the far door, that one carried in a wood stump with straps. Theissen could see bloodstains and several deep gashes where the axe had obviously sunk into the wood after an execution. Setting the stump in the center of the room where the accused usually stood, the young bailiff then ran back for a roll of cloth, wrapping it almost immediately around the wood stump as a floor cover.

“Hold him,” the bailiff said to the sheriffs.

The shoemakers shouted out. Theissen did not look up. From their scuffing noises he could tell they were struggling to save their son. Many sheriffs were in the room. There was no way even his strong father could save him from losing a hand.

“You, stand here to catch his hand.” The bailiff pulled on Theissen’s shoulder, drawing him nearly face to face with Lonse. The sheriffs were already extending Lonse’s arm and strapping it down to the stump.

Theissen closed his eyes.

“Keep them open. You have to put the hand back on as soon as you see it fall,” said the bailiff near his ear.

It didn’t matter anyway. Theissen could barely see Lonse’s face through the tears that came out now. He could hear his classmate’s cries. He knew his terror.

“It will soon be over,” Theissen said, looking up at him.

Lonse screamed. “It is your fault! You stinking dung thief! Your fault!”

But Theissen did not turn away. He saw the upraised axe. He watched it come down. He heard the nasty break of flesh and then bone, and he saw the hand fall into his own.

Screams. So loud. 

Theissen could hardly bear them as he shoved the hand back onto the bleeding stump he saw in front of him. With a caressing touch, he made the wrist grab back hold of where it belonged. Then the bone and muscle clung tight. Soon all pieces held together, and the pain Theissen drew away from Lonse until all that was left was the memory.

But Lonse remembered, still crying, still screaming. When the sheriffs unstrapped his hand, the boy cradled it his arm, rubbing the wrist. A ring of flesh remained as a scar as Theissen promised the village elders. It would never go away.

“I hate you!” Lonse shouted, retreating back to his parents.

Theissen turned, taking his own place where Lonse had been, extending his arm as if he could not hear the other epithets Lonse shouted at him.

It seemed that no one moved. For a moment the sheriffs just stared at Theissen as he waited for them to strap his arm down also. The bailiff also appeared stunned.

“Hurry on with it,” a village elder said.

“But who will put his hand back on?” a sheriff asked.

“I will.” Theissen’s father marched straight to the chopping block. He cradled his son’s hand in his, waiting for the others to do their duty.

All seemed to go with reluctance. The straps they buckled on him were tight, but they also served to constrict blood flow so there would be less mess. Theissen closed his eyes, remembering the pain of the knife. This one was sure to be worse.

“Can he heal himself?” someone murmured. “Didn’t he still have his other scars on his hands?”

The carpenter patted his son’s head and leaned in. “I believe in you. Just keep your eye on me and do what I tell you.”

Theissen nodded.

The bailiff raised his axe.

He raised his axe.

His axe was raised.

The axe was up.

Yes, up.

“I can’t do it.” The man gently lowered it again, looking over to the elders. “What if he can’t heal himself? I don’t really think he deserves the same punishment as that other boy anyway.”

“Are you the judge?” an elder said, raising one eyebrow.

Cringing, the bailiff, raised his axe once more. “I’m sorry.”

Unusual. It was pain, but it was different. Theissen could see how the flow of energy shifted abruptly. The smell of it was sharp, uncomfortable. But when he saw his father press his hand back to his wrist, he could feel the pulling of magic from within, begging to reattach his skin and flesh together. He hardly bled, but then perhaps he had held that in with his gift also. And as joint, muscle, bone and sinew merged into a whole once more, the pain shot up his arm. He could feel again.

Then it was gone.

No pain, though Theissen found it hard to maintain a scar when his body wanted so much to be whole. However, he managed a line that he could see well enough.

“Not fair! He has no scar!” Lonse was shouting again.

“I can see it,” the bailiff said with some satisfaction.

“So can I,” said a farsighted elder grinning from his wrinkly face.

The sheriff’s undid the straps. Theissen lifted up his arm to inspect it more closely. Yes, there was a scar. Thinner on one side than the other, but it was there. A second reminder to never act rashly again.

“So, are they punished? Can we take them home?” the shoemaker asked. His face was still red, and the look in his eyes said he was ready to plot revenge on the carpenter’s family.

“Not yet,” one of the village elders said. He beckoned Yuld to come forward. “Tell us, what is the legal punishment for consistent ill behavior, such as feuding in a classroom?”

Yuld rocked on his heels. “My students can recite this. Those that participate in persistent abusive behavior towards their fellow men, especially consistent name-calling, are to learn cooperation and good citizenship through hard work in silence.”

“Therefore, both boys were active in such ill behavior at school today and must be taught to control their tongues,” an elder said.

Theissen cringed; hoping hard work in silence did not mean they would have their tongues cut out. Lonse had clamped his lips shut, thinking the same thing.

“Therefore, added to the present punishment, both boys will work hard labor for the next week in perfect silence. The sheriffs will provide the proper task and location. Dismissed.”

The crowd behind the fence in the hall dispersed, urged away by the other young court bailiffs and sheriffs attending to the room. The Millers, the Bootmakers, the Bakers, the Farmers, the Potters, the Hatters, the Tailors and all the other influential families left with yearning glances to remain. However, only the families of the accused were allowed to stay to receive further instruction about the boys’ punishment.

Theissen felt the warm comforting touch of his father’s hands rest on his shoulders. Looking up at his father, he saw relieved yet sad expression in his father’s eyes. Though the court was clearing out, his brothers and sisters circling them with the Weavers who smiled at him, even now Theissen felt anxiety for what he had done. He could see it was still not over yet. His father had still to pronounce his judgement.

“Son,” he at last heard him speak just above a whisper. “I want you to go directly to bed. No supper.”

This, Theissen expected.

“And as you are in your room, I want you to imagine that prison cell you were in with Dalance. Then think, is that the life you really want?”

“No, father,” Theissen said, tears coming back to his eyes.

“So, do you understand that there are some things that you must never do?” the carpenter asked.

Theissen nodded.

“And what are they?”

Seeing the look in his father’s eyes, Theissen lowered his head. “I must never take what is not mine, and I must never use my gift to hurt people.”

His father sighed with some relief. “And do you know why?”

Theissen nodded. “It is wrong.”

The carpenter sighed again.

“Listen to me, son. Your gift is not very different from a man who is very strong, or very tall, or very fast, or smart. You are able to do some things that others cannot do. Remember this. Just because you can do something does not always mean you should do it. Do you understand?”

Theissen nodded.

“I need to hear it, son.”

The boy took a breath. “I understand.”

“Good.”

There was silence for a moment.

“Now, I want us to go home. I want you to think about how you can use your gift for good, rather than harm. Understand?” The carpenter stood to his full height.

Theissen nodded again. “I understand.”

“Come on, son. You were very brave today. Just, next time let the sheriffs deal with people like that shoemaker’s son. All right?”

Looking to his brothers and then his father, Theissen nodded. “All right.”

They left the public hall, walking home through the village with a calm sort of feeling, one that said to them that though everyone was now staring at them, things were going to be ok from then on.

Chapter Six: You Don’t Have to Smell It