"What has Pabul done to me!" Motiak roared.
Around him in the small room were gathered Akmaro, Chebeya, and Didul, representing the House of the Kept; and Aronha and Ed-hadeya, because Aronha was heir and could not be refused access while Edhadeya was, well, Edhadeya, and couldn't be refused either. They all understood Motiak's consternation; none of them had an easy answer.
Aronha thought he did, though, and offered it. "Dismiss the charges against Shedemei's accusers, Father."
"And allow them to reinstate their charges against Shedemei?" asked Edhadeya.
"Dismiss all the charges," said Aronha with a shrug.
"That is foolish counsel," said Motiak, "and you know better, Aronha. If I did that, it would have the effect of repudiating my own high priest and stripping him of authority."
Aronha said nothing. Everyone there knew that Aronha, like his brothers, like Akmaro's own son, thought of that as a happy outcome.
"You can't put them to death," said Akmaro. "So perhaps Aronha is right."
"Do I have to listen to nonsense from you, too, Kmadaro?" demanded Motiak. "I suppose I should take this matter officially before my council."
"That isn't the way it's done," said Aronha. "This is a trial, not a war or a tax. The council has no authority."
"But the council has the virtue of spreading the responsibility around a little," said Motiak dryly. "Remember that, Aronha. I have a feeling you're going to need to do that when you're king."
"I hope never to be king, Father," said Aronha.
"I'm relieved to know that you hope for my immortality. Or is it simply your own death that you expect?" At once Motiak repented of his sarcasm. "Forgive me, Aronha, I'm out of sorts. Having to decide matters of life and death always puts me out of sorts."
Chebeya raised her hand from the table and spoke softly. "Perhaps you should do as Pabul did. Study the case of Sherem and Oykib."
"It wasn't even a court case, strictly speaking," said Motiak. "I already read it over, and it was more a matter that Sherem kept showing up wherever Oykib was trying to teach, to argue with him. Which, come to think of it, is what these pollen-brained accusers were doing to you, Akmaro."
"Using Shedemei as a proxy, of course," said Akmaro.
"It was really just a public argument between Oykib and Sherem. Until Sherem challenged Oykib to give him a sign, and the Keeper of Earth apparently struck Sherem down on the spot, allowing him to live only long enough to recant. But the king-it was Nafai's grandson by then, Oykib lived to be very old-the king declared that what the Keeper had done this time, the law would do from then on. Anyone who interfered with the teaching of the high priest would be struck dead as Sherem was. The law was only invoked twice after that, and the last time was four centuries ago."
"Is that how you intend to govern, Father?" asked Aronha. "Killing those who disagree with your high priest? That sounds rather like what Nuab did to Binaro. Or should I call him Binadi after all, since apparently he also broke this law, interfering with Pabulog's teachings as Nuak's high priest."
The comparison of Motiak to Nuak was unbearable. "Get out," said Motiak.
Aronha rose to his feet. "I see that this kingdom has changed since I was young. Now I am expelled from the king's presence for showing him exactly what he is about to do."
Motiak stared straight forward as Aronha left the room. Then he sighed and buried his face in his hands. "This is very messy, Akmaro," he said.
"It can't be helped," said Akmaro. "I warned you from the start that it would be very hard to take this people from a place where diggers were hated and enslaved, where women were kept silent in public life, and where the poor had no rights against the rich, to a place where all were equal in the eyes of the Keeper and the law. The surprise is that it took them this long to bring their opposition out into the open."
"And it wouldn't have happened now, either," said Motiak, "if my sons and yours hadn't let it be known that as soon as I'm dead, all these innovations would be swept away."
"They haven't said anything publicly," said Akmaro.
"Ilihi brought me word from a man who is at the heart of this; they would never have taken action like this if they hadn't had assurances that all my likely heirs were opposed to you, Akmaro. All of them. The only surprise is that they didn't send an assassin to kill me."
"And make a martyr of you?" said Akmaro. "No, they love you- that's why it took them so long. They know that you are the reason Darakemba is at peace, the reason the Elemaki don't dare to attack except those annoying raids on the border. They're trying to destroy me without harming you."
"Well, it's not working," said Motiak. "They can't destroy you without harming me, because I know that what you teach is true. I know that it's right. And I'm not going to back down."
Didul raised one hand a little from the table. The others deferred to him. "I know that I'm only a priest from one of the provinces... ."
"Skip the formalities, Didul, and get to the point," said Motiak impatiently. "We know who you are."
"You are king, sir," said Didul. "You must decide in such a way that your power to govern, to keep the peace, is not damaged."
"I hope that you aren't just pointing out the obvious," said Motiak. "I hope that you have a specific plan in mind."
"I do, sir. I have also read the book of Oykib, and the two later cases that were tried under the Sherem law. And both times the king turned the case over to the high priest to be tried. I think it was that very precedent that Nuab used in consulting with his priests during the trial of Binaro."
Akmaro stiffened. "You can't be suggesting that I should sit in judgment on these men and pronounce a sentence of death on them!"
Chebeya chuckled grimly. "Didul begged you not to make him come with you, Akmaro, but you insisted that you had dreamed of him sitting with you in council with the king and made him come along."
"There was a true dream involved with this?" asked Motiak.
"There was a dream!" said Akmaro. "You can't do this to me!"
"It's an offense against the religious authority," said Motiak. "Let it be tried by the religious authority."
"This solves nothing!" cried Akmaro. "The case is still a miserable knot!"
"But as Didul pointed out," said Motiak, "it removes it from a place where it can damage the authority of the king and the peace of the kingdom. I'll have my decision written up on a bark immediately, Akmaro. The case can only be tried by the high priest, and you have full powers of disposition."
"I won't put them to death," said Akmaro. "I won't do it."
"I think you had better think about the law before you make rash decisions," said Motiak. "Think about the consequences of your decision."
"No one can be one of the Kept if he follows the Keeper out of fear of execution!" cried Akmaro.
"It will all be in your hands," said Motiak. "Akmaro, forgive me, but whatever happens, the consequences will be less terrible for your having made the decision and not me." Motiak arose and left the room.
In the ensuing silence, Akmaro's voice came out as a rasping whisper. "Didul, don't ask me to forgive you for turning this on me."
Didul blanched. "I didn't ask your forgiveness," he said, "because I was not wrong. I agree with you completely. No one should die for speaking against the doctrine you teach."
"So in your infinite wisdom, Didul, do you have any suggestions for what I should do?"