Chapter Five

Weeks had passed since that day and its impulsive but undeniably pleasing incident, and Tristor felt he could happily say that those weeks had been the best of his life. Although the satisfying heat of the early autumn sun was beginning to dwindle and the long, lazy days were drawing to an end, he felt as if life was in its prime. There had been no major disasters or catastrophes, his mother’s health wasn’t getting any worse and situations concerning his behaviour at school were going as well as he could have expected. His relationship with Theode – an odd relationship, but a relationship nonetheless – was also flourishing. He was in the process of teaching the boy everything he knew where life was concerned; their attempts to be discreet and keep others from finding out about them were paying off; and Tristor was finding himself more and more comfortable with the whole situation.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t to say that he was completely comfortable with it, nor did he think he ever would be. To see it as wrong was just the way he had been brought up, and he wouldn’t ever be able to rid himself of that. So he simply endured the times when he felt ill at ease, and enjoyed the rest of it. As long as he could do that, all would be well.

Apart from this tiny insecurity and the fact that the bulky grey clouds in the sky were heavily pregnant with rain, he really had nothing to be unhappy about. That was probably why, when his mother knocked on his bedroom door, he greeted her with a silly grin that resulted in her raising an amused eyebrow.

“What are you so happy about? Not your homework, surely?”

He glanced down at the half written essay in his lap and let out a chuckle, the grin staying exactly where it was. “No, not at all; this is the single most boring task I’ll ever have to do. My happiness is spontaneous and without reason.”

She stepped into his room and handed him a piece of folded paper. “Perhaps you foresaw this, and that’s why you’re happy.”

Tristor didn’t know what the piece of paper she was offering contained, but anything was suitable for taking his mind away from his essay about Pythagorean Theorem. Curious, he took the note and unfolded it, letting his eyes skim over the contents. It was a letter from his grandparents, inviting him and his mother to their home for conversation and a meal.

This knowledge didn’t bring him any immense feelings of joy or delight. He loved his grandparents dearly, but they were two sour old cretins if he’d ever met any. If they weren’t snoring they were complaining, about anything and everything that could possibly be complained about. Tristor always had to bite his tongue to keep himself from blowing up completely, especially when his grandmother, Heida, started to tell his mother about all her mistakes in raising a child. The prospect of visiting them was about as appealing as that of swallowing his own vomit.

His lack of enthusiasm for the idea must have been obvious, for his mother began to list reasons why visiting them was a good idea. “You haven’t seen them for some time; you must have a lot to catch up with. I’m sure they’re interested in how well your studies are doing, since they’re always talking about how bright you are.”

Nonsense, Tristor thought. They only say I’m bright when they talk about how little work I do and need an excuse to explain how I pass every year.

“It isn’t as if we would be there for long, either,” she continued. “Just a quick chat about general things, dinner and then we’ll leave. Remember the last time we dined with them? You liked it so much you asked for seconds.”

Grandma was practically force-feeding me.

“They might even have a gift for you since you haven’t seen them for so long.”

The last gift they gave me was a decorative urn. Tristor tried his luck at getting out of it. “Could I not just show up to greet them and then leave? I can’t see what they would want to talk to me about anyway.”

Cecile sighed. “They’re your grandparents; of course they want to talk to you. No, you can’t just turn up and leave again immediately. I couldn’t allow you to do something so rude. You might as well not go at all.”

“That sounds even better. I’m up to my neck in essays at the moment, and I need the time to write them.”

“Tristor,” she said firmly, seeing right through him since she knew full well that he didn’t work at home if he could help it. The only reason he was doing the Pythagorean Theorem essay was because Miss Turner had again threatened him with a letter being sent home. “This is not an optional visit. You are not leaving after a few minutes, and you are certainly not staying here. They’re the only relatives you have here, and it would only be polite to accept an invitation from them. Make sure you look presentable; I’ll call for you when we’re leaving.”

She left his room and he scowled to himself. Obviously, the gods had found his celebration of being happy too tempting to ignore. He supposed it could have been worse; he could have been forced to go to dinner with his tutor, or his father. However unlikely both of those positions were, it was a slightly comforting idea and it continued to comfort him until his mother came to collect him from his room. Then he was reminded just how undesirable his circumstances were, no matter how much worse they would have been.

His giddy smile did, however, make a return appearance when the clouds finally gave way to the rain they were holding about halfway into the walk to his grandparents’ home. No matter how much his mother hurried him and herded him to walk under any available cover, the rain had effectively ruined the attempt he had made to look presentable to his grandparents. They would certainly not be pleased, and it would only get worse when he and his mother would have to admit to not bringing an umbrella. At least he would be able to have some small kind of entertainment during his visit.

As he had expected, his grandmother muttered disapprovingly when he and his mother showed up at their door, dripping with rain and sniffling with cold. She fussed over them both with warm towels, asking why they hadn’t worn coats or brought umbrellas, why hadn’t Tristor had a haircut yet and what was this she had been hearing about his appalling behaviour in school. It was a similar greeting they received every time they visited; Tristor gritted his teeth and let his mother do the talking while he wandered away to find his grandfather. He expected he would find him sitting in a chair looking out at the garden, smoking a pipe and mumbling about something or other. Probably the rain. His grandfather, Paulo, never could stand the rain.

And, once again, he was right. His grandparents were awfully predictable. “Grandfather,” he said, approaching the chair, “how are you?”

Paulo turned his head and ignored the question completely. “Ah, Tristor. You’ve grown again. If you grow any taller, your head will bump the ceiling.”

“That’s a slight exaggeration, don’t you think?”

“Oh no, I’m perfectly serious.” And he looked it; there wasn’t a hint of amusement on his face. Then again, there never really was. “I once knew a man who grew until he was taller than this room is high. He had to bend down to fit through doorways.”

Tristor smiled indulgently; his grandfather was notorious for telling ridiculous lies. It was probably where his mother had picked up the habit from, and he was determined not to latch onto it himself.

“Tristor!” Heida hurried into the room, towel in hand, and tried with it to rub Tristor’s hair dry. “If you let your hair stay wet like that, you’ll get a chill. I’ve told you this before; why don’t you ever listen? Cecile, you need to tighten your parenting reins. You’re too soft on this boy.”

As Tristor tried to subtly pry away her fussing hands, Cecile entered the room, drying her long hair with her own towel. “He behaves very well. I am sorry about this, though; it didn’t start to rain until we were halfway through the village.”

Heida moved away to instead fuss over her daughter, and Tristor sat down in an empty chair, hiding his already frustrated expression with his towel under the façade of drying his hair more. He could tell that this was going to be a very long visit.

And it was. While his grandfather complained, his grandmother picked holes in everything and his mother did her best to defend herself, he was left to listen to it all and found himself feeling rather bored. He couldn’t see why he was needed to be there; the conversations mostly revolved around general things and he wasn’t asked for his views or contributions. He simply picked absently at the hem of his sleeve while trying to look interested in what they were saying, whereas in actual fact he was wishing they he could just leave.

He was in the middle of yawning and trying to conceal it by ducking his head when his grandmother said something which immediately caught his attention. “You should secure your property, Cecile,” she said, all the while using her disapproving tone. “Have Tristor marry. He is coming of age; he ought to settle down with a nice woman and have a family.”

Tristor shot his mother a discreet laugh to see what her reaction would be. Her facial expression didn’t seem to change.

“He’s still in education, Mama-“

“That is irrelevant; there’s no harm in planning these things early. If you wait too long, there will be no eligible females left. You need to snap one up. There will be plenty of time for Tristor to finish his education before the wedding ceremony.”

“It’s not something I haven’t considered,” his mother replied in what Tristor hoped was an attempt at reassurance more than anything else, “but I was going to wait until he graduated to find him a wife. He only has one more year of schooling left.”

“You should at least start looking now,” Heida said, sending her daughter a look that clearly said, ‘you’re not going about this is the right way’, “or else when the time comes, you might just find that any potential wife is already taken.”

“I’m sure it won’t come to that.”

Tristor felt that, at this point, his input was necessary. “Actually, I don’t want to be married yet. There’s no hurry.”

“No hurry?” His grandmother sounded outraged at the very idea. “So you wouldn’t mind marrying someone completely unsuitable? One of those blasphemous Reide twins, perhaps? Because they will be the only free women left if you put this off for much longer.”

“Mama, you’re exaggerating,” Cecile said, forcing a smile. “There’ll be no need for anything drastic. You didn’t arrange a husband for me until I was past the age of twenty, if you remember.”

Heida let out a short, loud, sarcastic laugh. “Oh, yes! And what a successful marriage that turned out to be!”

Tristor bit his tongue to keep himself from saying anything back while his mother looked at the floor. “It only went so wrong because Leon couldn’t handle being married,” she said finally in a quieter voice. “It was nothing to do with the age we married at.”

“Listen, dear,” Heida shifted so she was facing her daughter and gave her a firm stare. “Leon was our mistake, not yours. A mistake that only happened because we waited to long to have you married. We just don’t want to see you make the same mistake with our only grandson.”

Tristor felt himself growing angrier by the second; he tried to control his breathing and calm himself down. This was exactly the reason why he tried to avoid visiting his grandparents if it was at all possible; they – his grandmother in particular – would always say or do something that would make his mother feel bad or uncomfortable. No matter what they might say, he knew they blamed her for Leon’s departure and it infuriated him beyond belief. The only reason he didn’t make his feelings known was because they were his oldest blood relatives, and it would only make his mother feel worse if she saw that her son and her parents were feuding. He had to grin and bear the degrading words, both the voiced and the unspoken, for her sake.

“Just trust me, Mama,” she eventually replied. “You talk as if I haven’t given any of this a moment’s consideration. I’ve got my ideas about a wife for him already, and they’re all perfectly acceptable.”

“Cecile, what your mother is trying to say,” Paulo interjected, finally making himself heard after a long while of just keeping quiet and listening, “is that it might be difficult for you to find Tristor a suitable wife. Not because of any incapability on your part, but because Leon is not around. It will be hard to find someone willing to marry their daughter into a family without a father.”

Even though his knew that his grandfather’s words were completely true, Tristor still gritted his teeth against both them and the retort that was threatening to escape him.

He refused to get into an argument he knew he would lose with his grandparents, especially over something like this that couldn’t be helped.

But his mother remained calm, or at least appeared to. “Don’t worry, I’ve thought about that too. Everything’s under control.”

Now that was something Tristor didn’t like the sound of at all. It always worried him when his mother said that a situation was ‘under control’, because it usually meant that something was going to end up going disastrously wrong.

Of course it’s going to be a disaster, he reminded himself. He was going to be married. That was catastrophic enough on its own, due to the nature of his feelings for Theode. He would be perfectly happy to stay unmarried forever as long as Theode was still around, but it just wasn’t possible; while he was unmarried, he would not have a safe hold on his mother’s property after she died. He could be challenged by other relatives, or just by others wanting to claim the property for themselves. Marrying, for reasons he had never quite managed to understand, would guarantee that the house and its land passed directly to him and his wife.

That was the only good that would come out of his marriage; he was sure of it. He would have to continue to keep his relationship with Theode to himself (not that he would ever reveal it anyway – he would be subjected to unspeakable pain and abuse if anyone ever found out), but even then his wife would surely know that she wasn’t being seen as a wife at all, but more of a playing piece in the game of living. The best he could hope for, really, was that his mother would pick a woman he completely and utterly despised. A woman whose every characteristic repelled him, and whose every trait made him wonder how he could bear to share a home with her. A woman he could hate. At least then he wouldn’t have to feel guilty about what he was doing.

The conversation whittled back down to trivial things that didn’t concern him, and the meal couldn’t have been served soon enough. By the time his grandmother invited them all to sit at the dining room table, he felt as if he had been sitting in that chair listening to his relatives talk about rubbish for hours. The rain had also let up, and now it was only spitting every now and then against the window panes. Dinner took longer to finish than Tristor had anticipated, which made him a little grumpy, and when it finally came to be time to leave he practically ran to the door. His goodbyes were as short as they possibly could be while retaining politeness and he didn’t miss the stern look his mother sent him; she knew what he was doing. But he just wanted to go home by that point; he had had enough of his grandparents for another few months, and he wasn’t really bothered about showing them any affection.

The two of them walked quickly, as the air was cooling rapidly and the sky beginning to darken; as soon as the house was out of their sight, his mother scolded him. “Is it so much to ask that you act civilly towards your grandparents?”

“I was perfectly civil.”

“You barely said a word to them! I know they can be… difficult at times, but you should make an effort. It would please them and you don’t know how much longer they’re going to be alive.”

“To be fair,” Tristor pointed out, “they didn’t say a great deal to me either. And there weren’t many things I could say much about. What was I supposed to say to them?”

“I understand that the conversations probably weren’t your cup of tea,” she sighed, “but at least showing an effort would be beneficial. You’ve seen their home, their property. When they die, which may well be very soon, you’re in line for a big share of that property. But that can change if you don’t treat them with respect. It’s in your best interests.”

He said nothing more. When they arrived home, he made a beeline for his room and flopped down on his bed, narrowly avoiding landing on and crumpling his essay. It was a shame, really, that that night was not one of the nights on which he was supposed to meet with Theode. After they had both begun to suffer from the lack of sleep they were getting, they agreed to meet on some nights and not others so they could still get good, satisfactory amounts of rest.

It was a good arrangement, but a frustrating one at times like this when Tristor had had a trying day and he needed someone who could take his mind off things.

He couldn’t even seem to get to sleep. Even though the sky was by this point pitch black and he had changed into much more comfortable clothes to sleep in, his mind was far too restless. If he was honest, it was mostly the whole conversation about his marriage that was bothering him. He knew he shouldn’t worry; it was something everyone did, and most people ended up being happy about it. But his was doomed already, and he didn’t even have a partner yet.

Whoever ended up being picked, whether he despised them or not, didn’t deserve to have such a worthless life. She would be marred to him out of duty and tradition only, and although romantic feelings may develop like they often did for married couples, he knew he would never be able to return them. Every time he even thought about his future and that scenario came up, he just found himself thinking of Theode instead of his wife. It was a terrible way to start a marriage; to know he would constantly have another on his mind and to be certain that he would never love his wife in the way that he was encouraged to do.

The worst thing about it was that he didn’t even feel that bad about it. He knew he should; having romantic feelings for another male in the first place was unnatural enough. But he couldn’t even envisage having things any other way, not now that he had come to terms with it as much as he was ever going to. Theode was just so… he didn’t even know what. There was something about him that couldn’t be replicated, and as much as he wished he had found that same something in a female so that he would at least be somewhat more normal, he hadn’t. He had found it in Theode, and he was almost inevitably going to pay for it.

Perhaps this is that ridiculous curse finally coming into effect, he thought as he shifted onto his side, a scowl marring his features. It would certainly be an easy way to explain everything – his abnormal feelings for another male, his mothers supposed ‘control’ over his marriage situation, the exasperating visit to see his grandparents, the disastrous situation that he was to be in with his wife… it all seemed to fit hand in hand when he put the blame on the curse Leon had brought them.

Maybe, he wondered idly, his marriage would end up like that of his parents. If this curse did happen to last for a hundred years before the chance to lift it came around, there was every chance that his wife would run off just like his father had done. Or, alternatively, he himself might leave. He nervously noted that that thought didn’t seem all that farfetched. Why should he suffer with a marriage that he was unhappy and dissatisfied with when he could just go elsewhere with Theode and be happy?

It was bizarre, and rather nerve-racking, that he was thinking that far into his future. The only thing he had really considered about his life before was a career, and even that hadn’t been ultimately decided yet. He had just been planning to let everything else slot into place as it seemed to do so easily for others around him. In that respect, he supposed, the visit to his grandparents had benefited him; it had shown him that his life was not going to go as smoothly as he wanted it to, no matter how much he tried to convince himself that it might. There were already too many obstacles, and nothing had really started.

It was true, though; the conversation his grandparents had had with his mother had really made all this, that before he had been only vaguely aware of, sink in properly. There would be no smooth ride for him; the gods were going to litter his path with every piece of gravel that would possibly fit to ensure that his journey was a bumpy one.

A low growl made its way out of his throat and he turned himself onto his stomach, burying his face in his pillow. Everything always seemed to get far too metaphorical for his tastes when it was night and he was tired.

He just wanted to see Theode. Tomorrow and their next meeting couldn’t arrive soon enough.

-

When they did eventually see each other, Theode had known that something was off with Tristor. He had asked about it, but Tristor had thought it the wiser option not to tell the other about the marriage that was now apparently imminent. He didn’t want to frighten the boy or make him feel any worse than he already did; he still wasn’t getting over how he was directly disobeying his mother, and Tristor wondered if he ever would. It was certainly going to be a tough thing to crack, and he really hoped Theode could do it for both their sakes. The fact that he couldn’t yet was practically begging for something to happen and make it ten times worse.

Unfortunately, a few days later things did get worse. Although it was entirely unrelated to Theode and not even really related to himself at all, Tristor couldn’t help but worry himself over it.

He first heard the news in class. Miss Turner was late, so for once he arrived before she did, and when she did arrive her expression was one of solemnity. A hush swept across the class and even Tristor didn’t make any smart comments; she looked as if a relative had died, or something equally dreadful had happened. He wondered what it was, and watched her carefully as she took a moment to regain her composure at the front of the room. When she looked up and said what she said, in that tone and with that look, he knew it was worse than it sounded at first.

“Samuel James is unlikely to be coming back.”

Those words caused a wave of murmurs to pass over the class, and they hit Tristor in the back of the throat with an awful force. Glancing across the room, he found that Samuel’s usual desk was indeed empty. He had a horrible feeling that he knew what she was going to say next, and he didn’t want her to say it. He could tell that Dero was having similar thoughts, as he turned and gave Tristor a nervous look.

Miss Turner waited for the mutters to settle down before continuing. “He is to go through a purification process.” Loud, shocked gasps could be heard at this but this time she didn’t pause. “It will take place in three days, in the village centre at noon.”

The gasps and shocked exclamations continued, while Tristor sat in disbelief with a dazed expression. Samuel’s name and the words ‘purification process’ did not belong in the same sentence. He was Tristor’s best friend beside Dero, and the three of them together balanced each other out perfectly. While Tristor and Dero were almost extremes at the opposite ends of the spectrum, Samuel was a happy medium between the two. He laughed with them, and almost encouraged their constant bickering, but he was there to stop either of them going too far, be it with arguments or with pranks. He was a complete bookworm and shared Dero’s love of relaxing, but much like Tristor he was eerily intelligent and found school to be a bore. However, he differed because he tolerated it; something which neither Tristor nor Dero could seem to do for more than a few minutes at a time. He knew how to control himself when he was bored. And, as Tristor thought and he knew anybody else would agree with him if he asked, Samuel didn’t have a mean bone in his body. He had never liked it when Tristor and Dero made jokes at anybody else’s expense, and never failed to scold them for it if he heard them.

So what on earth could he possibly have done to earn himself such a punishment as this? It was completely incomprehensible.

Dero seemed to be thinking along the same lines, but wasn’t as dazed about it as Tristor was and voiced himself loudly. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard! What is he supposed to have done?”

Miss Turner took a deep breath, and Tristor fixed his gaze upon her firmly. He knew she would tell them; after all, if she didn’t tell them then they would only find it out from others, or worse during the process itself.

“He tried to force a girl against her will.”

This time, Tristor couldn’t hide his own anger and slammed his hand against his desk. “That’s a lie if I ever heard one! He wouldn’t even think about something like that! He’d rather spend time reading than doing things like that which are obviously going to lead to this kind of punishment!”

There were similar words, although quieter and not quite as angry, coming from the other students. This was completely intolerable; how could such a thing happen? What kind of idiotic girl would accuse Samuel, one of the nicest people he had ever met, of something like that? It was completely beyond him. He could practically see the steam coming out of Dero’s ears at the suggestion, and he was sure that he probably looked in much the same state. But Miss Turner didn’t appear fazed by either of them, and just continued in a monotonous tone. “Please remember that his father is a preacher, and his grandmother an elder. This can’t have been an easy conclusion to come to, and it wasn’t a quick decision either. But the elders have made up their minds and believe him to be guilty. You believing otherwise is not an adequate reason to object.”

Tristor, in his anger, found that he was completely speechless, and he could see Dero fuming just as furiously at the front of the room. He threw a glance over at Amala and could tell immediately from her bolt upright posture and her fingernails digging into the edge of her desk that she didn’t believe it either, even if she was doing a much better job of keeping herself under control than both he and Dero were. Of course she wouldn’t say anything, he thought, unable to prevent himself feeling bitter about it. She’s far too authority-orientated, even to stand up for someone like Samuel. She wouldn’t ever speak up against someone higher in the food chain than her. Perhaps it was because her mother was a teacher.

But there was no time for thinking about things like that. By this point, his disbelief had given way to absolute anger and he could feel his fingers shaking from the sheer weight of it against the desk.

“Don’t start on about all of that!” Dero was appearing to find it impossible to keep himself quiet. “You know he wouldn’t do that too! You’ve seen him; he’d even rather huddle in a dark corner with a novel than talk to us during lesson breaks! How can you possibly believe he’s capable of even attempting something like that? It’s madness!”

“Don’t talk back to me Dero, show some respect,” she replied, keeping herself perfectly calm. “I know it sounds unlikely; believe me, I'm aware of that. But the elders don’t have any doubt-“

“Sod the elders!” he shouted back, earning a few more gasps from around the room, and stood up quickly. “They’ve clearly lost their minds! There’s no way I’m going to stand for this.”

He said nothing more, roughly pushing his chair back and storming out of the room. Tristor followed suit without a word; the anger he felt at the plain ignorance of the entire situation left him unable to say a word. But he knew exactly where Dero would be going, and he refused to let him attempt such a stunt alone. He pointedly ignored Miss Turner’s calls for them to return to the room immediately or they would be suspended, and was glad when she made no other effort to retrieve them or follow them. It was almost worth grinning about; to know that she felt the same way as they did no matter how much she might protest it, but the current circumstances made it very difficult to be cheerful. He was positively fuming, and no tiny amount of brief satisfaction could change that.

He jogged to catch up with Dero who was storming away towards the village centre, his shoulders tensed and his jaw set in solid determination. He was just as outraged about the whole thing as Tristor was, and it really showed. His face was flushed with rage and his strides were quick, long and purposeful; Tristor imagined that the two of them, at that moment, must have looked uncannily similar in terms of expression and visible mood. He couldn’t remember anything he had ever been infuriated by. He really couldn’t.

“How can they even suggest it?” Dero muttered, only just loud enough for Tristor to hear him. “How could anyone suggest it? Samuel wouldn’t hurt a fly. He even yells at me when I tread on ants or other bugs.”

“What I want to know is who said he did it in the first place,” Tristor replied darkly. “What kind of girl could bring herself to say that about him? He barely goes near girls. I wouldn’t have believed it if they said he’d initiated a conversation with one. But trying to force himself on someone? I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous.”

“When I find out whom it was,” Dero answered, “they’re not going to receive any mercy from me. Rest assured.”

“Hey, don’t you go having all the fun without me.” Although under any other circumstances this would have sounded like a joke, Tristor was perfectly serious. He refused to stand for his friend being virtually condemned to death over some stupidly false allegation. It wasn’t fair.

Their conversation continued in this way until they reached the village centre and stood outside the main meeting hall. Taking a moment to catch his breath from all the powerful walking he had just done, Tristor wondered whether the hall was occupied or even open at all; he hadn’t thought about that one essential thing when he left the classroom. Apparently, neither had Dero, for he stood beside him and for a minute made no attempt to move. He thought it a good idea to check, just in case. “Are they actually in there at the moment?”

Dero shrugged, regaining his bearings and steely determination; it was clear that he didn’t care in the slightest bit about anything but this new pursuit. He marched up to the double entrance doors and eyed them up and down. “There’s only one way to find out.”

He pushed down the handle and, much to Tristor’s quiet surprise, the door opened when he pulled it towards him. That was a result, if nothing else. Had he been there for any other reason, had the situation been any different, he might have let out a shout of triumph or at least a satisfied smirk; instead he just rushed again to follow Dero inside the hall.

Their success, however, was short lived when they found the hall to be deserted and empty save the morning cleaner mopping the floor and humming loudly to herself. She looked up at the creak of the doors to send a glare at the cause of the intrusion, arching her eyebrows to an almost unnatural extent when she saw that the visitors were children. “What are you doing out of school?”

Before Dero could say something inappropriate or potentially offensive, Tristor cleared his throat and spoke up. “We’ve been sent to speak with the elders,” the lie rolled easily off his tongue, “as a matter of urgency. Is it possible to find out where they are?”

The cleaner turned back to the task at hand, concentrating on a particularly stubborn patch of dried mud on the floor, and Tristor couldn’t help but wonder whether she actually grasped the meaning of the word ‘urgency’. “They aren’t meeting today; they meet tomorrow. Early in the morning. I would think it safe to assume that they are in their respective homes right now.”

Dero swore under his breath, clearly having difficulty restraining himself, and even Tristor couldn’t help but let out a low growl through gritted teeth. They, the old people who claimed to know better than everyone else in the village, were about to end the life of one of his best friends – one of his perfectly innocent best friends, at that – yet they were perfectly happy to lounge around in their homes beforehand, relaxing and enjoying themselves?

Tristor didn’t think he could ever remember feeling so outraged about any situation before in his entire life.

He couldn’t take it when the cleaner went back to ignoring them and continued humming her previous tune. He wondered whether she knew that the people who regularly congregated in that very hall were about to ‘purify’ an innocent boy. But he didn’t say anything; simply turned on his heel and marched back outside again. Dero wasn’t far behind, and they stood outside the doors for a few moments, wondering what to do next.

Tristor thought that the next course of action was obvious. One slight set-back such as this one wasn’t going to be able to stop him pursuing this matter, and he was fairly sure that Dero felt the same way. In fact, he was completely and utterly positive that Dero would insist that they keep going, because that was the kind of person he was. He didn’t like to start things or get involved in things because he was lazy, but when there was something he felt as strongly about as this injustice he would see it through to the bitter end.

The question was, where to start?

“Who do we go to?”

Tristor almost grinned; yes, Dero was thinking along exactly the same lines as he was, and they both knew it. “Well, we’ve got a choice of four,” he replied. “Edgington, Turner, Howard and…”

He trailed off, not wanting to voice the last name; that of Samuel’s grandmother, Arianne James. They both knew what the last name was. Saying it aloud wasn’t necessary, and would only add fuel to their anger.

Tristor still couldn’t believe it. It was unbelievable that Samuel’s own grandmother, his own flesh and blood, had given this the go ahead. Had she completely lost her mind? She had always seemed like the most reasonable of the four elders, but now that idea had gone completely out of the window.

Dero swallowed loudly, looking out into the village. “One of them is out for… obvious reasons,” he eventually replied. “At least for now. I don’t think Turner is a very safe option either, considering we’ve just caused quite a scene by storming out of his sister’s class.”

Tristor nodded, agreeing. Their tutor, Miss Cheryl Turner, was the younger sister of one of the elders; Claude Turner. Claude could become quite grumpy when the right buttons were pushed, and Tristor didn’t think it wise to aggravate him when the stakes were so high. A matter of life and death called for caution and careful footing, not recklessness.

“So,” Dero concluded, “that leaves Edgington and Howard. Take your pick, my friend.”

Tristor frowned. It was a difficult decision to make. Smith Edgington or Dawn Howard… there was no doubt that Edgington was the saner of the two. In fact, Tristor was convinced that Dawn was nothing more than a senile old woman who made up every aspect of her life and claimed to know more about the ways of the world than she really did. To put it politely, she was off her rocker. But Tristor had been hoping that Smith would teach him carpentry…

What was he thinking? Why was he even taking the time to consider this decision? Samuel’s life was infinitely more important than opening himself a potential career path.

“Edgington,” he said firmly, starting to walk in the direction he knew the Edgington residence to be. “Howard’s as mad as a hatter. I don’t think she would be a lot of help to us. She would probably make things worse.”

“Good call,” Dero agreed, catching up to walk beside him. “I’ve always liked him the most out of all of them. He seems more like he actually knows what he’s doing, as opposed to the other three who just seem to do whatever suits them at the time.”

Tristor nodded, and for a while each of them was consumed with their own thoughts. Eventually, however, neither of them could help themselves and they began to talk about Samuel again – how completely unreasonable everyone was being, how unexpected the whole thing was, how much Samuel just didn’t deserve this at all. By the time they reached the home of Smith Edgington, their initial raw anger had been dredged up and they were both outwardly fuming once more.

They both knocked on his door, neither wanting to seem less irate about it and both wanting the elder to know just how large of a mistake he was about to make if the purification process went ahead. When he answered their knocking, however, he didn’t even seem to notice their gritted teeth and barely contained anger. In fact, his facial expression was blank, almost bored, and his reaction to their visit was much the same as the hall cleaner’s had been. “Why aren’t you boys in school?”

Sensing that Dero was about a millimetre away from letting his anger out in a violent eruption, Tristor placed a hand on his elbow in an attempt to calm him. It seemed to work, at least temporarily, and he decided again that it would probably be for the best if he did the talking. “Sir, I… it has come to our attention that Samuel James is to be purified.”

Smith’s face stayed nonchalant as he looked between the two boys on his doorstep, as if he couldn’t figure out what the problem was. “Your information is correct.”

Feeling Dero stir, Tristor tightened his grip on his arm. “May we enquire as to why?”

“He tried to force a woman against her will.” They were almost exactly the same words as Miss Turner had used; Tristor found himself close to snarling. Just how ignorant were the people in this village? It was unreal. When no response came from either of the boys, Smith raised an eyebrow at them. “Why are you at my home? Could you not have asked someone else about this?”

Ignoring the impatience his voice carried, Tristor willed himself to stay civil for Samuel’s sake. “The thing is, Sir… well, we’d like you to reconsider.”

Smith folded his arms. “On what grounds? The decision has been made.”

“We, and a large number of others, believe the allegation against him to be false. He prefers books over women. It’s just not in his nature to risk something like this.”

“Besides,” Dero interjected, “there isn’t any proof he did it, is there? Isn’t leaping straight into a purification process a little drastic for a crime that has clearly not even been committed?”

Seeing Smith narrow his eyes at Dero’s displeased tone, Tristor did his best to cover for his friend. “It’s just difficult to see how the council of elders can come to such a huge decision so quickly, with nothing but the word of one girl to work with. If you met Samuel, you would understand what I mean. Women are not his forte. He can barely speak to a female without blushing up a storm and running from the conversation only a few moments later.”

“The boy is obviously a friend of yours.” Although Tristor didn’t move or speak in reply, Dero nodded his head. “I can understand why you feel the need to stand up for him. But, as I'm sure you know, his grandmother is on the council. She has agreed to this. Do you really think she would allow her only grandson to be purified if she hadn’t given the matter very careful consideration?”

“Might I also enquire,” Dero said, making a half-hearted effort to imitate Tristor’s tone but failing to hide the hostility he was currently and understandably feeling towards the elders at that point in time, “who it was who brought about this allegation in the first place?”

Tristor squeezed his elbow, reminding him that Smith held the key to Samuel’s freedom and that aggravating him would only make matters worse. Instead of continuing as he had obviously planned to, he closed his mouth and swallowed whatever else he had been planning to say. It could only have been a good thing to happen.

But whatever he had already said was enough to make Smith fold his arms and straighten his posture, appearing even taller than he had done before. “She desires to remain unnamed. Not that I can blame her. Would you not wish to stay anonymous if something so traumatic and unjustifiable happened to you?”

“Nothing ‘traumatic’ has happened to her!” Dero burst out, finally shaking his elbow free of Tristor’s grip. “She is lying, and you’re no better for believing her!”

Tristor sharply elbowed Dero in the ribs too late and winced; he knew Smith was not used to being spoken to in this way, especially by a boy no more than seventeen years old. Even though Dero suddenly found himself on the receiving end of two similar glares sent for two very different reasons, he was unfazed by both; at least he didn’t say anything else. He has probably been trying too hard to keep his mouth shut, Tristor thought, unable to stop the pang of frustration he felt. Now this effort has gone to waste.

It appeared that Tristor was right. The blank look vanished from Smith’s face and was replaced by unmistakeable irritation. “Our decision is final, boys,” he spoke with authority and conclusiveness. “Now, please leave my property and get back to school before I bring both of you before the council for playing truant.”

Dero scowled and it looked as if he was about to retort, but Tristor thought it would be a better option for them to leave while they still could. Shooting a final furious look at Smith, he grabbed Dero by the back of the shirt and dragged him away.

He didn’t need to say anything. By the time they had moved to a far enough distance away from the large house, Dero’s breathing had calmed a little and he shrugged his shirt out of Tristor’s grasp. “I’m sorry,” he said, clearly not completely calm yet but improved now that he could no longer see the face of one of the men who had made the decision to purify his friend. “I’m just so outraged… I couldn’t help it.”

“You have got to control yourself, or we’re not going to get anywhere with this.” Tristor sighed. The encounter with Smith had not gone as well as he’d hoped it would; even though Dero had been a little less than polite, he had thought Smith a reasonable enough man to look past it. Apparently not. “So what are we to do now? He seemed like the best option out of the four of them, but…”

“Wherever we go and whoever we speak to,” Dero began cautiously, “I don’t think I’ll be able to keep my thoughts to myself. Perhaps… do you think it would be a better idea of we went to see…?”

Tristor stayed silent. Arianne James.

“I mean,” Dero continued, “she’s the most likely out of all four of them to be affected by my anger, and yours, being a direct, blood relative of Samuel’s and all. The others might just see us as a couple of youngsters trying to save our friend without any real cause, but she may just see it differently. You never know; I’d be willing to say that she’s probably just as mad about it as we are and simply didn’t have the courage to speak up against it in front of the rest of the council. They would think she was bound to object since she’s his grandmother, wouldn’t they? No one would be happy to be in her situation.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Tristor nodded in agreement to Dero’s idea. Although, he wasn’t sure if he would be able to keep himself completely under control either if he was brought face to face with Arianne. He couldn’t get his head around how she could possibly have just agreed to this without any kind of fight at all, even after what Dero had said. Surely there couldn’t be any harm in making an objection that might very well save the life of her grandson? Despite this, he understood the point Dero was trying to make and he swallowed his doubts. “That makes sense enough,” he replied. “After Edgington, she would have been the safest option anyway. She lives with Samuel and his parents, doesn’t she?”

“I believe so.” Dero began walking back the way they had come and made a small attempt at lightening the mood some. “This is a nightmare. Why do all the elders seem to live in the opposite four corners of the village?”

Tristor kicked up a clump of wet grass under his foot. “I don’t know. Maybe they have done it deliberately, in order to keep us all closed in and unable to escape.” There was no laugh, and he hadn’t expected one.

Again, after this and during he walk to Samuel’s parent’s estate, the conversation between them seemed to simmer and eventually die. Tristor didn’t know what Dero was thinking about, but it was sure to be something to do with Samuel’s situation. He himself couldn’t seem to decide what to be mad about first; the fact that Samuel was to die for a crime he didn’t commit, the fact that Samuel’s own grandmother was allowing such a thing to happen or Smith’s complete indifference towards the whole affair. He thought that perhaps he should be angry about Dero too and the terrible way he had handled Smith; he had contributed greatly, Tristor was sure, to the elder’s negative reaction to their visit. However, Tristor thought better of it. It wouldn’t have been very fair of him to be mad about that. He knew Dero was just as angry as he was, and Dero always had been a little worse at keeping his opinions to himself. It had probably been a bit unreasonable, now that he thought about it, of Tristor to expect him to be civil in such a dire situation as this, even if he did feel that Dero could have made a little more of an effort.

A light drizzle began to fall from the clouds, causing Tristor’s mood to darken even further. He had never been one for drizzle; he was of the mind that if it was going to rain at all, it ought to rain properly like it had done when he visited his grandparents not too long ago. Drizzle just made him cold and caused his usually straight and tidy hair to become frizzy. He quickened his pace, noticing Dero do the same thing. Of course he would. He hates this as much as I do.

Continually reminding himself of this fact was what kept Tristor going at this new speed, and what also stopped him from lashing out at Dero out of the blue for the lack of respect he showed towards Smith. The angrier about it they were, the better; and Tristor knew that Dero would never have spoken that way to an elder in a million years, no matter how much he might argue the opposite, if he wasn’t on the verge of exploding with fury.

The drizzle had managed to soak through their clothes by the time the James’ estate came into view, leaving Tristor shivering from the cold and feeling utterly miserable now as well as just livid. It made for a volatile combination, and he was no longer in the mood to be patient with anyone. He idly hoped, as he knocked harshly on the door, that the gods would forgive him if he lost his temper with an elder. He didn’t think it would be entirely his fault since it was the elders who were abusing their use of purifying as respect to the gods in the first place, after all.

His eyebrows furrowed in irritation when there was no answer to his knocking, and so Dero took the liberty of knocking a second time, this time much louder and more urgent. Still no one answered the door, and Dero growled.

“Where are they? Four of them live here. Arianne isn’t in a meeting, we know that much, and it isn’t as if Samuel’s in school right now. His father might be out working, but his mother usually stays home, I think.”

“So, gong by that information,” Tristor concluded, “three out of the four occupants of this house should be at home right now. So why aren’t any of them answering?”

He knocked for a third time, considering shouting up at the house to accompany the noise but decided against it. He doubted anyone would appreciate it very much, and then if anyone did answer it would just have caused more hostility before the conversations had even begun.

Although, it didn’t look like anyone was going to be answering. Nothing could be heard apart from his and Dero’s heavy breathing through the drizzle.

“Perhaps they are all out…”

It wasn’t even the words that did it; it was the complete absence of all the earlier anger and fury in Dero’s voice, and the space that was left having been filled with utter helplessness. Tristor did shout then, at the top of his lungs, pleading for someone to answer the door and tell them just what the elders were playing at. Pleading for answers, and for this madness to stop, until his throat was sore and he felt his brain might explode from the lack of oxygen he was taking in. But still they received no reply, and the house remained lifeless.

This time it was Dero who had to drag Tristor away.

-

The next time they saw Samuel was at noon three days later.

Tristor and Dero hadn’t been able to contact Arianne James to plead with her. Howard had outright refused to reconsider, and Turner had been too irked by their walking out of his sister’s class to even give them the time of day. They had returned to the James estate twice, but had achieved the same result as they had done the first time.

We’ve failed.

Purification processes were events; most of the villagers came to watch a person being punished for their sins, and often prayed for their forgiveness. This one was particularly crowded, since the offender was only a child. Perhaps more people felt the need to pray for him, or perhaps it was just that more people wanted to see whether the elders would actually go through with it.

It wouldn’t be the first time a minor had been purified, but it certainly wasn’t common. And, as far as Tristor could remember, all the minors who had been purified had deserved it. Had needed it.

Samuel didn’t.

Tristor stood between his mother and Dero in the village centre, waiting for the process to start. He hadn’t wanted to be there, but it would be his last opportunity to see Samuel. He refused to let him down by staying at home. Samuel’s parents were also present, standing further towards the front of the crown, clinging to each other tightly. Why didn’t they stop Arianne doing this?

His mother’s hand, resting on his shoulder, squeezed gently; she knew how hard this was going to be to watch. He didn’t even know how long it would be before he had to look away. It was bound to happen.

And it wasn’t even raining. The sun was shining, even though a chilly breeze unsettled the air.

Tristor tensed as the doors to the hall opened. Samuel emerged looking dejected and ill, as if he hadn’t eaten or slept in days. A surge of anger shot through Tristor. Smith and Claude walked alongside him, holding him by the elbows to ensure that he didn’t try to run, while Dawn and Arianne followed behind them. Not one of them was smiling; a low murmur rippled through the crowd. Tristor willed himself to stay strong.

He gritted his teeth as he watched the elders remove Samuel’s shirt and strap him down securely to a stone table. The stupid boy isn’t putting up a struggle; not even a weak one. He can’t have resigned himself to this, surely? Something so unfair…

The village doctor, Norbert Dodd, stepped up and said a few quiet words to Samuel while Arianne and Dawn boiled a pot of water. They use the same pot every time. Tristor didn’t hear the words that came out of the male elders’ mouths as they recited the passages they recited during every purification process; their words were falling on his deaf ears. He didn’t want to hear. Or to watch.

It was when the passages ended and the elders moved to pick up the pot that it seemed to really sink in for Samuel. He began to fight against his binds but no avail; he could barely move, let alone get free. And Tristor was glad that his hearing seemed to have stopped working, for he could see Samuel’s mouth moving and he would probably have broken down if he could hear him begging to be freed.

Unfortunately, this impairment to his hearing was temporary. When the pot was placed on Samuel’s upper chest, he let out a piercing cry that broke through the barrier in Tristor’s hearing. He was glad he was too far away to hear the hissing of the burn that the heated metal was causing too. Smith and Claude continued to recite passages, louder to be heard by the gods over Samuel’s screaming, as they held flames to the sides of the pot in order to keep the water inside bubbling and hot. By now Samuel’s fists were clenched and his toes were tightly curled; Cecile rubbed Tristor’s shoulder in what was probably supposed to be a comforting gesture.

Tristor didn’t think he would ever get this image out of his mind.

It felt to him as if he was standing there for hours, watching as his friend’s struggles eventually faded. He could smell the burning flesh from where he was, even in the open air, so he couldn’t even pretend to himself that Samuel’s skin wasn’t blistering and peeling under the weight and heat of the metal pot. It was all he could do not to unleash his rage on the people around him.

It took too long for the elders to decide that he had been adequately purified. When the pot was eventually removed and the passages were no longer recited, Doctor Dodd confirmed Samuel’s death. Arianne was crying. Samuel’s mother was a weeping mess on the floor.

He couldn’t stay there for a moment longer. The crowd started to disperse, although many stayed behind for a few moments to say a final prayer. He ignored his mother’s attempts to comfort him; he couldn’t cope with human interaction after watching that. Instead he made his way home, wanting nothing more than to sleep. He would have plenty of time to grieve when he woke up and his head was clearer. Samuel hadn’t deserved that, shouldn’t have been lying on that stone table.

As the idea of talking to Theode about this arose in his mind, it brought forth just how quickly the elders would turn against him if they ever found out about their relationship; and then with the fresh image of Samuel, his flesh burning and peeling away from the bone for his wrongs…

That could have been me.