“How long has it been again?” Bonaventure inquired. With a sigh I responded, “one month and three weeks.” We were in the heat of mid-January now but not a word from Asiron. Asiron was only a week overdue. I felt my mood was unjustified and tried to explain it to Bonave by saying, “it’s not like he’s that late, it’s just the fact that he said I didn’t have anything to worry about. He led me to believe I was his best choice. Why is it taking so long for him to get back to me?” Bonave tried to offer some help and asked, “Have you checked the post? Maybe he sent you something.” His attempt was feeble. I said, “Nothing there, I’ve checked every day this week. Quade at the post office is growing tired of seeing me every morning.” I stood from my seat in Bonave’s office and began to pace his small two-room building while wringing my hands. Bonave was the jugar of Northern Shkhem and seceded Marcell after I exposed Marcell as a criminal. In a jugar election, there are always three candidates, a candidate chosen from among the people by the people, a candidate chosen by the Chairman, and the former jugar’s understudy. Usually the former jugar’s understudy won handily, but considering the circumstances by which Marcell vacated the office, no one was surprised when Marcell’s understudy lost the election. Bonave was the people’s candidate and the only jugar I know of to win the election over the former jugar’s understudy. Bonave was elected to the position I wanted, my jealousy for Bonave’s fortune was tangible.
Bonave continued to placate me as I paced, “you know he’s allowed at least a month and two weeks right? That’s not the maximum amount of time allowed, that’s the minimum.” My voice was saturated with bitterness as I said, “you would know.” Clearly offended, Bonave replied, “hey now, don’t be mad at me for my accomplishments, especially when you are trying to accomplish the same thing for yourself. We have the same aspirations, so you have no right to be angry with me.” Bonave’s point was valid, but I did not want to verbally acknowledge it. Bonave had taken the same course in life as me in his jugar pursuit, only I was a few years behind him.
I exposed Marcell for a crook, and Northern Shkhem needed a jugar. The obvious choice for the job was myself. I was the prentice who took down Marcell, I wanted the job. If I did not want it, I would not have been a prentice. Unfortunately for me, I was twenty years old and too young to accept the position at the time. Although the Chairman gave me an honorary nomination as his jugar candidate, everyone knew that I was not actually eligible, so Bonave was there to pick up the easy win. My jealousy never rested around Bonave, which was regrettable because we were good friends save for my grudge.
Bonave’s futile consolations continued, “Demos, listen to me. Asiron is one of the best jugars Eret has ever seen. He doesn’t just sit in his office all day raking in the citizen’s iron for nothing. He works hard. Southern Shkhem was a pit before Asiron became jugar. Asiron put his predecessor to shame. Within a year Asiron had dismantled two gangs that the jugar before couldn’t even locate after searching for twenty years! He does work outside of normal jugar duties too, that new school down there he worked tirelessly on. The people call him Asiron for a reason Demos. He’s hard as iron and he’s worth as much as iron. The man isn’t just blowing you off like you think he is. He’s got more important things to do. I know you’re getting the position, you know you’re getting the position, and Asiron knows you’re getting the position. Nobody is in a rush to find out who it is, we all know. So sit down already, you’re embarrassing yourself by pacing around wringing your hands over his decision.” Bonave was close to crossing the line, if we had not been friends I would have put him in place.
I returned to the chair I had just left and threw myself into, a crack filled the small building. With eyes wide Bonave pleaded, “Easy! Now you’re just being a child.” I sat in the chair huffing, Bonave’s speech had done more to work me up than to calm me down. Bonave tired of my anxiety then let his feelings show saying, “Alright, I’ve had enough of you for a day. Asiron’s busy with some work that I’m privy to and I can’t really tell you, so stop worrying.” Bonave offered this in hopes to placate me. “What?!” I yelled. My voice echoed through his tiny office building. Bonave sighed then disclosed, “There’s another rebel that appeared in Southern Shkhem. This one is worse than all the ones I’ve heard and seen before. He’s actually getting a considerable following, and people are scared.” I pried at him, unsure why he waited so long to tell me, “Why didn’t you tell me that right away?!” Bonave explained his reasoning, “I took an oath to be in this position, and I intend to follow it.” His reason was weak, I countered with, “But you still told me?” Bonave tentatively eased into further clarity, “Well... the oath didn’t specifically mention anything that applies to our situation, at least by my interpretation.” While better, his reasons were still lacking, I pried further, “Alright, then why did you wait so long to tell me Bonave?” Bonave conceded the truth, “I hadn’t resolved my interpretation in my mind yet.” I laughed at Bonave then finally relaxed.
“Well?” I asked expectantly. “What?” Bonave replied obliviously to what I was asking. Almost demanding I said, “you said ‘this one is worse than all the ones I’ve heard and seen before’, how so? Explain.” Now with understanding Bonave replied, “Oh! Right.. Well let me figure out where to start.” A moment passed and Bonave began explaining, “Do you remember about twenty, twenty-five years ago when that kid from Southern Shkhem went missing? His name was Otho.” I readied biting sarcasm and said, “Um, nope can’t say I do remember that Bonave. According to your timeline I would have either been five or zero. And need I remind you I grew up in Northern not Southern.” Bonave regained his thoughts and said, “Sorry, I’ll tell that story to start then. About twenty or twenty-five years ago...” I rolled my eyes as he retold one of the two things I knew already, “... this little kid, I think he was about five or so, goes mad one day. Him and his parents were out shopping and without warning little Otho loses control. His parents try to restrain him but they can’t. He runs straight out of town toward Driftwood. Nobody ever saw him again.” I asked curious, “He just went mad without warning, no reason?” Bonave shook his head stating, “Not really, that’s all anybody says when they tell the story.”
Bonave continued the story, “So a few weeks after Arad started his little coup, this Otho guy comes out of the wild just like Arad had done. The only difference is that everybody knows Arad. Arad lived outside of Southern as a loner most of his life but he still visited town for supplies, people recognized him. Arad kept his token and showed for census. He was a loner, but everyone knew him. Otho though, he’s a different story. He comes in to town with no token, no way to identify him, grounds enough to arrest him. It’s not hard to figure out; nobody has ever gone missing from Southern besides Otho and everyone in Southern makes it in for census. If Otho was a regular citizen then somebody would recognize him but nobody did, so it had to be Otho. He kept insisting he wasn’t Otho though. He called himself by some other name I don’t remember. I guess after being on your own in the wild for twenty years it would be easy to lose your token, it wouldn’t do a person much good outside civilization if they weren’t reporting for census. Must have been pretending he was somebody else one day like little kids do and just kept calling himself by whatever made up name he chose. Maybe he forgot his real name, who knows. Almost makes you feel sad for him.”
I chimed in briefly, “Not the typical heretical rebel’s story huh? He didn’t just wake up one morning and try to start a rebellion like most of the other rebels. He snapped, waited twenty years, and then started his rebellion.” Bonave reflected for a while on what I had said then replied, “Yeah, I guess I hadn’t thought of that. Speaking of the rebellion, Otho started telling people he is going to depose the seven chairman of Eret, completely clear the Table, and make himself King of Eret!” I responded to the foolishness, “This Otho guy went straight for the throat. He must have had a wish for death. It’s one thing to threaten the Chairman of one city, but to threaten all seven at once, the entire Table! That’s just ignorant.” Bonave nodded in agreement saying, “That’s the exact reason I know what I know. Asiron wouldn’t ever need to ask for help from another jugar, but since the Chairmen were all threatened, every jugar became involved. The Chairmen don’t like to be threatened.” His last statement was unsettling, I asked for clarity, “Asiron took it to the Table?” Bonave replied emphatic, “Yeah Demos. As a jugar you have to take any and every threat to peace seriously, no matter how insane.”
I was concerned, “Have the jugar ever worked together like this? It seems a bit of overkill, don’t you think?” Bonave said, “Yeah, I know what you mean. Otho had followers but they were never violent, nobody died. Some Tsorian priests jumped off a cliff, but they can’t be linked definitively to Otho.” Tsorian priests jumped off a cliff? No wonder Asiron took Otho seriously; Tsor’s wrath would be fierce if this continued any longer. Bewildered I eased into the chair and ran my fingers through my hair, “whens the execution?” With marked apprehension Bonave replied, “Second Friday of January, two days from now. I’m leaving tomorrow afternoon and getting a room in Southern for Thursday night. It was going to be at Sorrow Tree, but the jurors moved it to the Sea Wall south of the Tree and also moved it back from dawn to ten in the morning. They wanted something special for Otho I guess.” My curiosity piqued at the hate invoked for this man. I asked with hesitation, “Do you mind if I come along?” He gave me a knowing look, then said, “We need to leave by three.”
Bonave and I woke early that Friday morning in Southern Shkhem. Bonave had some official duties which he had to tend to before the execution which gave me free time in Southern alone. I walked the streets a bit to find some breakfast. I was accustomed to an early morning and early executions, but Asiron and the jugars had agreed to the jurors proposed three hour delay in the execution. All the chairmen were going to be present; with them would be their envoys. The additional people and added pomp of the Chairmen’s presence may have been reason enough to allot more time.
When all was considered, I did not care to see Otho die. While his claims were extraordinary, he had done no harm. While it was true that a jugar had to take every threat serious, this truly seemed ludicrous. The mere fact that all the Chairmen would be there in one place outside of the protection of the Pillar Room was ludicrous. The Chairmen did not need to see Otho die in person; he was just spitting empty words. If someone wanted to attack the Table and overthrow the Eretian government as a whole this would be the time to do it.
It dawned on me there in the midst of the shops and stores of Southern that this was Otho’s plan! He intended to insult and threaten the Table enough that they would expose themselves at his execution, where his followers would strike. That’s how he would depose the entirety of the Table. It was brilliant yet markedly simple at the same time. Otho was brilliantly devious. Why had no one figured it out besides me?
I jogged out of the market area and picked up my pace once I cleared the market crowds and headed for Sorrow Tree where Bonave would be. Sorrow Tree was just a mile or two from the town and arrived there an eighth hour later. There I found no one. By this point it was past nine and the execution was less than an hour away. There should be the start of a crowd forming by now; at least some of the staging for the execution should be in place. There were no signs anywhere of an impending execution. I took a seat on one of the rickety benches by Sorrow Tree and hopelessly braced my face in my hands.
The thought crossed my mind that I was too late, Otho and his men had already taken out the Table and the jugars. My head rose from my hands as I heard faint speech. Two men were walking past Sorrow Tree on the road. They noticed my empty stares. I could not help my vacant hopeless appearance; I was convinced all was lost. One of them called out to me, “you know they moved it to the Sea Wall right? It’s not at Sorrow Tree.” Quickly I shouted back, “yeah, I know. Just taking a breather,” trying to explain away my actions. Why I needed a breather I left to their own interpretation. The men gave me exaggerated nods of understanding as they continued on the road toward the Sea Wall.
Bonave had told me that it was at the Sea Wall; I was an idiot for forgetting. I left the bench still recovering from my initial run and hobbled to the road where I picked up the pace as much as my aching legs allowed. Soon I passed the two men who had reminded me of the location change. Nothing was said as I passed them. Not long after, I saw the crowd gathering at the sea cliffs.
Tearing through the crowd I made my way to the front. Bonave was in the clearing at the front of the assembly. All were silent and serious. I forced through the crowd in a hurry with no time for etiquette. I reached the front of the crowd and stepped into the clearing that was reserved for officials and those to be executed, I clearly did not belong. The looks I received were laced with hate and suspicion, but they were acceptable if it meant an opportunity to explain the coming danger to Bonave and the other jugars assembled with him, hopefully avoiding its fulfillment.
Bonave say me and immediately became irate, “What are you doing?” I defended myself quietly to him, “Just give me a chance Bonave.” I began in on my case, “this is a trap Bonave. You said it yourself that Otho had made public statements against the entire Table. How is one man going to take out even one Chairman without alerting the other Chairmen and jugars, let alone the whole Table? It’s obvious Bonave! Get them all in one place, then strike when they aren’t expecting.”
Bonave was listening intently, it was reassuring that he had not thrown away my argument based on its initial premise. I continued in a frantic yet hushed tone, “Now look at what we have here. All seven jugars and the entire Table congregated on the very edge of a cliff, completely surrounded by a huge throng of people waiting for death! Otho has you and everyone else right where he wants them! Look at the people in this crowd, anyone can gather here. There’s no way to tell Otho followers from the ones that want his blood.” Bonave eyed the crowd with dreadful eyes, fearful I was right.
I grabbed his attention again, “If I’m right, then I’d bet the majority of the crowd here is sympathizers ready to rescue Otho, and ready to help depose every authority on Eret then crown their king! Bonave, we’ve got to act now before they do!” I caught my breath while Bonave assessed the situation and tried to come up with a plan. Before Bonave could say anything, Otho was lead into the clearing by several black-robed Tsorian priests and Asiron began reading the charges placed against Otho. It was too late.