Trace of Arcane - Book 1

Chapter Eight

The packed hall of Purrus Minor buzzes with anticipation. Seven stern faces surround the semi-circular table, their gazes fixed on me. I, Eden, sit alone, the first inRuki in history to face judgment without a defender. My judges? The youth council. The official charge? My altercation with Ria. But whispers slither through the crowd – rumors of a far graver offense, one unheard of in Viridis – at least, officially.

Hypocrisy hangs thick in the air. Men freely indulge in forbidden affairs, as long as discretion remains their shield. And who guides them in this art of deceit? My own mother, with her cleverly hidden muarubi plants on the windowsill, hidden in plain sight. The very person they shunned when she asked for their help.

No concrete evidence exists, no lover to confess. Yet, the rumors condemn me. Ostracism – an unbraided outcast, banished to the outskirts, dependent on the very people who judge me. Begging for scraps, severed from my family. Even suicide is forbidden – the dishonor staining seven generations.

Suddenly, the hall erupts in a cacophony as a messenger arrives, bearing the staff of Cielis. A hushed whisper into a judge's ear, then a hasty retreat to a private chamber. The crowd explodes in speculation, their voices a dull roar I choose to ignore. Defiance simmers within me, a flicker of warmth against the encroaching despair. With a defiant posture, I wait. An imaginary tear tracks down my cheek, courtesy of a well-placed herb. Impatient, I brush it away. When a genuine tear finally falls, I let it roll, a single drop of defiance in a sea of uncertainty.

The judges return, their faces unreadable. Silence descends upon the hall. Zig, the youngest judge, studiously avoids my gaze. The central judge grasps the staff of Cielis, the sun-shaped head granting him the power to deliver the final verdict, supposedly spoken with Cielis's own wisdom.

"Eden Uzoro," his voice booms, "you are charged with inflicting grievous harm upon Ria Vangrive. Given the lack of a defender, we deem this case extraordinary. Therefore, by special dispensation, it shall be passed on to the council of elders."

A stunned gasp ripples through the crowd before erupting into a cacophony of noise. The judge slams his fist for silence, and the hall quiets once more.

"It is the will of the council," he continues, "that you enter their service until a judgment on your fate is reached."

Pandemonium erupts again, even louder than before. Another blow of the gavel restores order.

"Silence!" the judge roars. "This is the will of Cielis. May his wisdom reign."

"May it reign," the crowd echoes in unison.

***

Weeks melt into each other, the town buzzing with whispers of my trial. My days turn into a blur of errands, meetings, and note-taking for the elders. Amaia tries to mend fences with Mother, but the rift remains. Norah visits, only to find me perpetually busy. Soon, our doorstep bustles with traders again, and food fills our pantry. It's ironic, this town swayed by a mere judgment – or rather, by the veiled actions of a woman behind closed doors. Had they known, loose-braided would be the least of her labels. But they remain clueless, blissfully unaware of the quiet hand shaping their opinions. This is power, I realize – the power that lurks unseen.

However, the town's chatter dims as a new tension grips Viridis. Rumors of an impending attack from neighboring societies escalate, casting a long shadow over our fragile peace.

"They will attack in the festival of Noctis," one trader says as I was trading stinging nettle for milk.

"Cielis forbid. That would be an abomination," responds another.

"No, I heard they will come with the raiders," and a gasp could be heard.

"God save us all," a voice could be heard from the gossipers.