The Poisoned Crown (SyndiSparklez)

14: Sins of Thy Father

 "The living tell the dying not to leave, and the dying do not listen. The dying tell us not to be sad for them, and we do not listen. The dialogue between the living and the dead is full of misunderstanding...and silence," ~From Welcome to Night Vale - "The Auction" Episode 37

Chapter 14: Sins of Thy Father

The room was nearly silent. The two dozen people in the room looked to be attending their own funeral; they avoided eye contact and looked at shoes--not always their own--the plain ceiling or stared off into the void in the corner of their eyes.

In Dagrun, trials were a public affair--in this village, however, trials of a serious matter were left to a jury of witnesses and a judge brought in from a different town to erase bias. This trial system had been established thirteen years ago.

There were many parts of the trial that will not compare to the standard court of law nor the one in Dagrun, which if any show, was a religiously guided "trial" and therefore cannot be applicable to standard law. However, this could be considered an evolved version of the previous trial.

The trial, unlike standard law that had been established centuries before this day and been destroyed, was lead by the witness jury. The judge called for witness stories and the accused and the chosen elected official of the affected could ask questions to prompt a different viewpoint of the certainty of the witnesses claim. Once twelve witnesses had shared their accounts of the situation a recess would be called and the jury would individually decide for themselves guilty or innocent.

There would be a discussion until all agreed unanimously and then they would come back and give their verdict. The judge would give a sentence and the trial would conclude.

Even then, this particular trial had some oddities. The first came early in the morning. A flurried messenger came rushing in, pushing a letter towards the mayor Helgrind before hurrying back out. The man rubbed his beard and then his eyes darkened. The judge they had called in had never arrived.

Helgrind had sighed long and deep and scratched a spot on his long crooked nose. He was a tired man, an aged man, a man with many regerts. There came a knock on his door and he had barely found the energy to gruffly snap "Come in."

The door opened, and there came clipped and recognizable footsteps of a man who did not age, nor possess the traits of most men. This man had communed with him four years earlier and reconciled much like his sister had, yet in a promise to both, he had said nothing about either's involvement in the village.

"Pity," came a soft voice, as eyes inhumanly could see the letter or guessed its contents, "I heard the man was mauled by wolves," the man intoned, clicking his boot against the floor in a curious tap. The man sounded as if he was merely bored, visiting here as a way to pass his time.

"Was he?" Helgrind questioned, raising an eyebrow. The gesture was missed. His back was to his seemingly younger guest. The window had a dark shade over it, but a crack of light was pouring on the desk, brighter, even then the lamp he had on. "No soul was able to find his carriage...or his body," Helgrind hinted, his shoulders tightening as the man chuckled behind him. The boots moved away from him to Helgrind's bookshelf in the corner of the room.

There came an acrid smell and the sharp flap of wings. "You can say a little birdy told me," the guested insinuated. Helgrind wondered if there was even wolves, perhaps the man had just done it himself. Helgrind turned, his eyes meeting the man's shoulder where a decaying violet bird was perched. The mayor scoffed.

"Get that mongrel out of here and stop your accursed doublespeak," Helgrind said turning sharply in the direction of the gaunt man completely. "You came here for business now speak it."