The Judge

Chapter 1

 Kaali did not hate her job, as judge and executioner. She did not hate her skin either, which spread a blanket of cobalt over her bones. She did not hate the queen, a small, frail, kind woman, who could not hold child or her husbands attention. She did not hate the king, whose affection was hers, but respect for his wife was stronger. She did not even hate the men who oggled her as she passed. She did however, hate the look of fear on the face of those to be judged, those who had not seen her before. If they were not guilty they need not fear.

She stood lazily, one hand gracing the back of the red velvet and rose gold throne. Her midnight black hair was pulled out of her pitch dark eyes in a simple plait, her clothing was scarce. She wore a half cloak pushed off her shoulders and the hood up over a black silk top that kept her decent without being an inconvenience in a fight, and a black cloth skirt that started at the top of her waist and ended on the floor split to her hips. She had a mask of black charcoal paste and a line of the stuff down both her arms, ending in a thick circle, and a stripe that ended beneath her skirt, curving around her swollen belly.

The throne was occupied by a man no more than nineteen winters, his hair was long around his face, wavy and brown. His face already was etched with the lines of age and worry and anguish. He did not seem a kind man, and was not; he was hard as a stone and it showed in his eyes, steel grey shrouded by heavy black brows. He sat erect, his arms carefully placed on the rests of the throne, his feet squared and he exuded power and authority.

Abdul was listening intently to a fervently speaking common man whose face was scarlet with anger. A timid young woman sat weeping silently at the king's feet. "What say you, judge?"

Kaali stepped forward and the girl looked up, she did not flinch. Kaali cocked her head intrigued. She bent on one knee and reached forward to touch her head and recoiled, the king watched. "Go on, judge."

"She is with child."

The king's eyes were cold. "Go on." She obeyed touching her head again, briefly finding the happiness of a wedding night, the fear of a feud and the mingled horror and joy that came after.

"She is innocent of her charges, she is married."

The man spluttered, "Of course the harlet would defend her own! Blasphemy!"

The king bristled, "Bold accusations, peasant. Judge him."

"Witch!" The man attempted to run and two guards expertly grabbed him, restrained him in their arms and forced him to his knees before Kaali. She put her palm to his forehead, witnessing the feud again, started by his cold blooded murder of a neighbor, the discovery of stolen kisses, the fearful confession by a threatened wedding man, and finally the march to the castle.

"The man is guilty of false accusations and murder."

Abdul stood, his grey mantle falling down and around and behind him. "You accuse your daughter of harletry, knowing it is untrue, yet you have killed a man without cause." The king stared the man down, "and you stand before me as though it were not so. The penalty for murder is death, your daughter will be left to her husband's charge." He turned to Kaali and nodded, "Punish him."

"She need not see."

"Very well." He turned to the girl, "Have you defense for your father?"

For the first time the girl spoke and said, "He is not my father." One guard quickly released the man and rushed to escort her out.

"You may leave." Kaali said and both king and the second guard left, the man cowered on the floor and began to plead. The doors shut and the girl could no longer hear her father.