A Shattered Confession:Part Three

     All eyes were on the back doors of the courtroom as they opened with an echoing boom. A straight beam of sunlight practically split the courtroom in half as Sylvana slowly entered, escorted by two towering knights, a draik and a bori. She walked down the middle of the room as she felt all eyes on her, until she came to a stop in front of the stand, right in the center of the room. Right in front of the judge and the magistrates. Her hands were bound behind her back by thick chains, as were her wings, which were bound by chains and a particularly heavy lock to prevent any thoughts of a swift escape.

     The guards that escorted Sylvana hurried to close the door, filling the room with a dank gloominess, made worse by the darkening skies outside. Hardly any light shone through the stained glass windows, giving the room a very dark environment throughout. Without moving her head, Sylvana glanced to her left, then right at the stands, spotting Elijah and Arya to her right.

     They knew what she was. No matter what they told her, despite every reassurance they gave her, they knew the truth. She was more than just a kyrii, she was an outsider to the land of Meridell. An enemy that tried to make the strong land break when it refused to bend. A daughter of the Darigan Citadel, and beyond that, a monster.

     Sylvana’s shoulders suddenly felt heavy, weighing her down like the chains that bound her hands and wings.

     But she raised her head to face the judge, the striped kougra and the four magistrates that sat next to her. Not far from their table, the bailiff kicked something towards her, a flimsy wooden chair. She glanced at it before looking up again, and one of the magistrates, a blue zafara motioned to it.

     Sylvana’s head glanced to the side in a silent refusal, intentionally avoiding the eyes of the magistrates. More than that, she recognized the bailiff as the tonu from earlier, who simply stared at her with folded arms and the same wry grin as when he took her away.

     “Go ahead. Make this harder for yourself. Not that I care.”

     The tonu then walked and kicked the chair away almost mockingly before settling back into his chair, not far from the judge’s table. The judge sent a quick glare at him before turning her attention back to Sylvana.

     “Very well. We shall proceed with this trial at once. First, what is your name?”

     Sylvana scoffed. “A better question, why is your buffoonish king not reigning over this trial?”

     Before the judge could answer the zafara magistrate spoke up, slamming his fist against the table. “You will not refer to our king in that manner, kyrii.”

     “King Skarl is dealing with much more important matters than this. He left it to us to dictate this trial.” The kougra answered, which frankly, wasn’t a good enough answer for Sylvana. She had never thought too highly of King Skarl. How the residents of Meridell could honor such a gluttonous and practically simple-minded ruler, she would never truly understand.

     “Now, I will ask again - what is your name?”

     “It is Sylvana,” Sylvana answered, only for her answer to end with a sudden cough.

     The judges eyed her warily, but the magistrate to the right of the judge rose, a white bruce. “Bring her water.”

     The bailiff reached for his belt and extended an opened glass bottle, with water sloshing about inside. But Sylvana turned her head away once again, eyes winced in defiance.

     “It is just water,” the bruce spoke. “Do you think that we would poison you?”

     Sylvana only scoffed again, to which the bailiff eyed the judge before putting the bottle to his lips and chugging the rest of the water. She did not need pity or sympathy from the judge, the bailiff, or anyone. She would continue to speak, and if it threatened to rip her throat apart, so be it.

     “Continuing on, you are being brought before the Council of Meridell to learn of what you have to say in the face of the accusations against you.”

     “This is a sentencing, correct?” Sylvana asked, raising an eyebrow. The judge gasped in silent surprise, but she quickly hid it behind her stern gaze as she leaned forward in her seat.

     “That is true, yes. But unlike in the Darigan Citadel, we will not utilize brutish force or violence to get you to talk.” The way the judge was talking to her, Sylvana felt reduced to a child.

     “Rather, we would like to hear your side of the story. We understand that you know something about an incident that happened years ago. If what you know reveals criminal intent, you will be suitably punished.”

     Sylvana glanced at the judge, to Elijah, and to her feet briefly. Despite not wanting pity or sympathy, the judge appeared insistent on giving it to her. If she was in the Darigan Citadel, the trial would have been swift and the punishment would have been in a word, brutal. Justice was often dealt through violence, and at times, criminals would be lucky to be thrown in the darkest dungeons for the rest of their lives. But usually, criminals found their demise at the end of a sharpened blade, axe, any weapon that would guarantee the end of their lives.

     Finally, Riven glanced up to stare at the judge, but with narrowed eyes. “What do you want to know?”

     “Where do you originate in Neopia?” the kougra asked, leaning back.

     Sylvana’s eyes shifted slightly to the ground. “I come from no land.”

     The kougra growled slightly as her eyes narrowed as well. Sylvana felt the kougra’s gaze met her own, and she realized that her answer bordered near downright opposition.

     “You must have come from somewhere,” the kougra spoke again.

     Sylvana spared a glance at the old ogrin to her right. “A small village in the lower foothills...in the Darigan Citadel.”

     “But you no longer want anything to do with the Citadel.” The kougra’s gaze widened slightly in growing curiosity and slight suspicion.

     Sylvana clenched her teeth at the continued mention of the Darigan Citadel. The judge was right, she wanted absolutely nothing to do with it anymore. It was a cursed place, a living nightmare in Neopia.

     “If the lord of your home wants you dead, can you even call it a home?” Her voice came out with both an edge and hesitation.

     “So you’re an outcast to the Citadel?”

     Sylvana nodded.

     “So you do not wish to return to your homeland?”

     Sylvana growled at the constant questions, her cuffed hands clenched in growing annoyance. “Just know that the Darigan Citadel will always be a cursed land to me. Now, are you going to punish me?!”

     “Not yet,” the kougra answered, the bluntness in her voice irritating Sylvana to no end. “We have gathered that you fought with several Darigan sentinels. Is this correct?”

     “It is,” Sylvana answered bluntly. At the same time, her eyes wandered to the crowds at both sides, noticing Arya amidst all of the eyes before turning back to the judge. “Why is that such a concern to you? You must already know that Meridellians and Darigans alike perished. While I know there was a fight, I know little of what actually transpired.”

     “Liar!!” An infuriated voice slashed through the tension between Sylvana and the judge. “I nearly lost everything because of you!”

     Seconds later, screams and shouts exploded throughout the courtroom, with one woman, an acara, throwing a rotten tomato that pelted the side of Sylvana’s head. The foul-smelling fruit dribbled down her cheek and it’s rotten smell filled her nose, but Sylvana tried her best to ignore it. The smell was reminiscent of that fight many years ago, and it was a memory she wanted to repress for so many years. She slowly inhaled, trying her hardest not to take in more of that rotten smell.

     Soon, more rotten fruits and berries sailed in the air, all aimed for the single darigan in the room. More of the rotten smell filled her nose, and Sylvana quickly found herself unable to hold her breath for long. She inhaled, and the rotten smell brought back a nightmare, a nightmare that only played out in her head. She wanted to cry out, yell at the court goers to stop, but she feared they wouldn’t listen amidst their blinding rage.

     The judge rose from her seat, her arm raised only for a moment to slam the gavel against the table again. She did this a second time, then a third time, until every scream and shout died out.

     “Order! Order in the court, I say!”

     The kougra glanced back to Sylvana. “We the council remember that fateful battle. “Both Darigans and Meridellians alike perished. But you...you survived? How is that possible?”

     Though it was a straightforward question to most, it was nothing short of torment for Sylvana. She had asked that question to herself countless times - why did she survive while she had to watch both her comrades and enemies alike fall? But no matter how many times she asked herself, she never found herself with an answer. And here was no exception.

     “...I have no idea.”

     Despite her half-hearted answer, the judge continued pressing her.

     “How many years have you resided in Meridell?”

     “I don’t know.”

     “How did you come to be in Meri Acres?”

     “I don’t know.” The second time she answered.

     “Have you ever travelled to Meridell before?”

     Sylvana’s initial answer died in her throat, but she once again answered with the same sentence. “I don’t know.

     “Have you met with Sir Aldrid before?”

     Hearing that name triggered something in Sylvana’s memory. One on hand, it sounded familiar, but on the other, she dared not think about it further at the risk of bringing up more painful memories. Just thinking about it caused anger and despair to fill her chest, as her voice suddenly escalated into a shout.

     “I don’t know!!” The chains on her hands and wings rattled loudly as what fight Sylvana had left in her body vanished instantly as she spoke again, her voice now a near-whisper.

     “I don’t know.”

     She took in a shaky breath while the court goers stared at her, some in shock, others in disdain. But the judge possessed neither shock or disdain, but more of what Sylvana didn’t want - pity.

     “Loss can make the most resilient bend. War can make even the strongest of warriors break.” Her voice was gentle.

     But the judge turned to her right. “Perhaps...if you do not recall much...we can have someone within the court speak for you.”

To be continued…