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IT FEELS STRANGE TO be back in the Court House as a prisoner. I remember the fear I felt almost three years ago when Mikal stood accused and I with him. I thought that I was frightened then, but now...the terror within me is so great that I am numb. The only way out of this, the only way Jeffett is offering me, is to renounce everything I’ve ever held dear, to turn my back on my upbringing and my way of life, to cut out the very core of me.
It’s not something I can easily bring myself to do, even though I stand without any reassurance, without any knowledge whether Kudus still hears me or not. Still, I mumble the familiar words under my breath, hoping against hope that He will answer.
I stand alone in the cage, gripping the bar before me. I remember Mahmud standing here defiant until death, Mikal brave and faithful to the end, Simson gathering the last of his Strength for his final stand. I remember Han just recently, straight-backed and pale-faced. If they can face their deaths with dignity, so can I. I will set my face to Suci, trusting that Kudus himself will save me, somehow. I want to run, but there’s no way for me to pick the lock of my cage. I curl my toes against the cold stone of the floor. With each movement, the chains around my ankles clank. No way to run, even if I manage to get out of here.
Even unto death, I’d once declared. Well, here comes death.
Azman weaves amongst the crowd, stopping to talk to nobles and merchants and soldiers, a strange desperation on his face. Relka is nowhere to be seen. He’s probably locked up somewhere in the castle.
Jeffett still does not appear. The crowd is getting restless, their soft whispers growing into murmurs, soon becoming a roar of sound. What does Jeffett hope to gain from this delay? I thought he’d prefer to get the whole thing over with quickly.
I try again to form the lines in my head, lines I’ve tried to work out since yesterday, trying to gather up the courage to do what Jeffett asks of me. To do what I know is wrong with every fibre of my being. I can’t.
O Kudus, help me.
Jeffett comes in with great fanfare, dressed up in the finest jubah I have ever seen, dark blue, embroidered in gold. He looks every bit a Raja. The nobles cheer for him, something they have never done for me. He sits on the throne and leans forward, looking down at me with eager eyes. I cannot help but lower my head at the weight of his stare, feeling like a chastened child. I will do what I must to stay alive.
O Kudus, forgive me for what I’m about to do.
Jeffett speaks, but the sound comes from far away and I cannot understand a word he’s saying. I grip at the bar before me, trying to subtly shake my head so that it will clear.
“...Yosua ayell Garett.” Jeffett pauses.
I glance around, trying to figure out what he said. He doesn’t seem to need any response from me, so I bite down on my panic and keep quiet.
“It has come to our attention that the accused, though he was thoroughly vetted by us and by you, nobles and citizens alike, although he passed all the laws of succession, has been nothing but a fraud. He is not a true Baya, not in name nor in deed.” He pauses again theatrically, bowing his head in sorrow.
“It pains us that this has come to light, though there is some comfort that it was only revealed after the tragic death of Garett and Marla. If they had known this, I do not doubt that it would have broken their hearts. This Yosua, your elected Raja, is a traitor to Bayangan and all that we stand for. He is a practitioner of foul magic, a follower of outlawed gods, and it has ever been his will to force his magic and religion upon us.”
A gasp goes up in the crowd. From a tiny whisper, it grows to an angry roar. Jeffett holds out his hands and silence falls.
“I know. It is a hard truth to hear. But hear it we must. Two weeks ago, Yosua went mad in the Castle courtyard, single-handedly killing ten of our most elite soldiers. There were witnesses to his rage and his brutality and the abnormal strength with which he murdered them. There is no way for him to deny that he did this. He refuses to say why.”
O Kudus, what is he doing? What is he saying? What happened to our deal?
I break out in cold sweat.
“The truth is that he murdered these men in cold blood using forbidden magic. The truth is that we have found in his possession items of the outlawed religion and have testimony from his slave that he is an ardent practitioner.”
Someone lays out the Firman, censer, empty incense bottles, and candles on the evidence table at the front of the hall. Jeffett continues talking. I squeeze my eyes shut.
Please, I don’t want to die.
“It is for this reason that although I have retired, I have been prevailed upon to come back, not just as Regent, but as your Raja. I have spoken to the Majlis DiRaja, and they have agreed. If anyone has objections, speak your mind now.”
More titters. More whispers. Cheers from the crowd. They cry out his name and he smiles in return. He waits until they quieten again before he continues.
“It is with great regret that we must depose Yosua. The evidence of his guilt is clear; no matter how we try to deny or excuse it, the very one who is supposed to strengthen and uphold the law has broken it. It breaks our heart that we must judge him and find him guilty. It grieves us to lose another one of our family...to lose the last of my family, but the law is clear and must show no favouritism.
“According to the law, Yosua ayell Garett is sentenced to death.”
There’s roaring in my ears.
“Wait!” I try to protest, but no one hears me over the tumult. “You promised—our deal—”
Soldiers grab my arms and pull them tight behind me again and chaining them together.
“Wait, Jeffett!”
They stuff a rag into my mouth, muffling my cries.
O Kudus, Maha Esa, berkatilah hamba-Mu dengan kuasa ajaib-Mu. O Kudus, please.
I struggle fruitlessly as they drag me up to the block, pushing me down facing the crowd.
It’s not supposed to end this way.
A commotion starts from the middle of the hall. Jeffett looks at them in annoyance, but holds out his hand.
My chest heaves as I try to suck in air past the gag in my mouth and the snot in my nose, face still mashed against the raw wood. I try to blink away the tears. To focus.
Che Carla Tuah steps up to the front of the hall, Azman and about a dozen other nobles in her wake.
“What is this?” Jeffett asks.
“A petition, Tuanku,” Che Carla says.
“He is guilty. There were witnesses.”
She inclines her head slightly. “I do not dispute that. I saw it with my own eyes.”
“Then?”
“He is still young. You have said that he was misguided. Maybe we can guide him to a better path?”
“The law is clear—”
“Death is not mandated by the law.” Che Carla holds out her hand and Azman hands her the documents he’s been clutching. “Extenuating circumstances can be considered. Alternative punishments can be devised. Mercy can be granted.”
The grip on my neck eases a little. I twist to try to see Jeffett, to plead with him for my life.
He promised. He offered me life in return for my loyalty. Why did he change his mind?
I try to gurgle out the question, to offer him the painful words I’ve rehearsed, but nothing intelligible comes out from behind the gag.
“He is your blood,” she says, her voice both kind and full of sorrow.
There is a pained look on Jeffett’s face as he says, “I cannot find any extenuating circumstances in this case. As far as we know, the magic is only bestowed on those of certain rank or loyalty in Maha. That he has it proves that he was never loyal to Bayangan and that he is steeped in witchcraft.”
Azman whispers something to Che Carla.
Her mouth presses into a grim line. “What about a public renouncing of faith? You offered him that once. Surely that will be enough. We can watch to ensure that he does not relapse.”
“How long will you keep him prisoner? You would have to watch him for life, or keep him in the dungeons until he dies. Besides, I have offered him this and he has refused.”
Wait, wait. I haven’t refused. I promised you I would do it today in front of witnesses.
My struggles and mumblings have no effect. I shake my head fervently. None of them are listening to me. Azman knows this. He heard me say so himself. I turn to him. Azman tries to signal to Che Carla that I am trying to speak, but she ignores him, her eyes fixed on Jeffett.
“Exile then.”
Jeffett scoffs. “Why exile him so that he may come back and wage war against us to try to reclaim the throne? No, an execution is the simplest way. And it is within the bounds of the law.”
“The Majlis DiRaja does not agree,” Che Carla insists. “Whilst he is a rebel and an outlaw, he is still of royal descent. Is he not your nephew? Is he not of the line of Baya, a direct descendant of our founder himself? We do not wish for his blood on our hands. You must allow us this, O Raja. It is within our rights to petition for his life.”
Jeffett scowls, looking out at the crowd. “Fine, I accept this petition. There must be a clear majority of support amongst those gathered here to overturn my sentence.”
Che Carla nods and hands the paper to him.
He reads it with some surprise. “This is a long list of supporters. I count at least half the nobles on this list.”
“Yes, Tuanku.”
He scowls at Azman. “This is your doing, Azman?”
Azman stares at him defiantly. “No matter his crime, I cannot let Yosua die without a fight.”
“Still, as I said, there must also be a majority of witnesses here before this petition can win. Decide now,” he says, addressing the crowded hall. “Those in favour of the death penalty, raise your hands.”
I lift my head, pleading with my eyes as best I can.
Let me not die, please. I do not want to die.
There is a mass of raised hands from the front and middle rows, more than those standing with Che Carla. I swallow hard. When Jeffett speaks next, I scrunch close my eyes, not daring to face disappointment.
“And who of you would spare his life, exiling him instead?”
There is a morbid silence. Then a loud cheer. I open my eyes to see the back of the hall and all the edges filled with raised hands. It’s the peasants who support me, and a large portion of the gathered soldiers.
Azman smirks.
Jeffett smiles his oily smile. “You have taken a weight off my shoulders. I am glad that my nephew will live.”
At his gesture, the soldiers pull me up to my feet.
“For the crime of using forbidden magic and practicing an outlawed faith, Yosua ayell Garett is exiled from Bayangan. He will be put on a boat on the straits. Should he ever set foot in Bayangan again, his life will be immediately forfeit.”
––––––––
THE JOURNEY TO THE port is a haze of noise and dust. I’m thrown over the back of a horse, a burly soldier gripping me by the waist. It’s only the hands gripping my arms that keeps me upright when we arrive. I sag in their grip, wondering why we’re at the old port. There is nothing here but sunken boats and rotting frames. Soldiers scour the beach and port, eventually dragging a rickety sampan out towards the shoreline. It doesn’t look like it will bear my weight.
Does he mean to drown me in the straits? I wouldn’t put such trickery past him. If there is one thing I have learnt, it is that my uncle’s word is not to be trusted, even if he swears by himself. Especially if he swears by himself.
“I’m sorry,” Azman says. “I tried convincing as many of my men as I could...”
I look up at him through my swollen eyes and give him a weak smile. “At least you left your tempurung long enough to save my neck.”
“I’d rather be back in the rain before any of this happened. I don’t know how much of your neck I’ve saved.” He eyes the sampan with distrust.
I ponder my words carefully. “You, Che Carla, and the rest of your men have given me a fighting chance. That’s more than I had before this. Thank you.”
Before he can answer, I’m dragged forward and lifted into the boat. They push me to my knees. I struggle to maintain my balance. The sampan bobs in the water, but thankfully stays dry. Two soldiers get into another sampan, tying both together. Slowly, they row out into the strait.
I sit up on my knees, looking back towards Bayangan. Jeffett perches on the remains of the dock, arms crossed against his chest. His face is like stone. Beside him, Che Carla stands with her fists curled, her face wistful. She shakes her head and turns away. Azman isn’t looking at me. He’s gazing out into the sea, eyes searching for something invisible.
They keep rowing until we are caught in the current and won’t be pulled back to shore. Then they untie the rope linking my sampan to theirs, setting me adrift as they row back to shore.
My heart breaks as I turn my back on Bayangan. Why is this happening? If I was meant to have left Bayangan to its own fate, why did not Kudus move me to go with Mikal three years ago? Why did He tell me to stay? Doubts batter my mind, the same way the waves batter the sampan. I am rocked back and forth by the force of my confusion. I thought I had heard right, I thought I had stepped out in faith to do what Kudus himself had called me to do. Why else was I afforded that opportunity? Why else was I born in my family at this time?
Nothing makes sense any longer. Maybe I have never heard His voice right. Maybe I had heard the voice of my own pride and hubris, puffing me up with the idea that I could hold on to my faith alone in this fallow soil. Did I think that I could convert them? Persuade them to follow Kudus? Somehow model Bayangan after Terang? Did I think that all of this would be easy?
There’s nothing in the sampan with me. Jeffett doesn’t mean for me to survive this. I am truly adrift at sea.
I look towards the other shore, but it remains a mirage. The sky is a clear blue, no clouds in sight. Maha, the city of my dreams, the city of my heart, is as elusive as ever. The sampan bobs, and it feels as if the shore is unreachable. I don’t know where this boat is taking me. Maybe it will sweep me right out into the open ocean, far from the reach of any of them. Maybe it will float back to Bayangan so that Jeffett can slay me on sight.
The wind dies down to barely a whisper. I am bobbing in place, going nowhere. The sun rises higher and higher until it reaches its zenith. My skin burns with the heat and I can feel a headache building. I close my eyes against the sharp glare of the light against the water, huddling down again into a ball. My skin is slick with sweat.
I will die out here. The executioner’s parang would have been a kinder, swifter death. Here, I burn in the sun. Dehydration and starvation will get me if heat stroke doesn’t finish me off first. Maybe the sampan will tip over and I will sink to the bottom of the sea, drowning in water I can’t drink. Or maybe the sharks will get me before I drown.
O Kudus, Maha Esa, berkatilah hamba-Mu dengan kuasa ajaib-Mu.
I let myself drift into the darkness.