Betrayal

No matter how much of a paradise, there are always snakes lurking, whispering lies to trusting ears. Love conquers all, but a single deception may cripple the foundations and bring it crashing down. T

Ever since they were married over ten years ago at the small, but very charming local chapel dedicated to the Immortal of justice, Galadin, Grad Trethiel had loved his wife. While not the friendliest man around, he was dedicated and loving in his own silent way.

The small garden around their house was blooming as the spring was reaching the end of its cycle and summer approached fast. Smiling to himself, Grad lifted a boiling tea kettle off the fire and carried it to the table. His lovely wife, Juna, had gone to visit Melheran for some spices and possibly a new hat she had wanted since the first sun of the spring had appeared. Expecting her to return soon, he was preparing for a pleasant evening outside in the garden where they had a small table with two comfortable chairs all set and ready.

A firm knock on the door brought Grad instantly back from his thoughts. Frowning at the loud sound, knowing Juna would never do such thing, he huffed lightly as he opened the door. A figure, clad in dark cloak that folded perfectly around him, stood at the doorway. The strangely purple eyes that nearly matched his cloak gazed at Grad in a creepy manner. The stranger was holding something in his hand.

"Good day," he said in an emotionless tone that left Grad thinking how good of a day this fellow expected him to have after this. "I'm Xander Corbalt, a novice from the Library of Miralain, and--"

At this point Grad was already riled by the sudden interruption. "You're a mystic," he grunted. "What is it that a bookworm like you wants from me? And be quick, for I have a lot of things to do before my wife comes back."

"Why yes, my good friend," the mystic said politely, yet his monotonous tone remained unchanged despite Grad's rude response. "There's something I'd like to give to you."

"What?" Grad blurted, shamelessly showing his lack of interest toward whatever this sleek man had to offer.

"As a part of my training, I'm to make one item of special quality and give it away to a citizen of Melheran--"

"You're pretty far from the right place then," Grad said and began to close the door, but the mystic insisted on finishing his story.

"I was born here in Greensdere, and I'd much rather give this to someone around here."

"I don't remember you," Grad muttered angrily. "Take your gift to somebody else." But as he was speaking, Grad could not help himself from glancing at what Xander kept in his hand. A thin silver string was folded around his wrist and he was holding something that seemed to be a necklace of kind. What a lovely gift for his precious Juna!

"Years have passed, but I do remember you Mister Trethiel. You used to visit the ford square quite often with your wife. What was her name? She always gave me an apple from your beautiful orchard--"

"Tira," Grad said, his voice suddenly thick from sorrow. "You remember Tira, but she slept away years ago, and I have remarried since then." Somewhere in the back of his mind, he did remember. This young man had not been more than maybe twelve or thirteen years old. The market at ford square, named simply after the fact that a small settlement had grown by the ford crossing River Wishwater. Xander was the son of Keller Corbalt, the shopkeeper.

"How is your father?" he then asked, and the ice in his tone began to melt.

Xander smiled, and his purple eyes lit up as he realized that old Grad had finally recognized him. "He's getting old, I'm afraid, but my younger brother is about ready to take over, and soon the old man can enjoy his days by sitting on the dock and fish to his heart's content."

"I'm glad to hear that," Grad said, and the anger had now completely disappeared from his voice. "Well then, Xander. What is it that you're bringing to me?" He was excited at the prospect of being able to give something very special to his young bride, but he continued to hide it from the mystic-- mostly.

#

The gift was indeed a necklace, shaped like a birch tree leaf, made of the purest silver Grad had ever seen. After pouring himself a cup of honey tea, he took it outside to sit in the orchard for a while and marvel at the beauty of his finely crafted piece of jewellery. Every little detail had been carved with such precision and care that it looked almost real. Only its weight kept him from worrying that a sudden gust of wind might blow it away and it would be lost forever. Thinner than a spider's web, each edge of the leaf was engraved with some beautiful ancient runes. Grad could not understand the meaning of them, but they only added to the brilliance of the piece.

"Grad?" a voice from the house called.

But he was unable to draw his attention from the delicate, shining trinket resting on his palm. Mesmerized by the softly sparkling glitter, he ignored the call.

"Grad, what are you doing out here?" This time the concerned voice was much louder, coming directly from behind.

Still reluctant to move his eyes away, he finally recognized the voice of his wife. "Juna?" he wondered. "When did you come back?"

"Just now," she answered brightly. "I happened to meet our old neighbors at the Grand Bazaar of Melheran, Charak and Feriel, so it took me a little longer. Feriel is pregnant and they're so excited about their third child!"

Barely hearing what his wife was telling him, Grad had another glance at the necklace. His eyelids felt heavy and his mind foggy. Almost as if it was terribly late and all that his body yearned was some good, peaceful rest.

"That's wonderful, Juna," he said absent-mindedly while putting in the enormous effort to get up from his favorite chair.

The world tilted slightly in his eyes and he had to focus hard to keep them open. The feeling of intoxication was puzzling, for he had not tasted any of their fine wine reserve that day. And even if he had, it took an entire bottle to make the world dance like it did.

Abandoning all plans for the evening out in the garden, Grad shambled toward the house, ignoring whatever Juna was still saying to him. "I'm not feeling too great," he grunted as he passed his wife, bumping onto her shoulder on his way.

"But I'm not finished yet!" she flared. "Can't you at least listen to what I have to say before you just walk away?"

Grad did not hear or care. "I'm going to lie down," he mumbled without looking back. The door slammed shut behind him, leaving Juna wondering what was going on.

#

It was the deepest sleep he ever had in his entire life. The bright light of dawn made him groan as he cracked his eyes. Blinking and rubbing, Grad did his best to rid himself from the most annoying remnants of sleep. The diligent man that he was, waking up early had always been easy for him. That morning, however, everything was different. But when he realized that he was not alone in his room, his eyes widened instantly in a mix of embarrassment and anger.

"Would you mind?" he snarled. "I'm just waking up and--" Words died on his lips.

There were two reasons for his bafflement. The first was the blood stains on his hands and sheets, the second was the realization that the people in his house were four city guards with weapons drawn. Behind the armed guards, Juna, pale and noticeably shivering, stared at him in fear.

"Grad Trethiel," one of the guards said roughly, "come with us."

Now confused and having exchanged all of his anger to humble obedience, Grad slipped out of his bed despite the world still slightly swaying. The silver necklace he had been admiring for so long was now hanging around his neck, shining there brightly as a cutting contrast to his otherwise shabby appearance.

The guard, who had spoken to him, grabbed the sleeve of his spotted shirt and jerked him away from the bed.

"You are arrested for the murder of a fellow citizen of Sartane. Please, step away from the weapon and come with us-- right now!"

As soon as the guard said it, Grad noticed the hatchet on the floor. It was the same one he used to cut off overgrown branches of the hedge lining his garden. The curved blade was black from blood and something he did not want to begin guessing what it might be. His mind worked furiously to connect the dots, pick up the pieces, to form some sort of a picture of what went down in between of him crawling to bed and this rude awakening.

With trembling feet, he followed the guard outside. Juna said nothing as he glanced at his wife before stepping through the door, but her eyes revealed something unexpected-- was it glee that he saw? A rather extreme change to what he had seen just minutes ago. Right before passing by, she reached out with her hand and broke away the silver necklace with an expression on her face that resembled a victorious grin.

Puzzled to the core, Grad was escorted to the town jail in Greensdere. There he was to wait until a cleric of Galadin arrived from Melheran to hear his case and decide on his punishment. He would not be granted a trial by ordeal or even a proper hearing, but more of a statement of his deed. Knowing well how the justice worked in these lands, it was more than likely that Grad would hang for his crime.

#

People wandered into the church of Galadin. They were curious to see the outcome of this strange act of violence that befell out of nowhere. Most of them knew Grad and his young wife, and even now, on the day of his judgement, they seemed deeply bemused by the events that took place along their quiet country road.

It had been three weeks since Grad was dragged out of his home and taken to the jail. He still had no memory of why and how it all came to be, but he would have done anything to turn back time and right the wrong before it occurred.

Nobody came to see him while he was locked inside the bleak cell, waiting for his day to be heard. It seemed peculiar and odd to him that even his dear wife never showed herself. Granted, they did not share a perfect relationship, and yes, they argued a lot over things that, in hindsight, seemed simply redundant, he had still believed that they shared love for each other. Apparently, however, that was not the truth.

Facing the silent crowd on top of the chancel, Grad saw many familiar faces, but they all lacked compassion-- understanding. And how could they? He was completely unable to understand anything that went down on that fateful night. It was all a mystery to him, too. The confusion ran deep among them-- astonishment for the cruelty they never saw coming. Grad was not the easiest man to deal with, but he was known as honest and hard-working member of their little community.

The cleric, dressed in black and white with silver scales embroidered on the silken fabric to symbolize the beloved Immortal of Justice, walked behind the pulpit. His grievous gaze burned on Grad's pale cheeks before he turned to face the audience.

"In the name of Holy Galadin, our beloved creator, I declare this trial true in his all-seeing eyes. Bring forth the charges!" the cleric pronounced with a slightly tremulous voice. It was likely because of his high age rather than being nervous, for he handled similar trials several times every week.

A guard stepped forward and said, "Holy Father, Grad Trethiel of Greensdere, accused of murder of Olisa Nelrakh, the wife of Cyren Nelrakh." In the middle of the sentence, the church door cracked open and two figures entered quietly. "Using a garden hatchet, Grad Trethiel entered his neighbor's house and killed Olisa in front of her husband."

"What was the excuse for such belligerent behavior?" the cleric questioned.

"We do not know, Your Holiness," the guard answered. "As of today, either the witness nor accused have been able to give a rational explanation to what happened."

The cleric sighed, which did not go unheard even at the farthest seats of the nave. At the same time, Grad, standing still next to the pulpit, stared at the two people who had slipped in without attention. They were none others than Cyren and Juna, and suddenly all the pieces of the puzzle fell into place. Too angry to shout out, too angry to think, Grad stared and saw the foul play clearly like the fish in calm waters. Somehow those two had framed him guilty. Cyren had killed his own wife and somehow made it look like it was Grad's misdeed.

Juna was wearing his silver necklace. It was shining faintly against the skin above her neckline, mocking his blindness and foolishness. How he could not see it before? How many times Juna had given Cyren that certain smile? How many times she had swayed her hips in that most bewitching way and made sure that the neighbor had a good view? And who knows what went on behind the oaks and willows that grew wide and tall by the river while he was working or running errands around Melheran?

"It was him!" he finally yelled as loud as he could, fire and brimstone burning inside.

"What are you talking about?" the cleric inquired, his voice stretching with irritation as he was just about to declare judgement before enjoying a glass of the finest Greensdere wine. Now it seemed like the trial was not quite over, and that was quickly ruining his day.

"It was him! Cyren! He killed his own wife!" A gush of bewilderment swept across the nave. Some were outraged by this insolence while others showed plain bafflement.

With gleaming eyes, Cyren now approached the chancel. "Tell me what reason would I have to take my wife's life?" he demanded. "What possible excuse your possessed mind has woven that I supposedly did that?"

"Isn't that obvious?" Grad cried, tears and snot running down on his perspiring face. "I will tell you, the Immortals, and this whole court what is not exactly a secret. You wanted to steal my wife and make her yours!"

She did not move an inch. Upon the announcement that sent the entire church into a rumbling chaos as people sprung off their seats, yelling and arguing with each other, Juna stayed still. Her necklace continued glowing faintly, her face remained frozen as if death itself had washed away every emotion she ever had. Gazing indifferently at the two men on the chancel, her supple fingers fondled the necklace. It was not a nervous gesture. Slightly impatient perhaps, but nothing that would indicate fear, upset or concern.

Grad could not see his wife's obscure reaction from his blinding rage that was targeted at Cyren, who now stood right in front of him. The guards attempted to calm down the upset crowd, the cleric yelled orders that nobody heard and in this momentary mayhem, Grad saw Cyren unguarded and alone. He did not care if the guards would kill him, and they probably would, for vengeance was well within his grasp.

"Why, in the name of Galadin, I would do something like that?" Cyren was still trying to make sense to his neighbor, who gazed at him with primal bloodlust. "I loved Olisa--" He did not have a chance to talk any further, for Grad leaped like a hunting beast and pushed Cyren to the floor. The guards saw it, the cleric saw it, but there was not enough time to do anything while the people inside were still moving restlessly and voicing their opinions on the matter.

Thud after thud, Grad smashed his neighbor's head against the floor boards, until Cyren's eyes rolled over, leaving him languishing on the edge of unconsciousness. Quickly Grad stood up and raised his foot up in the air, as high as his aging bones allowed, and stepped down to crush the throat of his neighbor, countryman, and formerly a good friend. Cyren's larynx collapsed and his spine snapped under the heavy weight of Grad's boot. The spasms that followed the sudden trauma eased shortly after, allowing his glazed eyes to gaze upon the evergreen fields of the other side. His lips were stained by blood, the neck bent in unnatural angle, which left no questions about whether Grad's final burst of rage was lethal or not.

It took another moment or two before the guards finally made any progress with the crowd-- several moments before anyone noticed what had taken place in the meantime. Standing in front of his neighbor's dead body, Grad never tried to run. It would have been pointless, for he had nowhere to go-- not anymore.

"Silence in the presence of Galadin!" the cleric, once he was sure the effort would not end up in an embarrassing disregard, finally yelled from the top of his lungs.

The guards seized Grad as soon as they had the chance, although it was clear that he was not going anywhere. Staring at the corpse, he knew what his fate would be. There was absolutely no confusion about it. He was quickly escorted back to his place on the chancel, and a second pair of guards was summoned from outside to carry Cyren's body away. Grad's eyes followed the guards as they worked their way toward the door, and just when they approached the last rows of benches, the door opened and a man stepped inside. It was Xander Corbalt. Giving a quick glance at the accused, he slipped past the guards and sat next to Juna, who gave him a warm smile.

The cleric glared at Grad and spoke, "In the name of Galadin, under his guiding wisdom, I hereby sentence Grad Trethiel to be hanged until dead. There is no question about madness that resides within this man, and for that his body is to be burned. Possessed by an evil spirit, he has taken the lives of two good citizens of Greensdere, and for that his soul must be purged before judged by almighty Galadin himself!"

There might have been a slight chance of a trial ahead, but because of Grad's mindless outbreak before the court, it was no longer necessary. The cleric had witnessed his condition personally, which gave him the chance to pass judgement without further arrangements, and for that he was relieved. This case was concluded.

Grad barely heard what the cleric said. His eyes were fixed on his young wife and the mystic, who had given him the silver necklace. They exchanged words, smiled and shamelessly touched each other, and Grad realized what a fool he had been.

The mystic in black stood and waited by the aisle as the guards escorted Grad away. A playful grin on his lips, he reached out and spoke in low voice, "Thank you, Grad Trethiel," he said mockingly. "Thank you for playing your part so well. I promise to take care of your poor widow once you're gone. I will marry her, and I will give her children. I will make her happy. All those things that you, an old fool that you are, couldn't do." Then he chuckled and patted him on the shoulder. "Die well," he hissed with a sarcastic cackle.

The words were hurtful, but he felt nothing inside-- not because of him. It was Juna's smile, that devious, icy smile that burned his heart worse than if an ember was dropped on his palm. He knew they had problems with a lot of things-- private things, and that he was far from the perfect husband, for the painful memory of his first wife still loomed over him like s shadow that could not be banished even by the sun. The mystic had played him all along. It was the necklace that somehow hypnotized him to do that terrible deed, it was the mystic's carefully woven spell that stole away his life and gave death. From Juna's rather happy expressions, Grad saw it all too clearly. They had planned this from the very beginning-- together. Sadness, deeper and darker than a winter night, fell upon Grad, for he always thought that whatever small mishaps they had in their relationship could be worked out with some time, but apparently Juna's patience had ran out.

It broke his heart. With shoulders crouched and head hanging, he walked through the doorway without resistance. The gallow was waiting.

#

In the next morning, when the sun was climbing out of its nightly slumber beyond the horizon, Grad Trethiel was hanged. His body was burned like the cleric ordered, and his ashes were buried in the Greensdere cemetery, for now his soul was purged and ready to be judged by Immortal Galadin. In the halls of Baradhir, he would receive his final verdict, and based on that his final dwelling for all eternity was to be decided.

Xander and Juna did not attend the execution. They had achieved what they wanted, thus prolonging what was already concluded seemed mundane. Unable to hide their happiness, causing some bad blood among the people of Greensdere, they moved to Melheran in order to live without the flying rumors and suspicions. It was a little too obvious and convenient that, out of the clear blue, Grad would do something so horrible that Juna would be granted widowhood, but there was no evidence against her. She was free to be with anyone she wanted and remarry whoever she wished without anything staining her reputation.

But the people knew better, and they knew Grad. The mystic's presence, especially when it was someone as close to Juna as Xander, did not help to muffle the rumors at all. Whether their conscience bothered them or not, and whether their life was happy or not, might be a subject of another story, but not this one.