"Turning, though," Jamison was saying, "to the third set of amendments "
The guardians all turned pages in their books. Even those whose volumes had remained closed now picked them up and looked for the place.
"It is clear that exceptions can be made."
"Exceptions can be made," one of the guardians repeated, reading the words, his fingers moving on the page.
"So we may set aside the assertion that it is the way," Jamison announced with certainty. "It need not always be the way."
He is my defender. Perhaps he will find a way to let me live!
"Do you wish to speak?" the defender asked Kira.
Touching her scrap of cloth, she shook her head no.
He went on, consulting his notes. "She was imperfect. And fatherless as well. She should not have been kept." The second repetition hurt, because it was true. Kiras leg hurt too. She was not accustomed to standing so still for so long. She tried to shift her weight to ease the pressure on her flawed side.
"These accusations are true." Jamison repeated the obvious, in his steady voice. "The girl Kira was imperfect at birth. She had a visible and incurable defect."
The guardians were staring at her. So was Vandara, with contempt. Kira was accustomed to stares. She had been taunted throughout her childhood. With her mother as teacher and guide, she had learned to hold her head high. She did so now, looking her judges in the eyes.
"And fatherless as well," Jamison continued.
In her memory, Kira could hear her mothers voice explaining it to her. She was small then, and wondering why she had never had a father. "He did not return from the great hunt. It was before you were born," her mother said gently. "He was taken by beasts."
She heard Jamison repeat the words of her thoughts as if they had been audible. "Before her birth, her father was taken by beasts," Jamison explained.
The chief guardian looked up from his papers. Turning to the others at the table, he interrupted Jamison. "Her father was Christopher. He was a fine hunter, one of the best. Some of you probably remember him."
Several of the men nodded. Her defender nodded as well. "I was with the hunting party that day," he said. "I saw him taken."
You saw my father taken? Kira had never heard the details of the tragedy. She knew only what her mother had told her. But this man had known her father. This man had been there!
Was he afraid? Was my father afraid? It was a strange, unbiddden question, and she did not ask it aloud. But Kira was so afraid herself. She could feel Vandaras hatred as a presence by her side. She felt as if she were being taken by beasts; as if she were about to die. She wondered what the moment had been like for her father.
"The third amendment applies here, as well," Jamison announced. "To the accusation She should not have been kept, I reply that according to the third amendment, exceptions may be made."
The chief guardian nodded. "Her father was a fine hunter," he said again. The others at the table, taking their lead from him, murmured in agreement.
The chief guardian nodded. "Her father was a fine hunter," he said again. The others at the table, taking their lead from him, murmured in agreement.
"Do you wish to speak?" they asked her. Again she shook her head. Again she felt, for the moment, spared.
"But she has not contributed," Jamison read next. "She cannot dig or plant or weed, or even tend the domestic beasts the way other girls her age do. She drags that dead leg around like a useless burden. She is slow," he continued, and then Kira saw a hint of a smile as he concluded, "and she eats a lot."
The man stood silent for a moment. Then he said, "As defender, I am going to concede some of these points. It is clear that she cannot dig or plant or weed or tend domestic beasts. I believe, however, that she has found a way to contribute. Am I correct, Kira, that you work at the weaving shed?"
Kira nodded, surprised. How did he know? Men paid no attention to the work of women.
"Yes," she said, her voice soft from nervousness. "I help there. Not with the actual weaving. But I clean up the scraps and help prepare the looms. It is work I can do with my hands and arms. And I am strong."
She wondered if she should mention her skill with the threads, her hope that perhaps she could use it as a way of making a living. But she couldnt think of a way to say it without sounding vain, so she kept still.
"Kira," he said, looking toward her, "demonstrate your flaw for the Council of Guardians. Let us see you walk. Go to the door and back."
It was cruel of him, she thought. They all knew about her twisted leg. Why did she have to do this in front of them, to submit to their humiliating stares? For a moment she was tempted to refuse, or at least to argue. But the stakes were too high. This was not a tykes' game, where arguing and fighting were expected. This was what would determine her future, or whether she had a future. Kira sighed and turned. She leaned on her stick and walked slowly to the door. Biting her lip, she dragged her aching leg step by step, and felt Vandaras contemptuous eyes on her back.
At the door Kira turned and came slowly back to her place. Pain started in her foot and seared through her twisted leg. She longed to sit.
"She does drag her leg, and she is slow," Jamison pointed out needlessly. "I concede those points.
"Yet her work at the weaving shed is competent. She goes each day for regular hours, and she is never late. The women there value her help.
"Does she eat a lot?" he asked, and chuckled. "I think not. Look how thin she is. Her weight refutes that accusation.
"But I suspect she is hungry now," he said. "I am. I suggest we take a break for a meal."
The chief guardian stood. "Do you wish to speak?" he asked Kira for the third time. For the third time she shook her head no. She felt terribly tired.
"You may sit," he directed Kira and Vandara. "Food will be brought."
Gratefully Kira lowered herself onto the nearby bench. She rubbed her throbbing leg with one hand. Across the aisle, she saw Vandara bow I forgot again! I should have bowed! and then sit, stony-faced.
The chief guardian glanced down at his own stack of papers. "There are five more charges," he said. "We will deal with them and make a decision after the meal."
Food appeared, brought by the door guard. A plate was handed to Kira. She saw and smelled roasted chicken and warm, crusty bread scattered with seeds. She had not eaten anything but raw vegetables in several days, and had not tasted chicken in many months. But she could still hear Vandaras voice, shrill with vindictive accusation: "She eats a lot."
Fearful of the consequences if she showed her ravenous hunger, Kira willed herself to nibble at the tempting meal. Then she set the half-empty plate aside and sipped water from the cup they had brought. Tired, hungry still, and frightened, she stroked the scrap of cloth in her pocket, and waited for the next round of accusations.
The twelve guardians went elsewhere, leaving through a side door, probably to a private eating place. After a while guards came to take her food tray away and announced a rest period. The trial would resume when the bell rang twice, they told her. Vandara rose and left the room. Kira waited for a moment. Then she made her way to the door of the Council Edifice, walked through the long hall, and went outside.
The world was unchanged. People came and went, working at various jobs, arguing loudly. She heard shrill voices at the marketplace: women shouting outrage at the prices, vendors shouting in reply. Babies cried, tykes fought, scavenger dogs growled and menaced each other as they vied for dropped scraps.
The boy Matt appeared, running past with some others. When he saw Kira he hesitated, then stopped and came back.
"We got saplings for you," he whispered. "Me and some other tykes. We put 'em in a pile. Later we be starting your cott if you want." Then he paused, curious. "If you need a cott, that is. What be happening in there?"
So Matt knew about the trial. No surprise. The boy seemed to know everything that was happening in the village. Kira shrugged with feigned nonchalance. She didnt want to let him know how frightened she was. "A lot of talking," she told the boy.
"And she be in there? Her with the horrid scar?"
Kira knew whom he meant. "Yes. Shes the accuser."
"Shes hard, that Vandara. She killed her own tyke, they say. Made him eat the oleander, they say. Sat with him and held his head till he et it, though he didnt want to."
Kira had heard the story. "It was judged an accident," she reminded Matt, though she had her doubts. "Other tykes have eaten the oleander. Its a danger, having a poisonous plant grow wild everywhere. They ought to pull it all up, not leave it where the tykes can get at it."
Matt shook his head. "We be needing it there to teach us," he pointed out. "Me mum, she slapped at me when I touched it. Slapped my head around so horrid hard I thought my neck would crack. Its how I learnt about the oleander."
"Well, the Council of Guardians judged Vandara and said she didnt," Kira said again.
"Shes a hard one, anyways. They say because of the horrid wound. Pain be making her cruel."
Pain made me proud, Kira thought but didnt say.
"When you be finish?"
"Later today."
"Well work on your cott. Some of my matesll help."
"Thank you, Matt," Kira said. "Youre a good friend."
He made a face, embarrassed. "You be needing a cott." He turned to run after the other boys. "And you tell us the stories, after all. You be needing a place for that."
Kira smiled, watching him scamper off. The bell at the top of the Council Edifice rang twice. She turned to reenter the building.
"She was kept, against the rules, because her grandfather was still alive and had power. But he is long gone."
Jamison read the next accusation on the list.
They had allowed her to sit for the afternoon session. And they told Vandara to sit too. Kira was grateful. If Vandara had stood, she would have forced herself to ignore the pain in her leg and stand as well.
Again the guardian who was her defender reiterated that exceptions could be made. By now, frightening though the accusations were, the repetition was tiresome. Kira tried to stay alert. With her hand in her pocket, she fingered the small scrap of woven cloth and pictured its colors in her mind.