Chapter Text
Things are not that easy after a tyranny falls. At first, people celebrate, and that is exactly what Fairdonia did after Azura and Hecate got rid of Gloomfortz. For three days and three nights, everyone was cheering, laughing, and dancing. Families, finally reunited, prepared bountiful feasts, and all the neighbors were invited. They, in turn, brought mead and home-baked pies, and somehow everywhere there was someone with a musical talent who could play flute or sing. The flowers began to blossom while no one was watching, and the fields, which had been barren wastelands for the past few decades, now were returning to life. It was as if nature herself was making merry along with the citizens.
But after three days of celebrations, there came time for work and struggle. The kingdom had to be rebuilt, and the wealth stolen and hoarded by the heinous warlock needed to be redistributed back among the people. In some cases, the younglings were left without their parents due to Gloomfortz’s scheming, and some older people had lost their entire families. It is at times like these when true virtue shines the most, and so everyone was taken care of. Those who had food or shelter to spare, shared with those less fortunate. A constitution needed to be drafted, and the new government had to be elected. The commotion took entire weeks.
The schools needed to be rebuilt after they had been turned into barracks for the warlock’s minions, but most of the minions had seen the error of their ways and now were helping fix what they had previously destroyed. Nobody held their past against them, as long as they were willing to change. Every hand is needed when there’s an entire kingdom to fix! Only very few didn’t want to repent, and as it happened, those were the people who were responsible for the most evil and vile acts during Gloomfortz’s reign. They were arrested and judged fairly while everyone else was trying to put the past behind them.
It was all worth it. After a month and a half, thanks to everyone’s hard work and pure hearts, the kingdom was once again happy and opulent. However, material possessions were not what really counted. Now, everyone had a new, much greater treasure: the community. Suddenly, the people of Fairdonia realized they had each other, and that there was nothing they couldn’t accomplish if they worked together.
— Mildred Featherwhyle, The Adventures of the Good Witch Azura. Volume Six: The Saddest of Kingdoms, chapter 30: “The Aftermath.”
Gus was right: Luz really, really should have some sort of a curfew that would prohibit her from drinking soda after 7 PM. Just because the portal is working doesn’t mean that she doesn’t need to get to the portal or from the portal to Hexside. You need to get up really early to make it before the first bell, and while it doesn’t seem to bother Hunter in the least, Luz is really not used to getting up before dawn. It would be nice to have at least a few hours of uninterrupted sleep, but so far Luz has managed to limit her nightly bathroom visits to two instead of three.
It’s not exactly fair. Some people drink even more than she does, they just have bigger bladders. It’s not like that’s Luz’s fault, and yet the universe seems intent on punishing her by making her get up every two hours.
She tries to go about her business quietly, and she doesn’t turn on the light in the hallway so that she doesn’t wake everyone up. But it seems like Mom’s awake anyway since the lights are on downstairs, and she’s quietly talking on the phone.
Huh. There are other voices, and they’re not distorted like when you’re put on speaker. They all sound weird, as if everyone was trying to speak very quietly but wanted to yell at the same time. Luz stops and stands still, trying to identify the owners of the whispering voices.
It seems like besides Mamá, there are two other people in the kitchen. Luz could swear those people are Darius and Cool Aunt Lilith. Which is weird, nobody told her they were visiting, and they should have at least said hello. It’s just rude to ignore Luz and Hunter like that (not Vee, though; Vee doesn’t seem to care for visitors from the Demon Realm).
Luz is going to get downstairs and say hi, she really is, she just needs to find the right moment. It’s not like she can jump into a conversation unannounced. Well, yes, she can, but Mom has spent quite some time trying to explain that it doesn’t necessarily mean she should. Luz has always had problems waiting for her turn, and at this point everyone agrees she should make some effort at reading social cues. So she does. She stops at the top of the stairs, and listens.
“Out of the question,” Mom says. “I can’t believe you have the nerve to even suggest that.”
Another voice is more muffled and weary, though Luz guesses that Darius is saying something along the lines of “not happy about it either.” Otherwise, he’d be talking about a puppy, and that, albeit exciting, would make little sense.
“Then do something about it,” Mom growls, and something stops Luz from climbing down the stairs. “We’re not putting him on the stand.”
“That’s not exactly your decision to make,” Cool Aunt Lilith responds. She seems to be the only person who’s calm.
“It isn’t yours, either!”
“Camila’s right, even though extremely shrill,” Darius comments dryly. Luz has to really make an effort to understand all that he’s saying. “It should be his decision, and on that we all agree.” There’s something not unlike a heavy sigh. “Unfortunately, that is not how the law works.”
“You have no laws at the moment!” Mom hisses. “Your entire society is based on bad puns!”
“That’s highly culturally insensitive,” Aunt Lilith points out automatically.
“But also correct,” Mom insists.
“But also correct,” Darius agrees, and Luz guesses he’s somber while doing so.
“Eda told me the other day she had sold over a hundred DVDs of The Great Wife to witch lawyers because they wanted to learn from it.” That’s Mom again. “It’s a TV drama! It has nothing to do with actual law! She said, and I quote, ‘You’re making shit up as you go.’” Mom inhales. “So just don’t make this specific shit up.”
Luz takes a few very careful steps forward, trying not to miss anything and make no noise at the same time.
“That certainly sounds like something Edalyn would say,” Aunt Lilith admits. “But I’m sure you’re aware that her understanding of the law and what the state is has always been a bit… flimsy.”
Luz manages not to snigger.
“However,” Lilith carries on. “My sister’s uh, complex relationship with the law does not reflect on the law. Or its complexity. We’re working with what we have left from before Be— before the coven system was established. There are not that many records, and they can be interpreted in numerous ways. Some of those ways are not… optimal. We need to tread carefully.”
“What Lilith is trying and very obviously failing to say,” Darius chimes in, his voice low, “is that we’re setting precedents. How we handle things now might define the decisions witches will be making decades from now.”
There’s a soft sound, as if someone was setting down a mug carefully.
“Then it’s even more important that you make the right decision now,” Mom says. “You can’t drag a victim into a trial like that. Especially not as a suspect.”
“We’re all suspects, he’s not that special,” Lilith whispers, and Luz can hear that she’s trying to say that nonchalantly while clearly being offended.
“But you’re not children, for God’s sake!”
This time, Mom’s voice is definitely louder than a stage whisper.
“Hunter’s turning seventeen next month,” Darius says in a deliberately quiet voice. Luz makes a mental note to start looking for a perfect gift next thing in the morning. “It’s not exactly a birthday, given his, hm. Status. And technically, he’s eleven, I assume. But he didn’t emerge as a toddler. And he’s certainly not a toddler now. You should give him more credit, Camila.”
“He’s a minor.” Mom sounds stern. “And he was even more so back then. He’s not responsible for any of that.”
Luz doesn’t like this conversation.
“And what of it?” Lilith asks, and she really sounds baffled. “He was a minor, yes, and he was also a Coven Head and a military commander. He was making decisions and doing things almost no adult did. He was much more in control than some Scout giving out parking tickets at the Scapula.”
“Are you hearing this?!”
“I am,” Darius confirms, but he refuses to elaborate.
“He was brainwashed and abused!” Mom manages to yell while still whispering. “There are reasons why we don’t put children in such positions of power. We don’t consider them ready for the responsibility. We know they shouldn’t answer for mistakes they might have made in a situation they shouldn’t be put in in the first place!”
“Nonetheless, this minor was put in such a position of power. He was making decisions very few adults were allowed to make. We can’t close our eyes and just pretend it didn’t happen. It shouldn’t have happened, none of us like it, and yet it most definitely happened,” Lilith says in a stage whisper. Luz can easily imagine her frustrated expression. “You should talk defense strategy while there’s still time. Look for lawyers, otherwise he’ll get assigned some random witch. I can help you with that, I still have connections. One way or another, we need to deal with this.”
“Yes,” Mamá says, and this time she definitely fails to whisper. “Yes,” she repeats a bit more quietly. “You need to deal with this. Not him.”
Darius is still speaking much more quietly than Mom.
“I agree. He’s been through enough. Prosecution, even if he were to be acquitted, would still mean further victimization.”
“And how exactly are you going to stop the court from putting him on trial?” Lilith asks. “We’re both going through it, my case begins the day after tomorrow. You kept saying this is just in order to officially clear our names so that we could hold public office. Raine was acquitted within a day. You want to tell me it’s something more serious? Now?” A note of panic enters Lilith’s voice. “I distinctly remember you calling it just a formality. Formality! There’s no reason why it would be anything else in Hunter’s case. He’s considered a hero. By most witches, anyway.”
“We’re ready to speak about those matters,” Darius says, or at least Luz guesses that’s what he says. He’s still really quiet. “We’re adults. And he’s been through enough already. What if we put him on the stand and he’s forced to testify about things he doesn’t want to talk about?”
“That’s the general idea of testifying, yes.” Aunt Lilith sounds petulant.
“I’m not allowing him to enter the portal again if that’s what’s awaiting him,” Mom declares.
“Again: not your decision to make,” Lilith reminds her.
“Well, it’s certainly not yours!” Mamá yells.
A terrified gasp and a lot of awkward shuffling follows. Luz sticks to the wall and forgoes breathing for a moment, fully aware Mom’s probably looking out of the kitchen to see whether somebody woke up.
“How do you imagine him going to school without entering the portal?” Luz hears eventually. That’s Aunt Lilith.
“I’ll homeschool him.” Mom.
“In magic?” Darius. Skeptical. Rightly so, if Luz is being honest.
“In other things. And Luz can help with the glyphs,” Mom says, and Luz’s heart momentarily swells with pride. “How do you imagine him going to school while he’s being put on trial for being a figurehead in a totalitarian regime? While the entire country’s watching? Do you really think other kids won’t comment?”
“And how do you imagine him attending school with the kids of Belos’ victims as long as he’s not publicly acquitted?” That’s Lilith who asks, and Luz really hates her for a second. Mostly for having a point.
“As much as I hate to say it—“ Darius. “His knowledge might be needed. As a witness, of course. I’m sure his own trial is an open and closed thing, nobody in their right mind would actually want to punish him for what Belos did. But we still don’t know many things, and he might know them. We don’t even know the right questions. He was the closest person to Belos for the past few years.”
“You’re not putting him on the stand.” That’s Mom. “I will not allow this.”
And then there’s the creaking of doors, some panicked gasps, and then a fourth voice. This one’s really quiet so Luz can’t tell what it’s saying, but she knows the sound of it and the tone all too well.
“No, no, mijo.” Mom again. “Sorry I woke you up.”
Luz tries very hard, but she can’t tell what Hunter’s saying, only that he sounds serious.
“Go back to sleep, mijo.” Mom. “They were just leaving.”
“Actually—“ Lilith.
Mom: “I said they were just leaving.”
Luz doesn’t hear any more voices. After a minute or so, there’s some creaking of the floorboards, and then the sound of the front door being closed.
Part three: A lukewarm defense of the Scouts
Up to this point, I do agree with Mead’s proposals. They’re sound, and while not perfect, at least doable. At present, I think it’s obvious we should give up perfection in order to move forward in some way. There are still people living in tents, and I hear the waiting period to get to a healer when you have a high fever is two months. Normally, I would say by that time you either make a full recovery or are long buried, but the graveyards are not actually containing the dead either. We indeed need to do something, and perhaps we should wait to discuss the perfect ways to deal with the situation after witchlings are housed, fed, and sent back to school.
But, my dear readers, now comes the time for me to share a sentiment that is probably not very popular. It’s not going to be the first time, and some of you may remember that I was often right, even while going against some universally shared opinions. Thus, I can only ask you to trust me on account of all those times I was speaking out for the public good.
Miss Mead calls for justice. I understand her pleas, and everything in me is screaming for the same thing. I want to see the wicked punished. I want to see my Palisman, who I lost so many years ago and who I mourn to this day, finally avenged. I want the people responsible for the imprisonment of one of my relatives to suffer the same fate. To me, just like to many of you, this is personal. How could it not be, with five decades of a dictatorship, dozens of people publicly petrified, and hundreds petrified in a more discreet manner. Those who were sickly or particularly unfortunate didn’t make it through the Day of Unity, and now it is certainly safe to assume that everyone on the Isles has a family member or an acquaintance who’s dead because of Belos. It’s impossible to even start counting the murdered Palismen.
Every fiber of my being wants to see someone punished for all those tragedies. Every fiber, except for reason. And so I urge you to be reasonable and think with me just for a moment.
You see, with the exception of Belos, who’s gone and thus can’t be punished, it’s really difficult to identify the guilty party. Most of us supported the Emperor till the very end. I know it’s not something we want to remember, but there was always huge attendance at the petrifications. The viewership, I hear, was even greater. How do you put an entire country on trial?
We were fighting and backstabbing for the slightest chance of getting into the Emperor’s Coven. Parents used their neighbors’ children who became Scouts as an example of witches who were actually applying themselves and studying hard. I must admit, though it brings me no pleasure, I told my son at some point that the Scouts eat all of their vegetables, unlike some witchlings. I try to find solace in the assumption that I wasn’t the only one.
Is every Scout guilty? That would make sense, they were the ones to make the arrests, confiscate Palismen, guard the Conformatorium. They were, after all, Belos’ hands.
But they weren’t Belos’ hands during the Day of Unity. There was a reason why the Emperor had chosen to use the abomatons. The Scouts suffered as much as everyone else. So did the Coven Heads, by the way. Each and every one of them, dissident or loyal lackey. It didn’t matter in the end.
So is every Scout guilty, as Mead claims, or is every one of them a victim? Mead’s right about them not being forced into the service. There was indeed no drafting. Those were all volunteers who perhaps didn’t make the rules, but who certainly enforced them enthusiastically.
But, my dear reader, please ask yourself: even those who didn’t participate in the persecution of the wild witches? The ones who were arresting actual criminals guilty of theft or murder, the ones keeping our streets safe? What about those Scouts who would arrive to stop a domestic quarrel next door before it got too violent? Have none of you ever called for authorities in such a situation? And what about those Scouts who actually helped victims get away from their abusers?
What about those who were pushed into service by their parents or, worse, by economic necessity? The barracks were a great place for those who had no family, no roof, and no bed. It pains me to even think about this, but they were probably also a great place for witches running away from abuse, even if they ended up abused in an entirely different way. We’ve all heard about the treatment of recruits in the Emperor’s Coven. We just shrugged, assuming that it builds character.
My dear reader, I ask thee: what kind of character? Because if the crimes of the Scouts were the product of the Coven, weren’t we all at least partially responsible for pushing them into said Coven and then ignoring the rumors about the abuse?
☞ continue reading on p. 15
A calm and responsible witch will adopt any Palisman. Ask for more details in “Hexes and Such,” Clavicle St. 70B (temporary dwellings)
A reliable and trustworthy demon with experience in retail lost everything, willing to take any job for housing and food. 666-58-34-00.
A senior witch will sublet a spare room to a witch or an entire family in return for helping with day-to-day activities. No pets allowed. Kneecap Plaza 389.
flyr drby lessons 4beginners, @derby_hooligan on Pensta
On the Day of Unity, our daughter left for the ceremony and never came back. Her name is Jody, she has short blue hair, green eyes, pale skin & freckles, height slightly below average, Plant Coven sigil. She was wearing a yellow dress & a green cloak. She has a medical condition, needs to get home as soon as possible. If you have any information about her whereabouts, please caw 666-60-89-12. Reward awaits.
will give out an empty Palisman staff 4free, ask for Jo at the Nite Market
With deep sadness we must inform you that Nancy Dwight, a Bard by profession, beloved mother of three and grandmother of five, has passed away in her sleep. The funeral has been postponed until the old corpses stop roaming the premises of the cemetery and it reopens. Titan rest her bones, may they not be reanimated.
☞ continued from p. 13.
So were the abusers also abuse victims? There’s no way to make a statement like that, not without a proper trial. However, there are thousands of Scouts. If we really decide to prosecute and fairly judge all of them, it’s going to take years. What should be done with them until they’re convicted, or cleared of any responsibility for the fallen regime’s crimes? Should they be arrested (and by whom exactly)? There’s not enough space in the Conformatorium, and building a new prison doesn’t send the right message. Besides, what if almost everyone turns out to be innocent? Should all of them be paid damages for the years of unlawful imprisonment? How could the state afford something like that, especially after spending so much money on building a prison and housing the prisoners in the first place? You do realize we’re talking about the taxes all of us are going to pay, correct?
Yes, they could perhaps be imprisoned in their barracks. That would certainly save some snails, but half of the buildings surrounding the keep were destroyed in the ordeal. Construction work would still be necessary. I think we can all agree that at this moment, there are more pressing matters, like housing the tens of thousands who are still camping out on the streets after losing their homes. Do Scouts take precedence over them? Especially if we presume the Scouts automatically guilty?
Miss Mead points out that witches and demons are dead and many more were maimed or tortured. There was a not entirely unsuccessful attempt at genocide, though it could also be argued that the overharvesting of palistrom wood and the horrifying fate of the Palismen Belos got his hands on counts as a quite successful one. There need to be some consequences, Miss Mead says, and it’s difficult to argue with that claim. I can already picture her response to my essay: How are people who have been branded with sigils against their will supposed to act when they run into their captors getting groceries? – she’s going to ask. What about the sentient creatures Belos experimented on? Most of them have been left with some disabilities or serious injuries, and if the healers responsible for such injuries are not detained, what’s to stop them from treating their own victims?
Those are all very good questions, and yet I would counter them with only one of my own: can we afford getting rid of any healers at a moment like this? There’s not enough of them as it is.
— William Toenail, “How Do We Move Forward? Some Questions for Holly Mead,” The Bonesborough Spectre-tor vol. 258, iss. 45 (1 AB): pp. 11—15 [an excerpt]
Toenail proposes a blanket pardon. But the thing about blankets is, they cover quite a lot.
What Toenail really means but fears to outright spell is: a blanket pardon for everyone. No wonder he prefers to just imply this and cover it with pompous words instead of saying it explicitly. If he were frank with his audience, we would immediately see how ridiculous this idea is.
My opponent seems very keen on asking questions, so here are some questions of my own: for everyone? For Warden Wrath? If that’s the case, why not for Terra Snapdragon? The rest of the Coven Heads? After all, they’ve been tricked by Belos.
Some of them were indeed working against him, I’m not saying they were not. But given the secrecy opposing the Emperor required, it makes sense that some rebels might not know about the others. Now, Hettie Cutburn can claim she’s been a double agent this whole time, working against Belos, making a mess of his records, intentionally doing a poor job at curing his curse. And who’s to say she wasn’t? She might have. All she needs is one witness, and if said witness gets to present themselves in a much more favorable light as well, if they want to profit off their lie, what can stop them?
A trial and a jury. That’s what can stop them, and that’s what we need.
We need to tell our heroes apart from the oppressors. Somebody needs to pay so that others can be acquitted. Otherwise, no matter who we meet, we’ll look at them with suspicion. We’re all going to be potential criminals to each other, each and every one of us. There won’t be anyone we can trust, and a society can’t survive long this way. Belos didn’t work alone, he had so many eyes and ears, so many hands to carry out his orders, so many boots to break the disobedient necks. We can’t just pretend he did all of that himself.
Mr. Toenail asks you to trust him on account of him being right a few times in the past. Even a blind clockatrice will sing you the right time twice a day, and yet we don’t trust blind clockatrices. I ask for justice. I ask for arrests and trials. I ask you to never forget what we’ve been through. I ask you to speak out on behalf of those who no longer can. On account of all the murder.
— Holly Mead, “Being Lukewarm Is a Luxury We Can’t Afford: A Very Heated Polemic with William Toenail,” The Bones in the Borough vol. 20, iss. 20 (1 AB): pp. 1—4 [an excerpt]