Broken Wings (26 page)

“In effect, then,” Mr. Summerbank said, “what you are describing is a form of
slavery. Well, Ms. Woods, this is an important factor. Every civilised country
regards this practice with abhorrence. If we can establish that an extradition
would return you to slavery, this will be a potent argument in our favour.”

“Um. Right.”

“Now, the third and final point is that you have been convicted of the murder of
your mother,” Mr. Summerbank said. “And you are wanted back to serve your
sentence.”

Rye’s gaze snapped up to him. She went cold.

“The trial appears to have been held in your absence,” Mr. Summerbank said.
“Which is not a legitimate procedure in this country, though it is within fairy
law. You were found guilty.”

Rye couldn’t breathe. Her good hand clenched into a tight fist.

“Ms. Woods, do you understand?”

“Um.” Rye swallowed with difficulty. She could see her mother dead in the mud.
“Um. Yeah. I… I did it.”

The lawyers started asking her questions. Rye rose and walked away. She stood
close to the wall with her back to them. Her chest tightened and her heart raced
with the first stages of the onset of her panicked flight reaction. Rye pressed
a hand against the wall. She tried to dig her fingers into the grey paint as she
struggled to keep herself under control. Murder. Yes, she must have done it.
Right in front of Holly.

She had run back to the women’s compound to get Holly. Her mother had seen her.
Penance’s face twisted with fear and hatred and she snatched up a heavy stick
and lashed out. She shrieked and shouted at Rye. Calling her evil and wishing
she had never been born. Saying how she wished Rye had died rather than bring
shame on them all. How she regretted that she hadn’t known what she had given
birth to because she would have left Rye out for the cold and animals to take
like they did the deformed babies. Her neck had been corded and her words so
wild that she sprayed them out with spittle. She hit Rye hard and fast about the
head and arms. Beating out years of disgust and self-loathing. Wanting to hurt,
bruise, and break. Holly had started crying behind their mother, reacting to her
frenzy.

Then Penance lay dead with cold mud oozing around her. A silent, slow trickle of
blood crept from the corner of her mouth. So very red. The stick dropped from
Rye’s hands. Holly’s wails were joined by women’s shouts and cries. Rye picked
Holly up and ran. Ran because her life depended on it.

“Ms. Woods?” Mr. Summerbank said.

“I did it. I killed her.”

When Rye returned to the seat, Vervain produced a paper cup of water for her.
Her hands trembled as she took a sip. “They’re… they’re going to get me back for
this, aren’t they?”

“But you have never had an opportunity to defend the charge, have you? In person
or by proxy?”

“No, sir.”

“We will stress that a conviction
in absentia
is not a recognised practice in
this country,” Mr. Summerbank said.

“But me being a murderer will mess up any refugee application, won’t it?” Rye
said. “Immigration won’t want me, will they?”

“As I said, we’ll stress the irregularity of the procedure,” Mr. Summerbank
said.

Rye heard in his evasions the truth she feared. A life for a life. That’s the
way it was going to work. Her mother was going to get her wish in the end.

“One important facet in asking the court to refuse the repatriation application
is to establish that you would suffer harm were you to be returned.” Mr.
Summerbank squared the slender pile of papers on the table in front of him. “The
slavery issue is very much in our favour. We can also make a strong case, I
believe, out of the international reputation that Fairyland has for their
treatment of certain minorities. This has been documented by internationally
recognised humanitarian agencies. Did you personally suffer in any way because
you are a homosexual, Ms. Woods?”

Rye glared at him. Her wings and chest muscles snapped taut.

“If we could present definite details about any harm you believe you would
suffer on your return,” Mr. Summerbank said. “And any occasions where you have
suffered because of your sexual –”

“No,” Rye said.

Both men frowned at her.

“Ms. Woods, if –”

“No!” Rye slammed the paper cup down so hard that it crumpled and sprayed water
over the table. “I don’t want you to say anything about that. I won’t admit it.
Not in front of them.”

“Ms. Woods, this is obviously an uncomfortable matter for you,” Mr. Summerbank
said. “But the reason you’re reluctant to broach this in the presence of
representatives of the Fairyland government is precisely –”

“No,” Rye said. “Not that. You don’t understand.”

“Perhaps if you –”

“No.”

The lawyers exchanged a look. Vervain began gathering the papers.

“We have quite a lot to work with for now,” Mr. Summerbank said. “Perhaps you’d
like to think if there’s anything else that might assist us, Ms. Woods. We’ll
return tomorrow.”

Rye awkwardly shook hands with them both with her left hand.

“Do you have any messages you’d like conveyed to your sister or Ms. Withe?” Mr.
Summerbank said.

“Um. Yeah. Please. Could you tell Holly that –” Rye frowned. What could she say?
Sorry that I failed you? I’m glad you’ve got someone else to take care of you?
“Can you tell Holly that she’s not to worry. About me or anything.”

“I certainly shall,” Mr. Summerbank said.

“Um. Can you tell Flora… Can you tell her thanks? Thanks for everything.”

Rye lay on her cot. The lights shone with unwavering brightness, though she felt
like her life had burned so low that it was flickering on the point of
extinction. There was very little of Rye Woods left to snuff. The murder
conviction was going to be her undoing. Another blank period. Another
self-inflicted disaster.

If, as looked likely, the fairies were going to get her back, she would rather
have a clean death by the noose for her mother’s murder than have the
priestesses scourge her in their attempt to “cure” her and “save” her from the
“evil” inside. Quicker and far, far less painful.

Mr. Summerbank didn’t understand what she was facing. They would kill her in the
end, so the method was the only thing left to decide. She knew what the whip
felt like. And the clubs. As far as the priestesses knew, Rye had last indulged
in the perversion of sex with another woman over a dozen years ago. They might
think she’d been saved, that the evil had been successfully scourged from her
the last time they’d done it to her before she escaped. Rye would not let them
know that she was still a vessel containing evil. She didn’t think she could
bear the pain of another cure again, and especially not one that had to drive
out twelve years worth of evil. They’d kill her far too slowly that way. She had
to keep quiet about her sex life. Admit nothing.

The guards came for her the next afternoon. Mr. Summerbank and Mr. Vervain
waited in the interview room.

After greetings, Mr. Summerbank slid an envelope across the table. It was simply
addressed to “Rye” in Flora’s handwriting. Rye opened out the single sheet.

Rye – You are constantly in my thoughts. And those of Holly. She’s with me.
Safe, but missing you. We both are. I will continue to do everything I possibly
can to ensure that Holly remains in this country. I know this is what you want.
Much as I like Holly, I am acting for you, Rye. There is nothing I will not do
to help you. If you’ll let me. I have only ever wanted to help you and make you
happy. I had hoped that we would have a lifetime together to get to know each
other and learn how best to please and enjoy each other. I realise that I made
mistakes. I have given them a great deal of thought. I hope I’ve learned. I
would give anything for another chance.

The one constant through all that has happened, and is happening, is my love
for you. I cannot pretend to understand all the choices you make, but I do know
that you have strong reasons for what you do. I beg that you don’t forget those
who love you when you make your decisions.

All my love, Flora.

Rye put her hand over her face to cover her pain. This did not make what must
come any easier.

Miserable, Rye listened without much interest as the lawyers explained that the
hearing had been scheduled with indecent haste for just a few days time. They’d
apply for a postponement to allow them a fair time to prepare her case. Rye
numbly agreed with whatever they suggested, except when they broached the matter
of her homosexuality.

“Ms. Woods, we have compiled a wealth of evidence about civil rights abuses
perpetrated in Fairyland against homosexuals,” Vervain said. “Using your
personal experiences –”

“No,” Rye said.

“It would help us establish a strong argument against your return to Fairyland,”
Mr. Summerbank said. “In these cases –”

“No,” Rye said. “I don’t want it mentioned. At all.”

“We won’t do anything against your wishes, Ms. Woods, of course,” Mr.
Summerbank said, “but I would strongly urge you to reconsider. In my opinion, it
would be very much in your best interests.”

Rye glanced at the letter. Had the lawyers discussed this with Flora? Was that
what was behind that second paragraph? No. Flora knew Rye’s past experiences in
Fairyland complicated her open acceptance of her sexual identity. Rye hoped
Flora would understand that her refusal to make a case out of her homosexuality
was not a denial of Flora – of them. It was deadly pragmatic, though Flora had
no way of appreciating that.

After Vervain packed away his papers into his case, he asked for Flora’s letter.
He looked apologetic.

“We’re not allowed to give anything to the inmates.” He offered her a pen.
“Would you like to write something in return?”

Rye could not write left-handed. She folded Flora’s letter and handed it to him.
If this hearing went as she expected, would they allow her to see Holly and
Flora one last time? Awkward and diffident as Rye was at expressing her feelings
in person, that had to be easier than writing it down or dictating them.

The guards came for Rye some time after breakfast but before the lunch tray.
They herded her into a strange room. They locked a chain around her waist with
shackles and manacles attached. The guard snapped the shackles around her ankles
and one of the manacles around her good wrist. The remaining manacle, which
would not fit around her cast, swung against her front when she shuffled out to
a waiting transporter carpet. Another yellow-clad, chained prisoner sat in the
back. The female half-goblin sneered at Rye, spat on the floor, and nibbled her
claws.

When the guards unlocked the rear of the carpet, the carpet was parked in some
underground vault. Rye followed the other prisoner through a tunnel. Guards
separated her from the other prisoner and led her to a small room where Mr.
Summerbank waited. He looked impressive in an official flowing green tunic.

“I’m afraid our application for a postponement was turned down earlier this
morning,” he said.

Rye knew she should be more concerned. But she felt numb, as if she accepted the
inevitability of the decision to come and the futility of trying to avert it.
She tried to concentrate when Mr. Summerbank quickly described the inside of the
hearing room and what would happen.

“Do you have any questions?” Mr. Summerbank asked.

Rye shook her head.

Mr. Summerbank nodded and strode to the door. He lifted his hand to tap, but
paused. “Ms. Woods, if you change your mind about using your probable treatment
in Fairyland as a homosexual, we –”

“No.”

He nodded. “Then we’ll do our best without that.”

The guard let him out.

Rye waited. She frowned down at the chains. Would they put them on her to take
her back to Fairyland?

A green-uniformed pixie opened the door. He read from a clipboard. “Rye Woods,
also known as Righteous the Fairy?”

Rye followed him out the door and up a short flight of steps. The doorway opened
into a large room with highly polished walls. Mr. Summerbank, Vervain, and a
pixie woman sat at a desk facing the big, heavily carved desk under a green
canopy. A green-clad old limoniad female sat under the canopy. She must be the
adjudicator.

A touch on Rye’s elbow urged her forward. She awkwardly climbed up a few shallow
steps to a chair surrounded by a waist-high railing on three sides. It looked
like they wanted to put her on show and keep her boxed in and isolated.

“Your Sagacity.” The green uniformed man with the clipboard bowed to the
adjudicator. “The Scrub Street Detention Centre has delivered to this hearing
the person of Rye Woods, also known as Righteous the Fairy. Detainee YD-44689.”

The adjudicator nodded at him and cast a swift glance at Rye. Rye stiffly nodded
a bow.

The guard unlocked her manacle and gestured for her to sit.

From her seat, Rye looked across the front of the desk of her lawyers. Barely
two paces separated them from the other desk. At that far desk sat the
representatives of the Fairyland government. A sylph man stood and began
speaking. Rye’s attention moved past him. The next man was a fairy with his
wings unfolded but closed. The tips softly tapped against each other as he
followed the sylph lawyer’s opening remarks to the adjudicator. He was relaxed
but concentrating. Rye had not seen wings since her escape from Fairyland. They
triggered instincts that had lain dormant, a different world of unspoken
language that had been missing around her.

Rye pushed her attention past the fairy man to the woman beside him. She saw
wing tips and a brown robe of a priestess. Rye’s wings tried to tighten
defensively. Her broken one stabbed a sharp pain into her back. The priestess
turned her head to stare back at Rye with an expression both bleak and
unforgiving. Her wings opened a little and quivered. Rye shrank into the chair.
She grabbed the wooden railing in front of her and clenched tight to anchor
herself against the surging desire to flee in terror. She had to remain in
control of herself. That priestess could not hurt her in this room.

Rye closed her eyes. She heard Mr. Summerbank talking, but tried to ignore him.
She needed to slow her breathing down to a calmer level. That blank period in a
police station had brought her here, and the blank period with her mother was
likely to determine the outcome of this hearing. Another blank period would be
tantamount to pulling the noose around her own neck.

The sylph lawyer for the Fairyland government started talking about the murder
of Penance, a matriarch of the Birdwood Valley Commune Farm Number Two.

Rye saw her mother dead at her feet. The urge to flee for her life had driven
the younger Rye to snatch up Holly and run. The Rye in the hearing room trembled
as her self-control frayed.

“Rye Woods,” Mr. Summerbank said, “was not present at this trial. She was not
afforded the opportunity to defend this charge in person or by proxy. I submit,
Your Sagacity, that a trial which proceeds without the presence or knowledge of
the defendant cannot be regarded as just in any sense of the word. I therefore
submit that it would be unjust and contrary to the moral and intellectual basis
of our own legal system to grant this so-called conviction the same weight as an
outcome of a trial by peers. Accordingly, I ask that this point be struck from
the repatriation application.”

“Madam Adjudicator.” The Fairyland lawyer stood. “The judicial system of
Fairyland is not on trial here. I contend that it is beyond the authority of
this hearing to pass judgement on the validity of the laws, and the means of
enforcing and enacting those laws, of a sovereign nation.”

Rye tried to ignore the words. She could do nothing about them. That was Mr.
Summerbank’s job. The only thing she could do to help herself was concentrate on
her breathing, hold onto the railing, and wrestle her fear down where it would
not overwhelm her into stupid action. She had to stay calm. Sweat dripped on her
lap with the effort. The words beat against her.

“A convicted murderess,” the sylph lawyer said, “also wanted on charges of
kidnapping a minor.”

Rye could imagine herself standing, turning, pushing past the guard and bursting
out the door.

“It would be unconscionable to send my client back to a life of slavery,” Mr.
Summerbank said.

“With all due respect to my learned colleague,” the sylph lawyer said, “his
language is more emotive than accurate. The term bond servant is used to
describe an individual who has been taken in by a temple and provided with not
only the necessities of life, but also counselling. We’re talking about troubled
individuals who have no other place to go. In an act of charity and caring, the
temples take in these people and attempt to give them a sense of purpose through
the development of a richer spiritual life and practical work schemes. This is
not slavery, Your Sagacity, it is a generous act of compassion and
rehabilitation.”

That slick bastard was twisting and warping everything. She wanted to hit him
hard. Make him hurt. Feel a little bit of her pain. The priestess looked past
him to Rye. Rye could almost hear the crack of the whip.

When the sylph lawyer started to summarise the reasons why Rye should be sent
back to Fairyland, he vilified her as a violent recidivist criminal whom no
decent society would want to let loose amongst law-abiding, tax-paying citizens.

Rye’s arm muscles ached with the continued effort of gripping the railing.

“Kidnapped a minor,” the sylph said.

Rye squeezed her eyes shut.

“Murdered her own mother,” he said.

Rye gritted her teeth.

“Fled to evade justice,” he said.

She had scooped up Holly and run for her life, despite knowing what they’d do if
they caught her. A dozen years would not lessen that. They were not going
through all this trouble to get her back to be lenient. They were going to kill
her. Rye’s body tensed beyond her control. She had to take two turns to get out
to the parking lot. Her thinking slowed and narrowed. She stood up.

“Rye!” Flora called.

Rye’s head snapped around. She saw Holly and Flora sitting together behind a
railing that divided off the back third of the room. Rye took a ragged breath.
Holly was here, but she was going to be safe from anything these bastards wanted
to do to her.

“Ms. Woods, you must resume your seat.”

Rye blinked at Mr. Summerbank and sucked in a deep breath. She was in court.

“Ms. Woods,” Mr. Summerbank said.

“Um. Sorry.”

“There are to be no interruptions from the gallery,” the adjudicator said. “Any
further disturbances will result in the removal of the offending parties.”

Rye sat down and ran her hand through her hair. Holly had heard it all. All that
stuff about what a terrible person Rye was and what she’d done to their mother.
When Rye turned a fearful look on Holly, her gaze snagged on Flora. She looked
pale and sad, just like last time in the gallery when Rye had said nothing and
let her walk away.

Mr. Summerbank resumed talking, trying to chip away at the lies the sylph had
said about Rye. Not all of it was lies. That was the problem.

Rye looked at the adjudicator. Well-groomed and powerful, that woman was going
to decide Rye’s fate. She read little hope in that granitic expression. She
turned back to Flora. This was probably the last time they would see each other.
She flicked her gaze to the priestess. One way or another, they were going to
kill her when they got her back. Rye knew it without a shadow of a doubt.

“Does your client have nothing to say, Mr. Summerbank?” the adjudicator said.

Flora looked tense and on the brink of tears as she watched Rye. The time had
passed when Rye could have gone to throw herself at Flora’s feet. What an
absolute idiot she’d been.

“Your Sagacity,” Mr. Summerbank said, “Ms. Woods has expressed the wish not to
–”

“They’re going to torture me to death,” Rye said.

“Ms. Woods? Do you wish to make a statement to this hearing?” the adjudicator
said.

“Yes, ma’am,” Rye said. “If you send me back, they’re going to kill me by
beating and whipping me.”

Rye glanced briefly at the priestess before returning her stare to Flora with
Holly beside her. “Because I’m gay.”

Flora bit her lip.

“My client would be liable to suffer persecution because of her sexual
orientation.” Mr. Summerbank grabbed a sheaf of papers that Vervain held up for
him.

“I’m gay.” Rye felt strangely calm as she returned Flora’s stare. “They didn’t
cure me. It didn’t work. In fact, I’m worse than I ever was. I’ve never loved
any woman like I do now. So, when I go back, they’re going to try to save me by
scourging this evil from me.”

“Might I submit this evidence,” Mr. Summerbank said, “gathered by creditable
international humanitarian organizations detailing the abuse of –”

“After they made me watch them scourging Chastity,” Rye said to Flora, “I ran
away from the temple. But they caught me and took me back. They said they would
beat the evil out of me. Maybe it was in the blood that runs from the cuts. I
was never sure how it worked. But they didn’t do it. Not at first.”

Rye could feel the panic hovering again, pressing, fed by the memories. She kept
her attention fixed on Flora, her calm in the centre of the storm.

“They had to punish me for running away first,” Rye said. “They tied me to a
table with rope around my wrists and ankles. I couldn’t move. Two priestesses
grabbed my wings and pulled them open. This other priestess brought in a club. A
big, heavy, rounded wooden club. I thought she was going to hit me with it. But
they didn’t. They put it under the top section of my wing support and pressed
down either side until my wing support snapped. Then they moved the club down to
the next section.”

Flora put her hand over her mouth.

“They broke every section,” Rye said. “I screamed a lot. And wanted to faint.
But I didn’t. Not until they cut me loose and carried me out. But they weren’t
finished with me. You see, they made sure that the broken sections of my wings
didn’t set straight. They’re bent and weak. My wings won’t support my weight.
It’s so I could never use my wings in another escape attempt. But when I did
run, I used my legs. And that worked fine.”

“Are you saying, Ms. Woods,” the adjudicator asked, “that you fear this form of
physical torture should you be returned to Fairyland?”

“No, ma’am,” Rye said. “It’ll probably be much worse.”

“Your Sagacity!” The sylph stood. “This is all highly emotive and
unsubstantiated.”

Rye glanced at the frowning priestess before returning her attention to Flora.

“When I’d healed,” Rye said, “I was fit to be cured of liking women. Because
that was evil. An offence against the gods. I was never sure why. It felt right
to me. Nothing has ever felt more right than loving the most wonderful woman in
Infinity.”

Flora looked like she shed a tear.

“But the priestesses didn’t see it that way,” Rye said. “Their duty was to save
me. So they tied me standing up between two posts at the front of the temple.
They read these prayers and got everyone chanting a song while they whipped me.
Praying for me, you see. While the whip cut into my back to force the evil out.
It wasn’t an ordinary whip. Not one long thong. This had six or seven short
strands. About this long. They cut through my wing membranes. I could feel blood
running down my legs. And saw it on my feet.”

Rye could see tears running down Flora’s cheeks.

“I pretended that it worked,” Rye said. “Lied. I had to. Because I couldn’t go
through it all again. I was too scared and hurt too much. I didn’t think I could
take it again. So, I told them that I saw how terrible it was, what I’d done
with Chastity in the robing room. And how I was perverting the gods’ creation by
denying my womanhood and not having children. I said everything they wanted to
hear.”