The Fate of an Artist
So, yeah, more inane writings.
https://40.media.tumblr.com/5fc03557c8cb5c5832abd601f640287e/tumblr_inline_o38ilxoOJ11u1tb89_540.png “How much longer must this continue?” The rumble of Kogo Sanjiro filled the silent council chamber.
Master Kusho’s silvery mane bristled as air filled his lungs and he let out a low exhale, not out of impatience. This was the third day the ruling council of Zhyun had deliberated the fate of the mass murderer Khada Jhin, the man Kusho himself apprehended a week prior. The third day, but Kusho would not force the council’s decision. Khada Jhin had terrorized their province; Kusho came at their request. He could not pass judgment as their guest.
“Khada Jhin stands accused of murdering dozens, and the desecration of their bodies,” Kogo reinstated. “The province has never known bloodshed such as this. Why an appropriate judgment has not yet been reached is beyond my comprehension.”
Mistress Masami responded. “Because we cannot put Khada Jhin to death, as you desire. Execution is not our way. Killing a killer accomplishes nothing beyond despoiling oneself and assuming their taint.” She brushed aside a wayward lock. “Khada Jhin must face justice to its full extent.”
“Justice?” Kogo’s voice showed perfect restraint, never once raising it. He extended his hand. “What of justice for his victims, and their families? Do we not disservice them by keeping him alive?”
“Death cannot atone for death,” a third voice piped, belonging to one Morri Taki. “Killing Khada Jhin will not return those poor souls to life.”
“Jhin must stand trial, and face imprisonment,” Masami affirmed.
Broad-shouldered Lord Endoso, seated across from Kogo, turned toward Masami, looming. “You would afford Khada Jhin human rights when he has revoked all claims to human decency.” He turned again to address the rest of the table. “For years, he terrorized the province as the Golden Demon. That, I think, is more in line with his nature—”
“Khada Jhin is no demon,” Master Kusho broke his silence at last, but quietly. All eyes turned, ears open to the master of the esteemed Kinkou. Kusho breathed once more. “Khada Jhin is no monster,” he said evenly. “He is just a man.”
“A deeply-disturbed man,” Endoso amended.
Kogo let out a deliberate sigh. “I do not propose putting Khada Jhin to death out of some misplaced sense of justice, but to ensure the safety of others.” He gestured to the rest of the council. “We cannot afford him to escape and kill again, not one more person. We still do not know whether or not he had an accomplice who might free him.”
“A man like Khada Jhin would not tolerate a partner in the broadest sense,” Kusho refuted flatly. He had spent four years tracking Jhin, four long years dissecting crime scene after crime scene. Jhin saw himself as an artist, and no artist, no matter how genial, could ever think someone else could share their exact views—and Jhin reveled in the attention his “art” netted. He would not abide sharing it. “I know this for certain.”
“It remains a valid point, still,” said Endoso. “Imprisonment comes with its risks. A prisoner may escape, but the cost of feeding and maintaining them is a certainty…”
“A single man will not burden a prison,” Morri Taki said. “It is well within my power at the least, if not yours.”
Endoso grimaced at the remark. “Are you volunteering then?“ he asked, an edge creeping into his voice. “I am sure your house-guests would be thrilled to learn that you keep the Golden Demon downstairs in your cellar.”
The fifth member of the council, Yamabe Kyoden, commanded, “Enough.” The combatants immediately sobered. “These squabbles get us nowhere,” Kyoden said. “I vote for an hour’s adjournment. Perhaps then our heads will be clearer?”
The council members exchanged glances, but mumbled agreement.
Kyoden nodded. “Then we will meet in an hour’s time. Adjourned.”
Bodies pushed away from the table and shuffled toward the door. Kyoden had remained seated. As Kusho rose from his seat, his bones ached in protest. The hunt for Khada Jhin had taken a toll. He felt years older than he should have.
“Please remain, Master Kusho,” Kyoden asked with polite firmness. “I must speak with you.”
Again, Kusho’s bones complained, but he sat.
Once the doors to the chamber closed behind the last of the councilors, Kyoden’s sides heaved in exasperation. “What am I to do, Master Kusho? They bicker incessantly at this impasse. I’ve abstained from casting my vote for this long in the hope that time would sway me in either’s favor. But we have gone nowhere. I do not know what to do.”
Kusho considered it all. For the moment, Khada Jhin was incarcerated at Tuula Prison, where he had left him. It was meant to be temporary, at least until the Zhyun Council decided Jhin’s ultimate fate. Kusho wanted to leave the decision to them, but three days seemed gratuitous. A decision needed to be made. He would choose, even if it meant favoring one party over another, against the tenets of his order.
“Kyoden, what punishment does murder entail?” Kusho asked.
The councilmember’s eyebrows furrowed. “A life sentence.”
“Khada Jhin is a murderer. Others have been imprisoned for much the same. Jhin is also a mortal man. He does not possess supernatural powers that complicate containing him. He cannot escape an attentive prison guard any more easily than another man might. Meanwhile, the death penalty has not been observed in Ionia for decades. Employing any long-since neglected practice without forewarning will cause disquiet, in the province and beyond; it could have dire consequences. Let Khada Jhin remain in Tuula for life. Ensure he does not escape—dead or alive, he can only harm another living being if he is allowed to.”
BEHOLD: The product of several hours' work, when I should have been doing other things, like studying or planning what to eat. I first thought of writing this a little over a week ago, and until today, it was nothing more than a few incoherent lines and rattled-off thoughts. I'm actually sort of proud that I managed to write this. I get caught up in the details so often, I hardly ever get progress past those initial disjointed thoughts, which itself discourages me from writing. I'd feel good if it didn't take so darn long to write it; my afternoon disappeared.
