Free Judge by R.J. Larson Page B

jailor and Jon both looked disappointed. A sharp tap on the door caused them to straighten. Members of the city’s council filed in, men and women in long formal robes. As if eager to evade attention, Jailor Amak whisked Ruestock out and quietly closed the door.
    Jon nodded to Selwin, who picked up his writing utensil, then Jon addressed the council. “Thank you for meeting on such short notice. The Tracelands appreciates your time. I am Commander Jon Thel, and this is Ela, Prophet of Parne.”
    Ela noticed their shifting gazes and stances. Like childrencaught in wrongdoing. When Jon eyed her, prompting her silently, Ela asked, “Why are you endangering the Tracelands’ treaty with Istgard by demanding more than the Istgardians can provide? They are restoring your city as agreed. But the wall—which is something Ytar should have built generations ago—did not exist during Istgard’s attack. The Infinite demands an explanation. Why are you causing such trouble now?”
    After an uncomfortable silence, a thin, officious councilwoman pursed her lips, then sniffed, “We believe they owe us a wall. We are thinking of our children.”
    His tone ice, Jon said, “You’re being greedy. Your country negotiated with its new allies in mutual good faith. You accepted those terms—excellent terms! If you want a wall, you must give up at least half the new buildings. Or would you prefer to return all the money Istgard paid you in restitution?”
    The council members began to squabble. Ela shut her eyes, foreseeing a long night.

    A headache brought Kien into awareness. Pain. Absolute darkness. And the realization that he was drawing breath. Seaweed-scented breath, perhaps, but it was better than none. “Ugh.” His arms and legs felt unbearably heavy. Dead.
    Struggling to work life into his limbs, Kien twisted within his black confines. Nauseating rotten-fish stench surrounded him, and—from the slippery, taut feel of it—mucoused muscle. Still in the sea monster’s gullet. Why was he even alive? “Infinite, why have You saved me?”
    He’d deserved to die for his disobedience. Still deserved punishment. Yet now . . .
    If the Infinite allowed him to live, he would fulfill his Creator’s commands, whatever they might be. He would praise the Infinite to anyone who would listen. He would listen.
    He would obey.
    The monster lurched, its muscles tightening around Kien asif the beast realized he was still alive and intended to crush him. The sea beast heaved, its surrounding muscles contracting with such force that Kien yelled—and regretted it amid a mouthful of seaweed-and-bile-tasting mucous. Before he could spit, the monster’s muscles constricted again. Violently. Hurtling Kien through the beast’s gullet and open jaws, shooting him like a projectile into blindingly brilliant morning light. And fresh air.
    He landed face-down in hard-packed sand, earning a mouthful of grit. “Ugh!” Eyes watering, Kien spat out the sand and looked around, squinting. Breathing. Burning with pain from scalp to heel, but alive. Truly alive. He’d been heaved up on shore. Living vomit. Something he’d never aspired to be. But wasn’t it better to be sea-monster vomit than sea-monster excrement? “Infinite . . . thank You!”
    His voice was a croak. A rasping mockery of itself. He coughed, cleared his throat, then hacked mucous, his entire body screaming with the effort. Undeserving of existence. “Thank You!” Trembling, Kien prostrated himself on the sand and wept. “I failed! I deserved no mercy yet You pardoned me!” He felt his Creator’s presence now, cloak-like and calming, surrounding him. Promising a new beginning. Divine and unmerited amnesty to a headstrong rebel. “Whatever You command, I will do! I am Your servant!”
    As his eyes adjusted to the sun’s brightness, Kien finally looked out at the ocean. The sea beast was thrashing amid the onrushing blue-green waves, working itself into deeper waters. A unique,