The Inquistition

"Captain, her story matched what we saw. The Jougolin was spooked. Why would she lie about that?" Hakota insists. 

"To gain your trust!" The Captain snaps back, his gauntleted fist slams onto the table. The sudden impact sends a tremor through the room, rattling the mugs of tea. "To seem harmless! And you fell for it!"

I instinctively flinch, my eyes fall to my hands clasped in my lap.

The guards shift nervously once again, their faces flicking between me and their superior.

"That’s enough, Roach. You’re making this personal." The stout old man’s voice chimes in finally, shaking his hand in a dismissive manner. He hasn't raised his voice, but the entire room falls silent.

A palpable change occurs in the atmosphere. It's as if the sound of the fire crackling, the wind whistling outside, and even our own heartbeats have been muted by his sheer presence.

He commands the room with an unshakable, authority that seems to emanate from every orifice of his body.

The captain turns, his expression of fury softening into one of begrudging respect. "Chief Orville..."

The chief's eyes, lazy and coveted, meet mine. There’s no accusation in them, only a penetrating curiosity. 

"A young woman finds herself in a strange land, hunted by beasts, and is granted the miracle of kindness." Chief Orville’s words are so simple but they harbour an eloquence only bestowed through years of sacrifice. "Your suspicion is wise Roach, but it should not be aimed blindly."

He turns his attention fully to me, and I feel a strange sense of calm wash over me. 

"You say you were travelling when you were attacked by a Jougolin. And that you fell into the river and that the water somehow saved you?"

I shake my head up and down, trying to keep my expression neutral and my breathing even. 

This improvisation requires more nuance than simply appearing frightened. I need to be honest, but also try to keep to my original script. 

"Yes, Chief Orville I was travelling across the country with a small party of fellow travellers when we were attacked. I… I was disoriented, and in pain from my ankle. I’m not entirely sure how I survived, but the river did seem to offer some protection." 

The Chief seems to be satisfied with that response.

"The report from the guards says you must have followed them for some time before revealing yourself at the gate. If you were injured and in need of help, why not call out to them in the forest? They would have helped you." Orville says earnestly. 

The question is direct, but not hostile. This is the moment, the pivot upon which my entire story will either stand or collapse. The practiced lines of the desperate nomad are not enough for this man; he wants a truth that makes sense.

"I… I was afraid." I admit, my voice barely grasping at the words. I twist the fabric of the borrowed nightgown in my lap.

"Afraid of the Jougolin?" the Chief prompts gently.

"No," I say, looking up to meet his gaze. "I was afraid of your men."

Captain Roach lets out a derisive snort. "Afraid of the Town Guard? We protect people!"

The Chief raises a single hand, silencing Roach without a glance. "Let her speak."

I take a shaky breath, the memory of a thousand late-night walks home, keys clutched between my fingers, rise to the surface. It’s a fear so ingrained it has travelled across worlds with me. 

"I was a woman, alone, in a forest I did not know, with nothing but the clothes on my back. Then, I see three men. They are large, armed, and confident in their surroundings. I am a small, injured stranger. Under the lights of a village, there are rules. There are witnesses. There is… an aud-." I stop, realizing my theatrical term might sound strange here. 

"There are other people. But out there, in the quiet of the woods… it is just their word against mine. And I am nothing but a stranger to them. Who would believe me if… if something were to happen?"

The room is deathly quiet. 

Elara looks at me with a deep, sorrowful understanding in her eyes. Hakota stares at the floor, a flicker of shame on his face, as if he’s realizing for the first time how he and his men might appear to a vulnerable stranger.

"My parents…" I continue, the words tumble out, raw and unpracticed. 

"They always taught me to be cautious. Our life was very small, very simple. They gave me a limited education, mostly stories and warnings meant to keep me "safe". They expected me to live a life just like theirs. So, the idea of approaching three armed men, no matter their title, goes against every warning I’ve ever been given."

Chief Orville’s brow furrows slightly. He leans forward, his elbows on his knees, steepling his fingers. It seems he has found a loose thread in my story. 

"I see. That is a very… prudent way to think. But it presents a contradiction, does it not? You told my men you were a nomad, one who has travelled widely. How can a person be both a wide-travelled nomad and someone with a limited, sheltered education, unprepared for the world? The two ideas do not seem to live in the same house. Can you explain that to me, Shikara?"

He’s cornered me, not with anger, but with simple, undeniable logic. My carefully constructed persona is cracking.

"They don’t seem to fit, you’re right. When I say I’ve travelled, perhaps it is not in the way you imagine. I didn’t have teachers or books to guide me. My parents taught me to be quiet, to watch, and to listen. So that's what I did."

I look around at their faces watching me. "My travels were a necessity, not a luxury. I moved from place to place, looking for work, for a meal, for a safe place to sleep. My learning came from observation."

It’s the truth of an actress, reframed for this world. I am always observing, always studying people to better portray them. Here, that skill becomes a tool for survival.

"So yes, I have seen many towns and met many kinds of people. But I have always been on the outside, looking in. My knowledge of the world is a patchwork, sewn together from scraps I’ve picked up along the way. My caution is not born from cowardice, but from experience."

I finish, my chest tight from the stream of consciousness that has just vacated my airways. 

I’ve laid myself bare, or at least, a version of myself I hope they can accept. 

Chief Orville is silent for a long moment. 

He is reading me, not just my words, but the story behind them.