White Heart of Justice by Jill Archer

White Heart of Justice by Jill Archer

Author:Jill Archer
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 2014-05-27T05:00:00+00:00


* * *

We reached Corterra’s bailey gaol on our fifth day out.

I knew about bailey gaols from all the bailiff cases and commentaries I’d read earlier this semester. The Old Trail we were traveling on had been part of the Old Justice Circuit that Metatron had traveled. It was hard to imagine an Angel traveling through this area in an oxcart with a stone statue of Justica in the back. But in the early middle ages, the Old Trail wasn’t half as inhospitable as it is now. The permafrost hadn’t crept this far north yet, nor had the rogare demons. Everyone was still finding their place in the postwar world. My understanding was that things were very catch-as-catch-can in those days, with everyone—man, demons, and even the ice—gearing up to stake their claim. Seven outposts were built in southern Halja from the first century through the turn of the first millennium. And each of those outposts had erected a bailey gaol.

Made of stone and petrified wood, they served as a courthouse, post office, library, and gaol. In Metatron’s day, he likely would have wheeled his oxcart right into the bailey, unveiled Justica’s statue, and declared himself open for business. But when Metatron died (and his oxcart and statue went to the Divinity), the bailey gaols continued. And for the next three hundred years justice was meted out at them by a set of always-available, though deplorable Sanguine Scales and the more upstanding, but infrequently seen Maegesters who rode the Old Justice Circuit. At least until that fateful day in 1305 when the last group of traveling Maegesters were killed by rogares and the Old Justice Circuit was abolished. By then there were only a few outposts left anyway and by the fifteen hundreds those were gone too. Over the next few hundred years, the snow crept north and buried the outposts. Now, the exact locations of their other buildings, inhabitants, and individual histories have been all but forgotten.

When I saw the crossroads outside of Corterra’s bailey gaol, I told Rafe I wanted to stop. Partly, it was because the winds were increasing, the temperature was dropping, and the sky was darkening with the threat of an oncoming storm. I figured, if a massive blizzard was headed our way, it would be better to take shelter in a building made of stone than a tent made of leather. But the other reason was that I’d seen this crossroads before. In the same place that I’d seen the larger version of the little white starred whelp—Demeter’s perennial magic spring. Seeing the Old Trail fork in three different directions gave me goose bumps, but only because it felt so odd to recognize a place I’d never been to. I knew that the forks led to three of the other abandoned outposts: East Blast, West Blast, and Tartarus. But knowing this was just an ordinary crossroads didn’t make seeing it any less eerie. It seemed to hum with dormant energy.

Was Corterra infused with perennial



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