PUNISHMENT

Some said it was a mistake. Some said it was ridiculous. Some said it was justice. Most said nothing. Ontos, though facing death, was more disgusted than afraid. From his cage at the center of the arena where he now squatted, he looked up at the spectators most of whom – respecting the possibilities of the immediate extension of his situation to them – avoided looking at him. He was especially sensitive to the avoidance of the Holy Ja whose fibrillating ego was the immediate cause of Ontos’ pending demise. It was not as though the Indigo were the least bit careful about taking Juta’s name in vain. An oath would not have been the same without it – by Juta! But Ontos had been in the wrong place at the wrong time and now he was going to die for it. He wondered if the same smells of blood and sweat that were nauseating him now rose up from the arena floor into the arena stands. Did the spectators get to savor with all of their senses? At the moment, he was having difficulty accessing any memory of his own spectator experience. Hearing the brass herald, he twisted around to peer up at the commotion accompanying the entrance of King Bakedof. Though surrounded by his guards, the King wore a short sword and gloves. Everyone had risen at his entrance and now – at his gesture – they again took their seats. Ontos looked again at the Holy Ja, catching his eye before it was rudely turned away and fastened instead with a rising of his chin upon the giant felines – four of them – held in restraint by leashes whose other ends were in the tight grip of a giant brindle Hirsute. The felines moved smoothly in slow motion, were yellow and seemed more like children’s toys until they opened their mouths and roared with a brandishing of teeth. Ontos wondered whether they would swallow him when he was dead or while he was still alive.

Confounded by fate’s reversal, Ontos appreciated that he had probably been just as these spectators were now: seeking most of all to get the best seat with just enough space between him and his friends on the bench for the food they munched while others fought for their lives. He checked for chewing. No chewing yet. Usually no one started eating until the first blood was drawn. Why did they do that? Vicarious cannibalism? He laughed out loud when his stomach growled. The cage in which Ontos squatted was placed dead center of the arena floor so that no one could miss seeing the malefactor. His crime would be announced and his fate would be witnessed. He would be made an example. He wore no clothes because from the moment he was condemned he became a beast, his fellow Indigo being discouraged from regarding him as a creature like themselves. His execution, therefore, would be both  incidental and a  warning because – actually – he was clearly just like them.

The arena games began with the posing and touring of the combatants. Leading the parade was the brindle Hirsute with his four felines. Following him were two Tarhun adolescents, baby captives raised in a grooming fort to health, heartiness, rigor, vigor, style, pomp, circumstance, the glories of victory, and the glories of a long life – if they were good. Behind them came a very tall, very old Scorite. He was good and proved it by showing off his keloid scars, the place where his left big toe had been and the  concavity  in his right  upper back.  He was old. He was alive. He was good.

Ontos  watched them with an interest different from that of the spectators. He wondered not so much who would be left standing but which one of these would be his executioner, for Ontos knew that no matter how well he did – even if he was very good – he would not be permitted to live. The Holy Ja had seen to the details. Ontos suspected it was the priest’s time of the month.

The procession halted in a line facing Ontos’ cage. He watched the felines strain at their leashes, saliva dripping from their mouths, eight golden eyes fixed on him, their loud purring sounding like a small surf. Ontos loved the sound of the surf. He was hoping that when he was called forth from the cage that he could manage an elegant bow to the crowd, something to show them that he was not afraid and that he had contempt for the entire proceeding. He hoped he could choreograph his death so that flying blood would splatter the Holy Ja. It would be worth his effort to try. Then he heard the silence. Directly behind the halted procession, but safely above them all in the Judges Box, an official cried out.

“Ontos Qua, crawl from your cage and stand before us.”

Ontos crawled from the cage and squatted with his injactu in full view dangling long and lively in the dust. He thought he heard some compliments.

“Ontos Qua, you will stand. Do it now.”

Ontos stood and bowed from the waist. Coming up, he stole a peek at the Holy Ja whose cheeks were puffed and red, whose lips were trembling, whose eyes were wide. Ontos suspected that the sight of his magnificent injactu – even very dusty – had given the priest an orgasm. The official continued.

“Ontos Qua, you have been charged with and convicted of blasphemy. It was witnessed, testified to and confirmed that while performing your labors as a carpenter, you repeatedly took Juta’s name in vain, each time corresponding to your striking your thumb in lieu of the intended nail. When a devout worshiper brought this to your attention, you made the remark that conte was not the only proper enclosure for Juta and recommended various orifices of the worshiper’s person. When the worshiper appealed to the Holy Ja, you were heard to say that the Holy Ja was an orifice. You made no attempt to deny these allegations and, in fact, progressed in your transgression. For this reason, the pronouncement of the Holy Ja is that you be put to death in the arena.”

During this speech, Ontos looked straight at the Holy Ja who sat with his head bowed in prayer, his hands tightly clasped under his nose. The relentlessness of Ontos’ stare penetrated  the  composure of the Holy Ja and he looked up in time to receive the gesture of a silent kiss. This kiss was the last thing that Ontos did of his own volition because at that moment he was charged by one of the Tarhun youths who took the opportunity of the kiss’ distraction to knock Ontos’ legs from under him. Ontos fell back into the cage and rammed down the grate. Quitting the felines’ leashes, the brindle Hirsute threw himself at the cage while the Tarhuns and the Scorite now became engaged with the freed felines. Ontos’ amusement at this was supplanted by the battle graces of the Tarhun youths who had fencing matches going between their head’s hair braid weapon and the felines’ paws. Ontos briefly wondered if the felines did not think it all a game. His fascination was also with the strength of the Hirsute who bodily lifted Ontos and his protecting cage and hurled it against  the ground  which had  the effect  of breaking  it all to pieces and restoring

dignity to Ontos’ battle stance.

No longer able to hide behind the bars, Ontos looked for a way out even though he knew there was none. He felt some amusement because his situation was so desperate and because the Hirsute had been attacked by one of his own felines. Just for a moment Ontos was free of attackers but then a spectator hit him in the head with a piece of raw meat and blood was drawn by a feline swiping at the meat and catching Ontos’ face in the process. Somehow Ontos had not expected his face to be the first piece of him to go and it made him very sad when he realized that he was seeing through a red curtain of only one eye. The other he could feel dangling wet on his cheek. He did not have the courage to actually touch it to be sure.

Observing that the yellow fluff had retired to the sidelines to play with the meat, Ontos laughed hysterically and incredulously but was still alert enough to floor the big old Scorite with an elbow body-whirled into his chest. The felines were a blessing because they were very attracted to the Tarhuns’ braids and had settled down to occupy themselves with serious play. The Hirsute appeared to be losing battle to the third feline which while he had the Hirsute on the ground under him, had ripped out a chunk of the Brindle Hirsute's arm. The crowd was on its feet shaking blue fists in the air and screaming “Kill!” but no one was doing that just yet. The Scorite was Ontos’ only immediate problem. Trying to keep everyone within view, Ontos backed up consciously aligning himself with the Holy Ja, still hoping to share with the priest some of the action. As Ontos backed up, the Scorite followed him, moving his fists like a boxer and managed to land a blow to Ontos’ jaw which Ontos exchanged with a back-up running tackle that brought the Scorite down in the vicinity of the meat eating feline who had just swallowed and took the opportunity with his freed mouth to latch onto the Scorite’s face. The Scorite’s scream confirmed Ontos’ good luck but he was unprepared to see the Scorite give battle by tightening his hands around the feline’s throat. Ontos had only a moment to be enthralled by the equality of the struggle, when he was again knocked down, this time by the Hirsute swinging the dead body of a feline whose neck he had just broken. Even though it was dead, its claws raked across Ontos’ back in a last gesture of attack and Ontos dropped to his knees panting. The Hirsute then picked up Ontos and threw him to the ground. There was a loud snapping sound.

Ontos could not feel his left leg. Crawling on his right and dragging his left leg, he was pretty sure he would soon die and again attempted to line himself up with the Holy Ja although he was having trouble locating him through the remaining bloody eye. He could hear roaring but was not sure if he were surrounded by the felines or the crowd was doing a cadence thing. Then something rough and dry wiped his face followed by an unbelievably excruciating pain and the ripping of something from inside his head. He screamed realizing that the blinded eye had just been pulled from its socket by one of the felines who was running away with it. They liked to play these fur balls but it hurt. The Hirsute’s fuzzy furry form appeared in front of Ontos at the same time that a Tarhun braid whipped itself around his feet. A second braid secured itself around his throat with the head end under his chin and pulled his head back with a snap. After that, he felt nothing. Without any sensation of movement, his remaining eye looked passingly into the eyes of the Hirsute who had obviously lifted him and appeared to hold him like a bundle against his chest. Ontos knew he had moved upward when the handsome face of the living King looked back at him, his sparkling eyes on either side of the shiny sharp point of the short sword. Ontos knew that the blunt fingers in his hair wore gloves. At the same moment that he cried out at the pulling of his hair he saw the tip of the sword drop away from the King’s face.

The only way Ontos knew his body to have been severed from his head was that he was now – in a rapid circular motion – canvassing the ebullient crowd with his bloodied remaining eye which went out just as the Holy Ja threw up.

(Excerpt from Pre Yata Feast Part Two)

(Copyright 2015 by Renee Foss)