[quote=@Odin]
Najla’s explanation did little for the men in the tent, as they had had no expectations regarding the inscription. However, the explanation as to the [i]true[/i] meaning of the words and its purpose were far more enlightening. It brought a grin to Najla’s face, for she had flattered him more than she knew – in fact, she had probably anticipated to insult him, but it was more the opposite. He glanced at the merchant and his sons, speaking when Najla had offered her initial explanation. [i]‘’Djinn is what she – they – called me. And supposedly what they would call you, were you to travel here. So great is our prowess that they need their god to protect them from us.’’[/i] When she requested to leave, Ketill waved his hand in a bored manner, completely inattentive to Najla’s needs. As far as he was concerned she was still a free person, just like Basim and Yasamin. She did not need his approval for anything – though, she was likely wise enough to know that she needed him to stay around. Just like when they had originally travelled through Broacien, he would not care if she tried to escape. He knew that she’d find her death that way. 

But the title she gave him when she gave back the ring struck a nerve with him, and he would attempt to reach back before she left, grabbing at her clothing but missing by an inch. He grunted at this, but did not pursue her further. ‘’Thief’’ was a title far more dishonourable than anything, and most of all, it was untrue even. [i]‘’Didn’t ‘’steal’’ it. Killed a family for it.’’[/i] He glanced at Basim then, who was there, outside the walls, when he had done so. [i]‘’I needed their water and cloaks. Where they are now, they won’t need it anymore. Fought for it – and earned it. I’m no thief.’’[/i] 

He could not tell what Basim thought about it, but also knew that it mattered not what the boy thought. When Najla had left, one of the younger boys had gone with her, as was expected. No words were spilt on it either – the boy just did it on his own. A good boy, that, Ketill thought. The family must’ve been raised well as, even in their wealth, the sons had been made into warriors before anything else. Not that there were any other options – even a merchant was at risk here, and if it was not the winter that could kill you, it were the others. A bloodfeud was easily unchained and hard to settle before the occurrence of the althingi. The one difference was that many of the northern and central tribes moved around in their tents, but merchants like this one lived in the south and frequently lived in small wooden huts. They were more protected, but it was easier to find them as they never left their spots. 

His eyes returned to the merchant then, who seemed eager to hear more about these lands. [i]‘’There are many houses like these, in those lands. The desert is harsh and you need a guide to get through it, much like the north for us. You can die if you don’t know what you are doing. Someone like…’’[/i] He didn’t finish the sentence and merely gestured with his head towards Basim and Yasamin. It would almost seem like he was trying to create value in the two, something that they would desperately need to survive here, as men and women were counted according to merit and usefulness, [i]not[/i] their blood. [i]‘’But even then, the road is too long from here, and you’d lose all your profits before you even returned. It’s worth it, however, for the wisdom.’’[/i]

Once again wisdom reared its head as a factor for doing things. The focus on wisdom seemed ever present and, in fact, any action could be motivated by it. [i]‘’There are many things that can be learned there, but you will find no wealth in them. An endeavour perhaps better suited to your sons, who are still young and can use the fame from such travel.’’[/i] 

Ketill was about to continue when the man’s son returned, with Najla being pushed out in front of him into the tent. Ketill fell silent and his eyes fell upon Najla first, then the boy. When he was handed the dagger and given an explanation, Ketill took it and nodded at him, thankful for his service. He held the dagger up, eyeing it curiously before looking at Basim. There was a flash of anger in his eyes, something that he had not felt towards Basim before, before he glanced at the young boy, who had rejoined his brothers. [i]‘’Should’ve let her do it,’’[/i] he answered him finally, in retort to his claim that she’d tried to cut herself. It earned a grin from the other sons, but this was quickly replaced when jealousy when Ketill pushed out his arm quickly and threw the dagger towards the boy. What was originally Basim’s was now his, and the gold-inlaid ceremonial dagger was a prize of prestige to be sure. [i]‘’Consider it a payment for your service, though I did not ask you to. I suppose that in return you can serve as a witness for the althingi. There’s no greater admission of guilt than trying to kill yourself.’’[/i]

The merchant nodded at this, and although it wasn’t exactly a ‘’rule’’ that someone who tried to kill themselves admitted guilt, it was not hard to see why her act could be seen as such. But, this would indicate there were ‘’rules’’ to begin with and although there most certainly were, they were not written anywhere and most commoners, like the merchant and like Ketill, were not aware of the rules at all. In fact, the only ones who knew the rules and laws of court and society were the judges, who spent years in hermitage to study them, learn them by memory and recite them. No scriptures, no lawbooks. Just memory.

And despite that, the judges were the most trustworthy people to exist in society, and the only people who you could trust to be up front and honest. Perhaps because they did not have to fear for winter or thieves – none would dare touch them because that’d be inciting the wrath of the gods themselves.

[i]‘’I will be your witness then,’’[/i] the boy answered, seemingly eager to take a place in front of the judges. It would be a good way to show his face and make his name known. [i]‘’Thank you for the dagger.’’[/i]

Ketill waved that last remark away too, but with less disinterest than he’d waved Najla away. [i]‘’Just don’t use it for anything other than cutting bread or looking good. It’s weak, made for ceremonies, not fighting.’’[/i]

[i]‘’Ceremonies? Like the blood sacrifices?’’[/i]

[i]‘’No,’’[/i] Ketill laughed, [i]‘’feasts the size of Broacien, with gold and splendour.’’[/i]

[i]‘’Gold?’’[/i]

[i]‘’The yellow stuff on the dagger. A weak but rare metal. They have plenty of it, and we have none.’’[/i]

[i]‘’Well,’’[/i] the boy then answered, holding up the dagger for all to see. [i]‘’We have some now.’’[/i]

Ketill grinned at this, and the two brothers that did not receive a gift looked on, even more jealous than before. [i]‘’I should take my leave now, but I thank you for your hospitality. I need to find a place to slee-’’[/i]

[i]‘’Nonsense, the tent is big enough, so you and them will stay here. For the next three days, you will tell us stories, and they will tell us of their lands, and in return you can stay here. That sounds fair to me.’’[/i] The merchant seemed determined to attach Ketill’s name to his own, and although Ketill was wary to become connected to anyone at this point, he also felt reluctant to sleep in the snow. So, Ketill nodded, and smiled politely. 

[i]‘’Very well.’’[/i]

Over the course of the next three days, Ketill, Basim, Najla and Yasamin were fed and taken care of, even given extra furs when the nights were too cold. Ketill had denied, as he was quickly becoming accustomed to his homeland climate, and the fire that was kept going constantly helped with that too. Their hospitality seemed to know no bounds and, despite their exotic status, as well as being seen as ‘servants’ or outsiders, Najla, Basim and Yasamin were treated as equals. It must have been strange for them, as it was almost customary among the Sawarim to treat the slaves like dirt under your feet, yet here they were seemingly not better or worse than even the merchant himself. A rule they would come to understand later in time, perhaps. 

It was three days later, also, that the althingi reconvened. Ketill and Najla were brought forwards. It was not uncommon for the althingi to last this long, although it was uncommon for it to take this long for a singular case as simple as this one. The eldest among the judges would speak first, standing up as Ketill and Najla were both in their respective stands. [i]‘’After careful deliberation we have decided to continue the hearing, as there is no precedent for settling the disputes of outsiders and those who have been away for so long. We would be ready to pass judgement, lest you wish to call on witnesses to strengthen your case?’’[/i]

Ketill nodded at this and gestured to the left, where the young boy was stood, the ceremonial dagger that was originally Basim’s hanging from his belt. People watched in awe as the young boy walked up, being no older than eighteen and yet already having such an expensive weapon. It was very rare that you would see northerner with iron weapons, let alone such a fancy dagger made of gold and weak steel, the imposing nature of which was only strengthened by the jewel inlaid on the pommel. It was undecidedly useless in combat, but that mattered little since the people here had never seen such a thing, much less would they know of the properties.

[i]‘’This boy here was witness to her as she tried to kill herself,’’[/i] Ketill announced it, which caused a gasp of shock to rouse around the althingi. Suicide was seen as the lowest of deaths and, in their faith, was doomed to an eternity spent lingering in Hel itself, on the worst of places. 

[i]‘’Yes, ‘tis true. She had this blade at her neck,’’[/i] he said while holding up the dagger, before letting it fall against his leg again, held up by a leather strap. [i]‘’She said something in her strange language, and I was just in time to stop her. She fought back, and even bit me, but I managed to restrain her.’’[/i]

The judges nodded, and one of them stood up and asked further. [i]‘’Do you think the words she spoke were seidr, magic?’’[/i] 

Another stood up then, and joined him. [i]‘’Did it strike you as something a Völva does?’’[/i]

The boy looked at Najla then, and despite his anger at her for biting him, he shook his head. [i]‘’No. She’s no völva. There were no runes or anything.’’[/i]

It seemed that despite what Najla or Basim would’ve thought, the hearing would be quite fair, as Ketill himself had little leverage here. Although the stories of his trip would be interesting to many, he also had little in the shape of connections or fame, which would be a problem when it came to trusting his word over hers. 

[i]‘’Any further witnesses?’’[/i] the leader of the judges asked, and Ketill shook his head, to which he looked at Najla. It seemed now that she would also be given the chance to call on witnesses – though those would likely be limited to Basim and Yasamin, and Yasamin’s usefulness was something Ketill himself doubted too.



[/quote]

[quote=@persianversion]
It was unbearable for Najla to wait out those next few days, despite how comfortable their hosts had tried to make them. For one, the cold was even worse than her nights in the castle, and she’d spent much of her time huddled under those thick furs, which seemed slightly amusing to those who were used to it. For another, it seemed as if she were always being watched, trapped under the curious eyes of those who hosted her. It was a strange sensation, and it ripped away any chance she had to give in to grief, being entirely unwilling to do so in front of these strange people. Her relationship with Basim had been soured, and worse of all, she’d been unable to take her own life. Now she was made to wait, until they gave Ketill hers.
 
It came as no surprise then, that her hosts had found Basim to be a far more pleasant subject than either her or Yasamin. The girl still had not gotten over the loss of her eye, or perhaps more importantly, her beauty. Najla did not blame her, though she found that she could conjure no pity for the girl. And Najla’s attempt clearly had not sat entirely well with the northerners, especially the boy she’d bit. For her part, Najla was unreceptive when any but Basim spoke to her, mostly responding with a vague frown as if she could not understand what they were saying. Perhaps true, but her brother seemed to manage with some effort, and his curiosity as to their ways made him easier to engage.
 
It left Najla in silence for a the next few days, something that was preferable for her and likely, the others in the tent. Basim was the only one who she’d truly engage with when speaking, and their relationship had turned strange, for he had not forgotten her attempt. He was not angry with her, not entirely, though perhaps if she had not been waiting to die, he would have been. Najla believed he had every right to be. Yet, he said nothing of it, and it seemed more like the gravity of the situation had put a distance between them. He would make efforts to bridge it, just as Najla did, knowing any day could be her last here, but any talks of the future were usually soured. They only spoke in memories now.
 
She’d clutched her hand around another horn of ale her hosts had given her, as she had refused food once more. Najla had tried not to, since her first night here, but only to ease her brother. Now, she drank the ale slowly, her eyes resting on the golden dagger the boy had snatched from her hand, now hanging on his hip.
 
[i]<“Take a bite of my bread, at least.”>
 
<“I won’t eat it.”>
 
<“What will you eat then?”>[/i]
 
Najla was silent for a mere moment, glancing back at her brother with a slight smile.
 
[i]<“Pomegranates. Don’t you miss them? Mama always yelled at me when I’d stain my dress with them, but it was worth it.”>
 
<“They’ve been generous hosts, but I don’t think they’d be able to find us that.”>[/i]
 
They had been generous, something that had sat oddly with Najla at first. It was a common teaching of her people to be generous to those under their care, but she had never shown that, nor had she seen need to. Basim had, he seemed incapable of doing anything but, yet their wealth and power had a substantial effect on what they had considered generous. It had been a generosity to give Yasamin to Ketill, though perhaps Ketill had never noticed. It had been a generosity not to cut Ketill’s tongue out. Najla had rarely sought to treat others as her equal, for few could come close to a Sultana, but it did not seem quite so odd to her brother, who had merely been pleasantly surprised. Najla however, treated it almost with wariness, waiting for what they’d ask of her. Still, it was a strange thought that these people followed the teachings of her God more closely than she did.
 
[i]<“Pity.”>[/i] Her eyes fell upon that dagger again, so intently that she did not notice the merchant’s young daughter approaching. [i]<“Everything else tastes like ash now.”> [/i]

Najla was suddenly startled, feeling a presence just before she looked up to see the girl standing just beside her. Her surprise did not last long, and the frown quickly returned to her face, as if she could not understand the girl's words, though she had not spoken any yet. Rather, she simply held out a piece of bread towards Najla, probably not realizing that she had already been offered food. She had been about to refuse, but a glance back at Basim was enough to convince her not to, though she had not been eager to eat before. The added guilt of refusing her host seemed to convince her well enough, and Najla reached up with her free hand, taking the bread with a grateful nod. She had meant to turn away once more, but the girl reached toward her hand as if to grab it, causing Najla to pull her hand towards her with a sudden jerk before she could touch it.

[i]“Can I see?”[/i]

The frown returned to Najla’s face, angrier than before, though it would not last long. The girl had not meant to insult or frighten her. Rather, Najla’s glance moved onto the three sons at the other end of the tent, feeling as if they were eyeing the interaction curiously. She had not been receptive to anything they’d said, but perhaps they were wondering if it’d be the same with their sister. It seemed not, for Najla hesitated only a moment before moving the bread to her left hand, raising her right up for the girl to inspect as she pleased. The girl took her hand softly, and Najla eyed her warily as she looked over it.

[i]“What is it?”[/i]

She pointed at the tattoo on her hand, though Najla would not have needed the clarification. There was little else that could have drawn her attention, perhaps other than the color of her skin.

[i]“An olive tree.”

“Olive?”[/i]

Najla smiled as the girl repeated the word back to her, drawing her hand out of hers, though with no harshness this time. “A fruit.” She held up her hand, using her fingers to illustrate the size of an olive to her. [i]“They are purple or green, and the tree has many.”

“What do they taste like?”

“Taste? Hm..”[/i]

 Najla turned her head then, looking back at her brother. Basim was watching the interaction closely, perhaps surprised that his sister was speaking so openly about her homeland when she had been somewhat unwilling to do so with the other strangers. Especially because she was talking about the famed olive trees, the symbol she’d always associate with Osman now. 

[i]<“How would you describe the taste?”>

“You cannot eat it off the tree. Too bitter. It is soaked in salt, to give flavor.”[/i]

Basim’s explanation seemed to satisfy the girl, who took Najla’s hand again softly once more, her eyes tracing over the tree. It must have been a curious sight to the girl, and Najla braced for another question, but it seemed her decision was quickly changed. Najla felt the girl’s fingers trace against the scar that cut across her fingers, accidentally at first, but then, she turned her hand over. Her eyes widened slightly as she looked over the scar, an odd sight on the body of someone who had never worked. 

[i]“Did he do that?”[/i]

The girl looked over at Ketill, but before she could even return her gaze to Najla, she had ripped her hand away. The bread in her left hand, she dropped into Basim’s plate of food as she stood, walking away from the two without another word. She did not have anywhere to go but out into the snow, if only for the barest of moments. If anything, at least the cold cleared her mind faster. None would try to stop her, but the girl watched her as she walked away, clearly wondering what she’d done to offend her. 

[i]“It was not Ketill”[/i] Basim was quick to explain, reaching down to pick up the bread Najla had dropped for him. At least he wouldn’t let it go to waste. [i]“Her husband did that.”

“She is married?”[/i]

That gave him reason to pause. He didn’t know. It was a question Basim had not thought about, for good reason. It simply didn’t matter. None this far north cared if she was married or not, and none of those south cared either, they’d gut her either way. Legally, however, it was an interesting question. The Sultan had died before he could finish the vows, but their names had been inked in agreement long ago. After a brief moment of thought, weighing out various thoughts, he glanced back up at the girl.

[i]“By our laws, yes. By yours, I do not know.”[/i]

[hr]

The night before the day of her trial, Najla had been unable to sleep. Rather, she’d spent her night huddled under the furs, trying to ignore the cold, her tongue mindlessly repeating prayers as if they’d bring some comfort. Prayers that she’d join her family, that Basim would be kept safe, that Osman would never have children, prayers that kept her mind racing through the night. She did not know if they were good for anything else but to keep her busy, for the more she spoke, the less she believed her God was listening anymore.

Still, it gave her some comfort as she was brought before that mass of people again. Larger this time, she noticed, the story of the southern warrior and his former slaver must have drawn quite a great deal of attention. Najla did not seem to care, none of them would help her. Her fate was in the hands of a land she’d never set foot in before, and she could do little but await their judgement. Thus, Najla was ready to hear her fate, but was surprised when Ketill stalled, calling forward a witness.

The boy strode forwards, and Najla’s eyes traced him as they had in the tent. There was little question as to what he’d say about her, she was not surprised to hear the words come from his mouth. She had not expected the shock of the crowd in response however, though her eyes snapped up to the judges, knowing their reaction mattered far more. It was not quite a sin among her people, and in many cases, better than life itself. Still, it was not her attempt itself that brought a reaction from the judges, but they had stood when he relayed that she’d spoken in her own tongue. Najla tried to understand what they were saying, but these were unfamiliar words to her now. She’d never heard of a volva, what even was it that they were accusing her of? She looked back at Basim, as if his expression would provide some explanation, but it seemed she did not need to. The boy shook his head, denying whatever accusations they’d put forth. A relief, but a miniscule one. 

Then, it seemed it was her turn. Witnesses? Witnesses to what? She’d done all that Ketill accused of, there was no denying it. She’d done plenty more, crimes far worse than those she’d committed against Ketill, though that was not to be judged now. Perhaps those would be left to her God, at least. Her eyes moved over the crowd, resting on the only two faces who’d bear any tie to her story. Yasamin would not help her. Najla knew this even as her eyes rested on the girl, supporting Najla meant taking a side against Ketill, which was hardly wise in her current position. Najla would not have spoken if she was her. Rather, she lifted her hand, gesturing the one person she knew would vouch for her, regardless of her crimes.

[i]“My blood, will you speak for me?”[/i]

She spoke in Broacienian, a conscious choice after she’d noted their apparent wariness regarding her own tongue. Besides, doing so would keep out any notion that she’d speak to Basim, to tell him what to say. It was not as if she’d be able to do so anyways. Still, he did not even answer her words, only walking towards her without a second thought. He stood by her, looking up at the judges, before down to his sister once more.

[i]“What would you have me tell them of?”

“Tell them of the scars he brandishes. Who ordered them?”[/i]

There was a moment of hesitation, and Basim looked down at her, confused. Najla nodded at him, as if urging him to continue. It was not the question he’d wanted to answer, but it seemed Najla would leave no room for any to claim she’d brought her brother to lie for her.

[i]“You did.”

“Why?”[/i]

[i]“Ketill punched your husband.”[/i] He looked up at the judges then, speaking slowly so they would understand. [i]“In our land, for a slave to strike a free man is… not forgivable. For any reason.”

“And then, when he killed free men after that? Why did I stay my hand?”[/i]

Again, Basim looked down at her with some confusion. To him, the reasons were obvious, and to Ketill, they would likely be as well. It had been upon her orders that both Sa’aqr and Yazan died, it would have been unfair to kill Ketill for a service to her. They had been fair duels, after all, there should have been no reason for punishment. But her brother was a clever boy, and Najla watched as he fit the pieces in his mind. There were many reasons she shouldn’t have hurt him, but the reason Ketill bore no lashes from these deaths was not because she have been persuaded by morals. More than that, Basim knew Najla had little care for her own life now, with few opportunities to denounce her own guilt. There was only one she cared for.

[i]“I told her not to. Osman called for it, both times, but I told her it was not fair.”

“Who is Osman?” [/i]

The question came from one of the judges on the stand, and Basim glanced up, as if suddenly realizing the audience to his story. He’d been speaking slowly, cautiously, making certain they understood, and yet, had simultaneously lost himself in those old memories. 

[i]“Her husband. If I had known what she bore to refuse him…”[/i]

He had meant to continue it seemed, likely to begin speaking about Najla in a way that might have shed some of her guilt, though she did not seem intent on doing so herself. Still, Najla would not allow him, her harsh words cutting her brother off swiftly.

[i]“Tell them what I bore to refuse him.”[/i]

Basim would not have a choice to answer, for Najla would quickly continue, her words rising in volume as she spoke, the slow, careful pace in which they’d said their words before, to make certain as much of them as possible could be understood, it too, would slowly fade as her emotions heightened. As she spoke, it was clear she was no longer worried about making certain Basim could not be responsible for her crimes, nor her own guilt. Her eyes would turn to Ketill as she spoke, her words directed at them the more she continued speaking.
[i]
“Tell them! How many of my blood had to die because Ketill breathes? How many? How dare you ask for my blood, any crime I have committed has been repaid a hundredfold! [b]Beast![/b] If only if I could have slit my throat, if only I would have been able to join them in death, [b]how could you keep me here to suffer? What more could I owe you[/b]?”[/i]

The crowd had begun to react as she spoke, for while such shows of anger were seemingly not uncommon in their courts, Najla was clearly losing control of herself. It was Basim that silenced her, reaching out and taking his sister in his arms much as he had the night of her wedding. Now, no sobs escaped her, and her mind felt even clearer than before as she heard the judge speak, clearly directed at Basim, not her.

[i]“Is this true? How many of your family did he kill?”

“Ketill? By his hands, none.”

“So she is lying?”[/i]

[i]“No.”[/i] Basim replied again, releasing his sister. She seemed to have calmed herself somewhat, though her eyes still rested angrily on Ketill. [i]“Hundreds did die. We are the last of our blood.”[/i]

[i]“My brother is innocent of any crime, and yet, he suffers. Whatever imaginary crimes I have committed, I have repaid them a hundredfold. If I must die, let me do so by my hand. I owe no more to this beast.”[/i]

Her final words had not sat entirely well with the crowd, who did not seem enthralled by Najla’s death wish. Still, the bits and pieces of their story they’d been fed had been fascinating to the crowd, though Najla would allow Basim to give no more. Rather, she turned around, grasping his cheek tightly before she reached up to kiss the other. 

[i]<“Leave me to my fate. Whether I live or die, go. Don’t stop to bury me.”>[/i]

She turned now, making it clear to the judges by her silence that she had nothing left to say. Her witness testimony had done little but to clarify her own guilt in the matter, that she’d complied to her husband’s demands. At best, there could be no doubt that Basim was not involved in her crimes, and for that, Najla was grateful. More than that, she could not know just how much of their words they had truly understood, likely the easier words had been decipherable, but their accents were thicker than she'd even realized. She could only wait for her fate now.

[i]<“I mean it, my blood. Don’t bury me. I want to be with Jalil.”>[/i]

[/quote]