Zen couldn’t stop himself from emitting a hostile aura in the days following his encounter with the spirit. His mind was in disarray; his frustration at being unable to disentangle his own thoughts led him to further hide within himself. Those around him seemed to notice, as well. He found their reactions a pleasant change in pace. He had only snapped at Auring once—she had been pestering him at dinner about something—before she would clam up in his presence. Ayue, too, was wary of him, not even offering his own thoughts on the story he’d heard secondhand from Auring. Only Prince Ito acted normally, but the two hadn’t talked a lot in the first place, so there wasn’t much to go off of.

While mornings were a welcome opportunity to clear his mind of all but the physical demands of training, afternoons were when all of Zen’s thoughts and memories rushed to the surface. He felt indignant on behalf of the spirit boy who had been deprived of love and mercy, even in his afterlife. He remembered how quickly that sword had pierced through his immaterial body, silencing his cries. That streak of silver had flashed right before his eyes; had he slowed down time, his own pale face and horrified eyes would have reflected in it. And then he would think about Ayue’s claims that some spirits could be put to rest peacefully and wonder if he had been complicit in another injustice done to this boy.

Then, he’d be hit with confusion over his own attitude towards sorcery. His village had passed down stories of gallant Gahi sorcerers who wielded immense power and protected their clans for ages. His own parents had spoken with pride on the legacy of their ancestors and bitterness towards the change that had upended everyone’s fortunes. So, naturally, Zen had always fostered curiosity towards sorcery, sometimes even hoping it would be re-discovered and used to recover his clan’s dignity. But these fantasies had always been merely fantasies—sorcery was a relic of the past...until this case. Somehow, the residents of Goat’s Song had come into contact with, or even wielded, sorcery. Whoever was responsible was just as guilty of injustice as the bodyguard who had slain the tortured spirit. Had they meant to bring him back? Zen didn’t even ponder the question of how someone had come into the means of sorcery or how long they had hidden their abilities. This question was too troublesome.

These thoughts would cycle through his head as he sat in class. Sometimes he’d sit stonestill, hand clenched around the quill, and do nothing. Other times he would scribble squiggly lines and angry shapes in the margins of his book. Today, he’d been particularly stuck thinking about his parents, and so he was writing random words and phrases in Gahi. He hadn’t practiced since he’d left, and the guilt had only just now hit him. He didn’t even care that the prince was beside him, that maybe he’d reprimand Zen for breaking one of the more serious rules regarding the usage of the common tongue only.

By the time class was over, Zen had only managed to fill one page. I’m getting rusty. He sighed and put down his quill, about to pack up to leave, when a palm splayed out on his book to hold it down.

“Is this the Gahi script?” It was the prince, towering above him.

“Yeah,” he responded nonchalantly, meeting his eyes with a steely look.

“Hmm.” The prince took the notebook in his hands and looked at the writing for a few moments. He then neatly tore the page out, crumpled it in his hand, and stuffed it in his shirt.

“What are you doing?” Zen exclaimed. He abruptly rose from his seat in protest.

“What? You don’t want to be caught with this, you know.” The prince was frowning, but he didn’t seem angry. Ah, he thinks he’s doing me a favor. As if I’d let myself be caught—does he think I’m stupid?

“I can look out for myself,” he retorted, grabbing the book out of Ito’s grip and hurrying out the door.

—

Zen sat on the edge of his bed, bending down to untie the laces of his boots. His fingers were unfocused and tangled, stumbling over each other. Even through dinner, he hadn’t been able to calm his mind. The food had tasted like unsalted porridge in his mouth, and the idle chatter around him had sounded like the murmuring of a stream. Hunched over, he closed his eyes and brought his hands up to his face. They felt cool against his cheeks. When he opened his eyes again, he noticed the conversation around him had ceased. His gaze slowly made its way over to the doorway.

“Zen, come here,” the figure standing at the door said. The prince.

Zen felt every pair of eyes in the room on him as he slowly stood. He felt his ears burn, and he didn’t dare to even glance over his shoulder to gauge the reaction of his peers. What could he possibly want with me? Could it be that he reported me for what I did in class? “Your highness,” he said in a low, measured voice. He was lucky that his tone betrayed nothing, considering how his heart had jumped into his throat.

“Your assistance is required,” Ito responded. He gestured for Zen to follow him and strode into the hallway. He had no choice but to unfreeze his limbs, ignore the persistent stares of the other boys, and trail after him.

When the two had left the room, Ito turned to him. He drew a wad of clothing out from the bag slung over his shoulder. “Servants’ clothing,” he explained. “So no one will question us.”

“What do you need my assistance with?” Zen asked warily, throwing the robes over his own clothes.

“Ah...just follow me.” Ito’s expression was unreadable, so Zen swallowed his questions and his unease and followed. As the prince had predicted, the guards gave them no trouble leaving the palace. What the hell are we doing out here? He wouldn’t be leading me out of the palace if I were facing punishment, right? Zen couldn’t tell if he felt dread or excitement at this...situation.

The prince led Zen into the palace gardens, which were located near the city walls behind the palace itself. The two walked through rows of meticulously trimmed bushes and the few flowering plants that had braved the chilly fall weather. The path was dappled with leaves of yellow and red, fallen from the thin trees shuddering above their heads in the breeze. In the middle was a pond, its water tinted green, its small fish just barely visible below the reflection of the moon. Stone benches surrounded the pond; the prince led Zen to one of these benches.

Zen sat silently, having decided that he would just wait for Ito to explain himself. If he hadn’t known better, he would have thought the prince seemed a bit flustered. He was reaching again into his bag, this time retrieving a pair of books. He handed them to Zen without a word. I guess I won’t be getting any explanation after all.

Zen took them, eyebrows raised. His eyes skimmed over the words on their covers, and it took a few moments for him to realize what he was looking at. “This...these are in Gahi,” he spluttered.

“Yes.” Ito’s voice made it sound like he was beaming with pride. “I know you can’t have anything like this in your room, so I...I found these to help you practice.”

Zen was speechless. Of all the scenarios he had imagined on the way over here, he had not considered this possibility. In fact, he didn’t think books in Gahi could even be obtained in Tanac. His fingers were almost trembling as he delicately turned the first page, letting the script make itself legible under his gaze. He read the first few lines—it was a book of poetry, he realized—before his lips were able to form any words.

“This is breaking a lot of rules,” he said. I know I should be thanking him but—what is he doing?

Ito just shrugged. “Those rules seem kind of silly to me. I’ll keep the books, so it’s not like you’ll get in trouble.” The surety in his voice had faded, as if he were worried that his gesture was actually unwelcome, presumptuous even. “I- You don’t have to read them. I shouldn’t have dragged you out here.” His hands moved out of his lap, as if to reach out and take them back.

Zen clutched the books closer to himself. “No, it’s fine.” He smiled. It wasn’t even forced. “I’ll read them. This is helpful, really.”

Ito exhaled in relief and sat up, hugging his knees to his chest and watching Zen intently.

“Do you want me to translate them?” Zen asked after reading in silence a moment. He was slightly unnerved, being watched like this. He also figured it’d be terribly unexciting for the prince.

“Whatever you want.”

Unfortunately, Zen didn’t know what he wanted. Translating would be a hassle, but doing nothing would make him feel uncomfortable. He decided to read on some before making up his mind.

To his dismay, he discovered that he preferred neither option. “Where did you get these?”

“From a bookseller I frequent.”

“You may want to have a word with him,” Zen said, choking back a laugh.

“Why’s that?” A hint of worry crept into the prince’s voice.

“He sold you a book of love poetry! Honestly, what was he thinking, selling you something so tasteless? Or—unless you usually read this type of thing?” Zen looked at Ito, his lips pressed together to hide his smirk.

As Zen had intended, the prince’s face had lost its usual stoicism and given way to a blush. “No! I...I picked them myself, but obviously I couldn’t tell what they were about…”

“Is that so?” Zen flipped over the first book to look at the cover. Soft paint strokes in pastel colors depicted a woman and man in an embrace, their smiles suggestive. “Ah, easy mistake.”

Ito had turned away from him to hide his deepening flush. Though his hands were covering his face, he still managed to let out a light chuckle.

“Let me read some to you!”

“There’s really no need…”

Though Zen also found the content a little embarrassing, and definitely unrefined, he enjoyed Ito’s reaction to his ceaseless teasing. Until now, Zen had been the recipient of the prince’s subtle jokes. Such an opportunity might never arise again! This was how the two boys spent their time: the moon inching across the night sky, Zen reading and laughing in exaggerated voices (not to mention his quick-witted exaggeration of the extent of the poetry’s debauchery), Ito groaning and suffering.

In this manner, it took over an hour to read just the first few poems. Zen was still smiling as he put the book down on his lap. His eyelids were beginning to droop, and his cheeks were aching. But his head was clear.

“We should go back,” he said to Ito. The prince had suffered through his initial mortification and turned around to follow along over Zen’s shoulder, even if he himself was unable to read the words.

“Okay,” he replied. “Let’s go.”

The two returned to the palace, Zen evoking Auring’s demeanor as he pestered the prince with questions, like “Which poem was your favorite? Do you prefer poems when it’s love at first sight or something more heavy, like yearning? Do you think you could get me a book with pictures for next time?”

Next time. Realizing what he’d implied, Zen quickly fired off a few more questions. It was his turn to feel presumptuous. Ito didn’t acknowledge the question, but as they parted, approaching the palace stairs, Ito said, “Ah, if you’d like, I can bring real literature next time. If— let me know if you want me to sneak you out again.”

Next time. It had been the first night in a while that he hadn’t lay awake agonizing over his troubled feelings. And the prince had just stated his willingness to do it again. I think I’ll take him up on that.

—

True to his word, the prince brought a new collection of books to their next meeting. It took Zen two weeks to work up the courage to suggest they sneak out again. He probably just suggested a “next time” to make me feel less awkward. He probably didn’t like being teased the whole time. I really acted quite inappropriately, and to the prince! His fears were unfounded, though, because Ito had responded immediately with a carefree smile and a wink. This was enough for Zen to ignore the lingering stares and suspicions of his peers when the prince showed up to their room with the same excuse. Ayue’s expression had been so piercing that Zen knew he’d have to come up with a convincing story upon his return. This also didn’t even bother him.

The two sat on the same stone bench, cross-legged and facing each other. Ito had propped up an arm on his thigh and was resting his chin on his palm. His eyes followed along with Zen’s finger as he read, slowly translating aloud. This book was a collection of fables and oral traditions. The style was simple enough for Zen to understand, though the black-and-white nature of its moral lessons was dull, in his opinion.

After a while, Ito suddenly slapped his hand down on the book. Zen looked up, startled. Ito had a pained look on his face, like he was struggling to keep up his calm front.

“I have to tell you something,” the prince said, taking a deep breath. When Zen didn’t respond, waiting for him to explain further, he continued, “Remember in Goat’s Song, when we talked about how the spirit must have come into contact with sorcery? There was an investigation, and...it’s true. Two villagers there were using spiritual magic.”

Zen was stunned. True, he had thought about the incident frequently, but he’d imagined it would remain a haunting mystery. The thought that sorcery could somehow make a return was equally frightening and promising. “How? But sorcery was destroyed?” he croaked.

“The sorcerers from way back must have hidden something that was only recently rediscovered. The two villagers wanted to test the methods they found, so they applied some kind of spell to the young boy before he’d died. They knew he was being abused, and so it’d be likely for him to transform after death.”

“Which villagers are they?” Zen had deduced that knowledge of the abuse had been widespread—and widely ignored. He hadn’t dared to think some sorcerer would exploit a child’s abuse for experimentation. That lined up not with his parents’ stories of courageous Gahi sorcerers but with the capital’s propaganda about the campaign one hundred years past.

“I don’t know. Our soldiers are bringing them here as we speak. They’ll be executed at dawn.”

“Oh.” Zen wasn’t sure if he remembered how to breathe.

“I know a place we can hide to see it. Arlen isn’t attending, and he doesn’t want me to either. He said if we’re there, it’ll unsettle the cityfolk, make them think it’s more serious than it is.”

“Oh,” Zen repeated. He wasn’t sure if he remembered any other words. He was almost certain he didn’t want to see it. He was also sure that the prince wouldn’t let him off easily. Maybe he isn’t brave enough to go alone...but why would he want to go at all?

“From what I’ve heard, there’s going to have to be a regiment stationed in Goat’s Song permanently. We don’t know how much the other villagers could have been exposed to magic. Any of them could turn into spirits if they die now.”

“That’s true.” Zen’s words seemed to come from elsewhere. Not from himself.

“And more patrols will have to search the rest of the realm, in case there are more magical items or manuscripts being hidden. I can make sure you’re on the patrol to your village, if you want.”

Zen nodded robotically. “Okay.” He didn’t think this was doing him much of a favor, really.

“Security might be increased around the palace around dawn. We should probably stay out until then.”

“Mm.” Zen lowered his eyes back to the book. The words swam before his eyes, no longer decipherable. The thoughts he had managed to push to the back of his mind had resurfaced. He could feel the prince’s gaze on him, but he didn’t look up, nor did the prince ask him to read aloud again.

After a few minutes of silence, Ito said, “You can doze off if you want. I’ll stay up.”

Zen didn’t protest. He set the books down by the prince and sat on the ground, leaning his head against the bench, his legs stretched out in front of him. By some miracle, when he closed his eyelids, sleep found him.

He was shaken awake as the sun was climbing over the horizon. The prince was also blinking sleep out of his eyes as he helped Zen to his feet; he hadn’t managed to stay awake after all. He’d awoken just in time.

The two hurried their way through the city streets towards the central square. Zen hadn’t found it in him to abandon the plan, though he desperately wanted to. Since childhood, he’d constructed graphic images in his mind of the notorious public executions held in the capital. Seeing one in person would be akin to someone living in one of their persistent nightmares.

The city was beginning to come alive; market stalls were opening, laundry was being hung up from windows high and low to catch the sun’s rays, and the murmur of the crowd was increasing in volume. It was as if no one expected a thing, no one imagined that the first public execution in one hundred years would be held. It was a fate reserved only for the practitioners of magic.

The city square was located in the busiest part of the market area, right by the front gates. Those close by had begun to linger out of curiosity, watching the soldiers set up tall wooden stands on the cold stone ground.

Ito led Zen to the flat roof of a building across from the square. Its distance ensured that they wouldn’t be recognized by the executioners, but that they could still see it happen. They kneeled down, their heads peeking over the raised barrier around the roof’s perimeter. Had there been no barrier, Zen was certain he would topple over the edge, light-headed as he was. He shot a glance at Ito, whose face had resumed its steely exterior. He forced himself to look back at the square. A larger crowd was gathering, now that it was impossible to deny that something was amiss.

“It’s beginning,” Ito hissed.

Zen swallowed nervously. He berated himself again for not pushing back against this idea. Why the fuck would I want to witness a public execution? Why would he?

Five soldiers, primly decorated in their formal military attire, approached the square. Five villagers were being dragged along behind them, their hands cuffed together, their heads hanging down in exhaustion.

“I thought you said there were two sorcerers.”

“There were,” Ito replied. “I guess they had accomplices.”

Zen’s stomach churned, and he leaned forward to get a better look. He couldn’t shake the feeling that history—at least, the version he had grown up hearing—was repeating itself. This is collective punishment, not justice. They want to send a message. He didn’t dare voice his thoughts, though. Maybe he would have a few days ago. Guess I didn’t know the prince that well back then.

“Fuck,” Zen spat. He recognized two of the five people. They had reached the center of the square. Each stood in front of a wooden stand. The first was the old lady with cold eyes the patrol had first approached. This wasn’t what surprised Zen. He couldn’t tear his eyes from the women shivering in front of the third stand. Her face was staring blankly into the crowd, her youthful looks marred by her expression of terror. She was their age. “It’s Pila.” He whipped his head around to look at Ito, whose eyes had widened. “You can’t possibly suggest that she’s an accomplice. She’s a victim!”

Ito’s lips were parted in shock. He shook his head violently. “They wouldn’t arrest her if she hadn’t done something wrong!” he insisted. Zen didn’t notice the slight hints of doubt in his voice. Ito was practiced at wearing a mask, and he had donned it once more.

Zen sat back on his heels. “You can’t possibly think that.”

“I can.”

“And the baby? What happens to her niece?” He remembered how the baby had cried when they’d returned from the murder scene, how Pila’s tired gray eyes had listened intently to Cai, how they’d sparkled with sorrow but not surprise. How can the prince not remember any of that? How can he so quickly condemn this girl?

“She’ll probably be brought to an orphanage here.” Another child abandoned. Cruelty answered with cruelty.

The two had nothing more to say. They watched the execution unfold, watched in silence as the masses gasped, screamed, cheered in tandem.

The soldiers tied the prisoners’ hands together above their heads. Then, they stepped back a meter. Each held a stack of daggers in one hand. Slowly, one by one, the soldiers picked up the daggers, one-by-one, and cast them into the prisoners’ bodies. One through the bound wrists. One in the heart. One in the stomach. Intestines burst forth from the less fortunate prisoners’ torsos, as if carved by a butcher. One in each leg. Their bodies were nailed to the wooden stake, their heads drooping, blood spluttering from their mouths, from their wounds. The daggers, deeply embedded in human flesh and bone, had shone with the same silver intensity of that sword that had flashed before Zen’s eyes in the spirit’s house.

It’s like Ayue’s story. These bodies will stay here for days, rotting. To make sure they don’t turn in spirits. Right. Fucking gruesome.

Zen wasn’t sure how much time had passed between when the prisoners were executed and when he finally stood. Zen could feel himself on the verge of being sick, his legs threatening to buckle from beneath him. He flung off the servant’s robes that had been his disguise and handed them to Ito.

“Your Highness,” he said hoarsely. He turned away before the other could respond, before he could follow. When Zen finished descending the building, he ran. He could barely stand properly, he could barely see through the veil of tears in his eyes, yet he ran until he reached the palace, ignoring the confused guards at the door. He ran until he was dressed in uniform and sitting beside Ayue at breakfast. He flashed Ayue a hollow smile, as if nothing were awry.

For the rest of the day, the prisoner’s limp bodies were all that he could see.