partisan artisan tried to explain and buy a little more time somehow.
“It’s largely harmless fun yer honor. Homespun yarns of my daddy’s dad, Grandy. Thought the boy’d enjoy them too. And he did. They mesmerized the kid.
“Grandy, he was an olde tyme journeyman, back in the day when they crisscrossed the island. Traded rare ore in all thirty-three sectors. Knew each one like the back of his hand. And o the epic adventures he had…”
“Surely the kind long since forbidden — pushing the limits, at our land’s end.” Fyryx fought the glaring sun and eyed the witness with disdain. “Now I see clearly who’s sparking dissent, casting aspersions on our regime. And forming a rebel alliance no doubt of fresh young revolutionaries.
“Pikesmen! Put this forger in irons!”
Ferrous steeled himself, but then…
A three-alarm death knell shook the ground and opened a crack for the quick-footed craftsman.
“Apocalypse now judge, gotta go. It’s a towering inferno!”
Fyryx just turned away. He looked sick. “Saved by hell’s bells… how ironic.”
The turtles unstacked.
Ferrous backed down taking Dustum in arm.
In a flash they were gone.
Fyryx mashed his fist and hand. He took some frustration out on Ho-man.
“How many more clerk?”
“Um… six, seven, EIGHT.”
“Call them all. I just can’t wait.”
“Would be a world record.”
“You heard me. Just do it.”
The magistrate muttered then sputtered out loud. “I vow that somebody’s going down.” He scoured the room, “Time to lower the boom…” and stomped on a rat worm that happened by.
Splat.
So Ho-man summoned the Syland Eight, nigh witnesses who’d seal Treygyn’s fate. And their own, if Fyryx had any say in it.
They were split up by kinship or teamed with mates, each group claiming a separate base — a place on their choice of the tortoises three. “Everyone must take a stand. Make it snappy!”
Once all had a stance, the clerk took attendance.
“Mr. and Mrs. Engyn Yin?”
Treygyn’s folks were on the smallest one.
“Yo,” answered Engyn.
“No. Yin’s on first.”
“Naturally, that’s what I said.”
“Surely not.”
“Who are you calling Shirley?!”
“Stop!”
Short-tempered judge Hurx called them out. He barked like an umpire and they balked.
“Enough of this act. Who the heck’s on second?”
Ho-man winced but chanced an answer.
“Yo mama, sir.”
“How dare you!”
“It’s true — Yeela Yo and daughter Xoxo.”
“Oh.” He looked them over.
Both were hooded and cloaked in the southerly folkway. They bowed in the judge’s direction.
“Go on.”
“And last, to the grand stand…”
The great tortoise roared.
“I couldn’t have said it any better.” Ho-man saluted the creature.
It snorted.
“According to Big Tort he’s got cohorts — meaning the friends of Yo and Yin. Four forlorn teenagers born in this wasteland… Raise your hand when I call your name…
“Layly Hayway and Vallon Vix.”
Two girls gave the slightest wave.
“Goolox Orx. Mister Billyum Slyme.”
Two guys thrust a fist — their gang sign.
Freebird flipped them the bird sign back.
“Thanks for reminding me lads!” chimed Ho-man. “Almost forgot to give the oath…
“Witnesses, listen! Everyone swear?”
A few of them nodded.
“I guess we’re good.” He sidestepped toward the forgotten stranger. “Now let the quips fall where they may.”
Suddenly, the turtle fleet weighed anchor. They drifted as if at sea. Three lost ships on a star-crossed ocean. Islands of treasured castaways.
Rescue was far from the master’s mind.
“Bring me the heads of the leaver’s clan, the pride of our mother and father land.”
The baby terrapin, still in motion, made for Keep kommandant Hurx…
“Mach schnell!”
And served Treygyn’s parents on the half shell.
Fyryx approached the stand extending his hand. “Herr Yin! Your papers please!”
Engyn’s knees wobbled. His wife Hoona sobbed. “We don’t want no trouble your honor,” he said and glared at his prodigal son.
Treygyn cast his brown eyes down to the ground. He could not bear the stare.
“Papers Herr Yin. I won’t ask again.”
Hoona frantically pawed through her worn old sow’s ear purse. She shook like a leaf. To her relief, she found the dog-eared green card she was looking for. “H-h-here d-d-dear…” The paper was warped and stained with tears.
Her husband took the card and squeezed her hand. Then Engyn surrendered it.
“We’re just simple oilers, commissar. Instigators and traitors we ain’t.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” spat Fyryx.
The grand inquisitor scrutinized the tiny document. He turned it over.
Then he studied the Yins themselves.
They were plain folk to be sure. Tattered. On the dirty side. And short — descendants of Guur-syr or some other sector of the south.
Their skin though was the envy of many, rich and tanned as the land itself.
“Businessman are you?”
“Family farmer.”
“With two sons?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“Where’s the other one?”
Engyn pointed an oily mitt at a boy on the far side of the tent. The jittery kid was the spitting image of Treygyn, but in miniature.
“Trogyn. Please sir — he’s eleven.”
“So?”
“Tro is innocent! Leave him out of it!” Brother Trey wailed. He looked up and upset. “Mini me’s just a twerp, your worship.”
Fyryx ripped the card to shreds.
“Everything seems to be in order here mein Herr…”
Bits hit the floor.
“But you’ve still got some ‘splainin’ to do.”
Engyn and Hoona knew what was coming.
“How is it that you Yins were ever permitted to parent? Or licensed to spawn?”
Neither one dared to answer him.
“It’s time we had a law, a test, to weed the bad seed out. You mutants…
“If I were master of this race…”
Engyn mustered the guts to interrupt and mount a brief defense. A little resistance. His finest minute.
“Overlord, we’ve done our best with the lads.”
“W-we have.”
“Not good enough by half.”
“But… we taught a work ethic.”
“S-s-sent Trey to school.”
“And let him apprentice with the woodsmith, at the expense of his oilweeding chores.”
Fyryx shrugged his shoulders. “All that said — what fool believes a leaver?
“Or a leaver’s family.”
Hoona fell to her knees. She pleaded.
“He’s a g-good boy. It’s true, it’s true. You must hear the rest of the story s-sire. Ask Miss Xoxo. Oh, she’ll tell you…”
Fyryx walked away unmoved. He went to the center stand and stood.
He stared at the two folk in the hood.
“Yo, Xoxo! Show yourself. Decloak.”
“No!” said her guardian. “I’ll do the talking.”
“Well then! Shields down, mother Yo.”
The figure yielded and threw back her cowl. The shadowy shroud flew from her shoulders, billowing ghost-like to the floor.
Everyone peered or pointed fingers.
“Innkeeper’s wife looks good these days!”
“Like a woman half her age.”
“What??
?s her secret?”
“It’s a trick!”
This wasn’t Yeela Yo.
“Who is it?”
“I don’t like surprises,” hissed Fyryx. “Explain yourself girl. What’s the meaning of this?”
She hesitated for just an instant, adjusting her eyes to the naked sun. They were pure, dark amber like buckle-bee honey, more musky than sweet, less dawn than dusk. In contrast her skin was salty caramel, hair spiced chocolate slicked straight back. It fell in a vell-tail past the nape of her neck. She smoothed it with her hand.
Maid of a land made of sugar and sand. A tiny thing just turned eighteen.
She whispered something to the other then spoke out loud for all to hear.
“I am the elder sister sir, first-born daughter of Yeela and Hoxso, here to stand for the family Yo and stand up for our treasured Xoxo.”
“And your name?” asked the clerk.
“Qoqo Yo.”
Fyryx seemed to know the clan.
“You’re from the tavern. The one on the green.”
“Yes your honor, the old Keep Inn. Our folks run it. We help out.”
“And yet who’d expect that, given your habits, you’d get thee to a brewery. Especially this one,” he gestured at Xoxo, “still dressed up for monking business.”
Worried her maiden hood left her exposed, she tried to hide in the shadow of Qoqo. It didn’t work. He saw right through her.
“Yes I can see you’re a novice miss.”
Sweet sixteen tasted sourness.
“But enough of this nunsense! You’re here to bare witness. It’s time to drop the sister act.”
Young Yo, though, was taken aback and stuck to her guns, her vow of silence.
Judge Hurx would hear none of it.
“Listen. We’re all done with choir practice. Here comes your solo. Get ready to sing.”
Xoxo stepped out but kept quiet, peeking, ducking him, waxing mute. She poked Qoqo in the back.
They had prepared for this. Qoqo spoke. “I have taken my own vow sire — to be my homegirl’s guardian angel. Role model, friend, her wings when she needs them, and her hero if she falls. Blood-bound I swear not to falter, come hell or high water, gloom or doom.
“Justice, I am the voice. Call your tune.”
Fyryx, tongue-stung, stared her down then broke into a surprising swoon. “Noble words good lady Yo… Loyalty… that’s a trait I value…” He all but bowed.