Murder in the Wind
by Zachary Reger
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Table of Contents parts 1, 2, 3 |
conclusion
The High College of Crows reconvened as scheduled. A hundred and more caws echoed off the walls. Counselors Ravensfoot and Shortwing resumed their respective places along the bar. The Collegiate sat, resolute, in its padded booth.
The Sentinel pounded his stave, calling the chamber to order.
“The gallery may rest,” Gertrude announced from the dais. “This College will now be in order. The day is the eighteenth of February, in the year of the Ancestors thirty-and-two, in the year of Man nineteen-hundred-and-fifty-one.
“Our sole order of business be the announcement of the final judgment of the Collegiate in Ravensfoot versus Shortwing, number 31074. Is the Collegiate prepared to render its verdict?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” a member of the Collegiate replied. The crow was neither of the two interrogators who had questioned the Counselors at yesterday’s argument. This crow was younger, likely not far beyond his third year. He had a long scar running down his face, bisecting his right eye.
“Then please proceed.”
“After careful deliberation and many hours of internal debate, the Collegiate is prepared to announce its unanimous judgment in the case of Ravensfoot versus Shortwing, number 31074.”
The Collegian turned to face both Counselors. “This Collegiate holds in favor of the plaintiff, Counselor Ravensfoot.”
A series of jubilant caws descended from the gallery. The Collegian eyed the raucous crowd. Alia breathed a sigh of relief. Stefen looked livid.
Another thud of the Sentinel’s stave. “This College be in order!” Gertrude boomed.
The Collegian continued. “Counselor Shortwing is found guilty of a class two felony: intentional assault of a minor. As punishment for this crime, Counselor Shortwing shall be sentenced to the mandatory minimum of fifteen moons of confinement.” Another eruption of excited caws.
Thud. “Order!”
“Counselor Shortwing’s co-conspirators are open to like prosecution,” the Collegian continued. “The prevailing party in this case bears the right of first refusal in prosecution of the co-conspirators. Should she fail to bring prosecution within the refusal period of thirty-and-one days, prosecution shall be held open to any Counselor licensed by, and in good standing with, this High College.”
Stefen could not contain himself. He rose from his place on the bar. “This is outrageous. I demand reconsideration!”
“Denied,” the Collegian replied. “As you are aware, Counselor, the judgment of this High College is final. You stand in the court of last resort. Your right to appeal is exhausted.”
Alia turned, with a smirk, to face the gallery. The great mass of crows continued their celebration. A majority seemed utterly enthused by Alia’s success, though far from all. Pockets of crows could be seen shaking their heads in dismay. A few exited the chamber doors in the rear.
“This is not justice.” Stefen could not believe that he had lost. “This ruling contravenes our laws!”
Thud. “Silence, Counselor Shortwing,” Gertrude said. “The judgment is issued. Your sentence shall be certified by the administrative board of this College. If you continue your outburst, I shall have you declared in contempt of court.”
Stefen sat in a huff. Gertrude sighed. Another thud of the stave.
“This College be adjourned.”
And so it was.
* * *
The sun had long since fallen. Gertrude was in her chambers, poring over the details of tomorrow’s docket. It would be a long day: In the morning, a replevin action by a creditor involving the seized goods of a recalcitrant debtor. In the afternoon, a shareholder action against the executive of a newly founded corporate body. A series of candles dimly illuminated the many rolls of parchment that covered the judge’s desk. Her door slightly ajar, a cool draft blew in from outside, nearly snuffing the glowing flames.
Down the halls of the High College, the chambers of the Collegiate were closed, its members having retired for the night. Most of its members, at least.
Around the corner, up the central stone staircase, and across the gangway, two figures sat perched atop one of the many parapets of the gothic hall that held the High College. The figures overlooked the nearly deserted grounds. From behind dark clouds, the moon offered a faint glow. Far below, a human student exited the university library, books slung in a bag over her shoulder, another day of studying complete. The figures watched the Man, lazily following as she made her way beyond the grounds, toward home. Their hushed conversation continued.
The first crow muttered, “I hope you know what you are doing, Brother Eris. The other members of the Collegiate think we are taking an awful risk, imprisoning Stefen so. He is not so unpopular with the crows as it would first appear. His support may be narrow, but it runs deep.”
The second crow turned: it was the member of the Collegiate who had announced the final judgment just that morning. “Alia’s arguments at bar were most persuasive, Sister Celina,” he said. “I stand by my vote.”
“Alia’s arguments were less than convincing, and I am not the only member of the Collegiate to believe as such.”
“And still, the ruling was unanimous,” Eris said. “Our votes reveal a common understanding of the fundamental truth, even if our brothers and sisters cannot, or will not, put such truth into words.”
“Of course,” Eris continued, “Alia’s arguments from precedent and policy were rather weak. Greyclaw is inapposite. Our laws have never recognized a Man as anything approaching the equal of an intelligent crow, or even an unintelligent crow. And why should they? Crow law governs the behavior of crows, not of Man. As Stefen argued, even unintelligent crows have a role to play in our affairs; Man, emphatically, cannot and does not. His rights are of no consequence in a court he will never enter, in a society of which he knows naught, of a world in which he possesses all the power.
“But you noticed it as well, I’m sure? Alia addressed her arguments not toward us, but toward the gallery. She had those crows in the grip of her claw. They think almost as fondly of Man as they do of her. Not a crow alive today remembers the time of the Ancestors. Most crows are now three or four generations removed from that era. Only a few are but two generations beyond.
“In the minds of my fellow younger crows, the Ancestors exist as some mystical ideal, born full-bodied and unerring from Man’s design. In truth, intelligent as they were, the Ancestors were progenitors just as troubled and caustic as we, perhaps even more so, given their environment.” Subconsciously, Eris raised his right wing, tracing the scar along his face.
“And so?”
“We could not rule against Alia, as you know,” Eric said. “The case was settled before argument. The clear will of the people has been expressed, and they have denied our mandate to decide otherwise. The High College need not always rule in accordance with an express mandate, but it must never act against the clear currents of social evolution. In such a young and untested legal system, our institutions would crumble. Anarchy would reign, and all would be lost — the rule of law strangled in its crib. For the sake of the law, we tolerate the reality of majoritarian rule.”
“We ignore the rule of law to save the law from politics,” Celina concluded. “Your rhetoric needs work, as your argument is both circular and fallacious. If the rule of law is subject to political whims, it is not the rule of law, but something dangerous. This is even more apparent in the realm of criminal law, where a defendant’s individual liberties are at stake.”
Eris replied: “We do not ignore the confines of law; rather, we work within their dictates. Our decision today is rule of law in its purest sense. The Collegiate is not an aristocracy, and you and I are mere servants to a larger democratic system. A proper republic grants its citizens authority over the general direction of state policy. The role of a court of law is to smooth the rough edges, to make sense of specific rules and legal remedies, and to bring coherence and sense to the application of greater policies. But a court should not — indeed, it cannot — hold back the tide. We lack such power, and even the Ancestors knew it ought never be bestowed upon us.
“That includes specific definition of provisions within our criminal code,” Eris said. “After all, what is criminal law but the people’s expression of the acts that public power will not tolerate?”
“As you say.” Celina seemed less than convinced. “Law or not, we at least agree that we ruled as we must. But the case should never have gotten this far. I, for one, would have much preferred the High College reject the appeal, to avoid binding the trial courts. I am still upset over being outvoted in conference.”
“You should not be,” Eris said. “A similar case would have found its way onto our docket eventually. Better that we pre-empt a split at the trial level than allow such division to fester. Had we not, the inevitable future verdict would have been much more fraught, and its validity less than certain. We must always stay ahead, Celina,” Eris said. “Otherwise, we fall behind.”
Celina chuckled. “A tautology. Let’s count that as your second fallacy.”
The two crows stood quietly. A cloud drifted, revealing the great lunar orb, an echo of the brightness of day in the dead of night. For a moment, twin silhouettes bathed in moonlight, their black feathers briefly illumined.
“Still, we must exercise caution,” Eris said, his voice barely a whisper. “Our laws are a ship, our people a billowing sail. And Alia, she is Eurus, a dangerous east wind. Under her propulsion, I fear we are soon to blow into uncharted territory.”
Dark clouds banished the fleeting moonlight, causing the campus to return to its natural state.
“Today, as you claim, we performed our assigned duty within the constitutional structure,” Celina said. “But what happens if the other branches do not perform theirs? Perhaps all that this principled stance has done is lay the foundation for their future failure.”
While Celina’s question lingered, a subtle darkness engulfed the land, and Eris found himself forced to conclude: “Then law itself shall tear us apart.”
Copyright © 2024 by Zachary Reger
