The Stones Are Cast

Kavio (Kiva in the Right-Hand Maze)

Kavio’s cousin, a young man about the same age, size, and height, stood up. He took off his mask made of blue shells. While Kavio burned with anger inside, Zumo calmly repeated the story that had led to the trial. Nothing Zumo said was exactly a lie—but the lie was in what he didn’t say.

After Zumo, a second witness told the same story. He said he had seen Kavio dancing alone in the storm.

“Thank you, both,” Auntie Ugly said with a smug smile as the second witness sat down. “Kavio, do you deny these charges?”

“I don’t deny what I did,” Kavio said. “I deny that I invented the Pattern. I deny that it was hexcraft. And I deny that I meant to hurt our people.”

Auntie Ugly sneered at him. The anger Kavio had kept in his stomach for days finally won. He added with sarcasm, “I do not deny that sometimes I wish I had let you all drown!”

He knew it was a mistake the second the words left his mouth.

The masked Tavaedies and Zavaedies hissed and shouted.

“Zavaedi Kavio’s guilt is clear,” said Auntie Ugly. “I cast my stone with justice. I call for Kavio’s death!”

She walked to the jar and pulled out a smooth gray stone. She threw it onto the black mat.

Big surprise there, Kavio thought. You’ve always hated me, you old toad. I never even knew why.

“Zumo?” Auntie Ugly asked her son.

Zumo moved more slowly than his mother. He picked a stone and tossed it on the black mat too. He had to walk past where Kavio knelt to return to his seat.

As Zumo passed, Kavio looked up and met his eyes.

“Is that what you really think I deserve, cousin?” Kavio asked in a whisper only Zumo could hear. “What’s my crime? The lies you told—or the truth I know about you?”

Zumo’s face turned red. Maybe from guilt. Maybe from anger. It was hard to tell.

“No one will believe anything you say now, Kavio,” Zumo answered quietly. “They’ll think you’re just grasping at worms, trying to save yourself.”

He stomped back to his seat and put his mask back on.

Auntie Ugly had just sentenced the son of her rival to death. Now everyone turned to see what Father would do.

Father’s heavy shoulder blanket looked even heavier as he walked to the jar. He picked up a stone and held it in his hands for a long time.

“I would like to speak,” he said at last, looking Kavio in the eye, “on behalf of the accusers.”

People in the room stirred in surprise. But Kavio just gave a grim smile. He wasn’t surprised at all.

From the moment Father called for the trial, Kavio had known what would happen. Politics always came first. Not love. Not family. And sure enough, Father gave a fine speech, pulling himself away from his son. When he finished, he clenched his jaw and squeezed the stone.

“I too must cast my stone with justice, even if it means the death of my son. My only child.”

He threw the rock on the black mat.

He met Kavio’s eyes without blinking. But when Mother gasped, he would not look at her.

The jug of judging stones.

Mother stood up next. She begged the court to show mercy. She didn’t say Kavio was innocent. She just asked for exile instead of death.

She picked a stone from the jar and placed it on the orange mat.

Kavio’s face burned with shame.

He would never beg for his own life—and he didn’t want her to either. Death would be better than exile. He didn’t think he could wear ash and live with the disgrace.

Exile meant running away from home like a mouse fleeing fire. Exile meant people would hate and laugh at him wherever he went. Exile meant he couldn’t stay to finish solving the mystery hidden deep in the Labyrinth—the only magic that still mattered to him.

Far, far better to die.

One by one, the rest of the Zavaedies came to place their stones—for innocence, exile, or death. Some spoke their reasons. Some just dropped their stones without a word.

Sadly, Mother’s plea moved many. When the last rock had been placed, the orange mat had the most stones.

Exile.

Kavio swallowed, hard, to hide his feelings. You’ve killed me all the same.

Father struck the rain stick.

“Kavio, you have been found guilty of the worst crime—hexcraft. Because you were trained by the secret societies, you will not be killed. But you are still punished. You may not enter the Labyrinth again. You may not take anything from the Labyrinth with you. You may not study with any dancing society of the Labyrinth. Do you understand your punishment?”

“I understand it all too well,” Kavio said through gritted teeth. “But I will never say it is fair.”

“So be it,” Father said in a flat voice. “Bring the pot of ashes.”

Two warriors lifted a large ceramic pot from the shadows near the tall platform. They forced Kavio to lean back on his knees. They smeared a thick paste on him and rubbed in dark gray powder. His bare chest and clean face disappeared under the greasy mud.

The shame stung like poison. But he didn’t move. He stayed still as stone while they slapped on more ash.

“You must wear mud and ash for the rest of your life,” said the Maze Zavaedi. His voice cracked. “I am ashamed to call you my son.”

Kavio stood up with effort. The warriors surrounded him with their spears. Did they still fear him?

“You never could trust me, could you, Father?” Kavio asked.

Father’s jaw stuck out. A muscle moved in his neck. But he said nothing else.

“Escort my son out of the Labyrinth,” he ordered.