Chapter 10 - Punishment

Life had turned into a worse mess than Putt had ever thought possible. Somehow, he had believed he could explain to his grandmother why he did it. How had he managed to fool himself into thinking he didn't understand the consequences?
He had understood that Oon, Sinik, and Pho would despise him afterward, but it hadn't bothered him much. He didn't like them, so what did it matter? Avia herself had told him these things didn't matter; he would never meet them again.
But his grandmother's fury had come as a nasty surprise. He had seen the two of them as a team. Instead, it had become him against the rest of the world. Oon had grabbed him, slapped him across the face, and tied his hands and feet. It was little comfort that his grandma had been furious about it when she returned with Hockheba and the soldiers. She had not untied him; she had seemed angrier about Oon doing it instead of herself. He didn't understand. Things had not turned out as he had thought they would.
Then Sinik had whipped Hockheba. With horror, he had watched her beautiful, pale, slender back turn into a mess of red stripes and oozing blood. When they dumped her weeping on the ground, they all turned and looked at him. And at his grandmother.
"He's only a boy," his grandmother said.
"He's a criminal," Oon replied, unyielding.
He watched his grandmother's face. She hadn't talked to him at all since she came back. She hadn't heard his story, hadn't asked him why. Did she not want to know his reasons? He had helped the prisoner escape; yes, he couldn't lie about it, no one would believe him. Hockheba had escaped. Prisoners don't get loose without reason, and he was the only possible reason.
But he had thought he could explain, to make them, or at least his grandmother, understand. He couldn't. To his terror, he saw Avia give Oon a nod and approach him. In a panic, he made a feeble effort to get away. With his hands and feet tied, it was utterly pointless.
She grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him close.
"Listen, boy. I'm going to cut your ropes, and you will stand up, take your shirt off, and grab that tree without a word or a whimper. You're going to take your punishment without questions or escape attempts. Do you understand?" She hissed it to him in a low, angry voice only meant for him.
She was going to whip him. His own grandmother would make his back a red, painful mess. His eyes flickered to the forest, and her grip tightened.
"They consider you a criminal. They'll gladly kill you if you run. If you want to live, do as I say. Take your shirt off and hug that tree. No arguments. It will hurt, but you'll live."
She pulled her knife and cut him loose.
Putt's legs shook as Avia took hold of his arms and pulled him to his feet. His fingers fumbled with the strings of his shirt. When he finally managed to untie it and pull it over his head, he saw his grandmother with a whip in her hand, waiting.
They were all watching, everyone except for Hockheba, who seemed lost in her own misery. At least three of them hated him. His entire body trembled as he grabbed the trunk of a nearby tree. The bark pressed into his bare skin, not nearly as uncomfortable as it soon would be. He closed his eyes and waited, every muscle vibrating with tension.
He heard the whip coming and then felt a burning pain across his back. His grip around the tree tightened, and he tried not to scream. What had he done to deserve this? A second strike, and he couldn't keep from whimpering. Such a brave warrior he was, crying like a baby. The third blow brought him to his knees.
"Please, stop," he sobbed. "Please."
It didn't help. She hit him a fourth time. He felt the blood reach the line of his pants. To his shame, he realized he had peed, unable to control his bladder when the whip struck.
"That's enough," he heard his grandmother's voice say. Putt let go of the tree and slipped down flat to the ground, wishing he was dead, wanting to leave the pain and the shame behind.


Avia placed more wood onto the fire and returned to crafting new arrows. Putt lay on his stomach beside her, still asleep. They were alone now. Oon Barsate had left with the prisoner and her soldiers, without paying her. Avia hadn’t humiliated herself by insisting on the money. The whole mission had been a mess. In ordinary cases, capturing a runaway prisoner would have earned her a bonus and a glowing recommendation.
This time, it had cost her the job. When Oon had given the order to leave, which was Avia's responsibility, she knew. She accepted it without argument. Insisting on anything would lead to nothing. Better to accept the failure than to pretend it didn’t exist.
What had she learned from this? She often asked herself this question, especially when things went awry. The answer: Do not pick apprentices out of charity. And never mix young boys with pretty damsels. Another lesson learned. Putt moved and hissed in pain.
"How are you doing?" she asked. He didn’t look at her and didn’t reply.
"I'm sorry for what this all became," she said, trying to soothe him. "It was a mistake being your master and your grandmother at the same time." He gazed into the fire, expressionless. "Go to sleep. We'll stay here until you're healed enough to move without bleeding."
"The others?" he asked.
"They left. We're by ourselves again."
He said nothing more, staring into the fire while Avia looked up at the dark sky. Sparks followed the thin smoke, rising and glowing before fading away.
She turned her head, scanning the forest. Since she hadn’t looked into the fire, she could see the closest trees clearly against the dark background. The typical sounds of the night surrounded them, but there was no movement.
In the other direction lay the road. Their campsite was hidden behind trees and bushes for privacy, but no one traveled after nightfall. When they lay still tomorrow, those bushes would be a blessing. It was also fortunate it wasn't a hot weather; the wounds would likely heal without any problems.
"Are you in pain?" she inquired.
Putt shook his head. Good. Her medicine still worked. She hoped he would fall asleep again. The boy had been punished enough already. No need for pain too. She thought of Hockheba, forced to move on the same day she was whipped. Her once unscarred back now bore the marks of Sinik’s lash. Those scars would follow her for the rest of her life, just as Putt would have his. And Avia had hers.
Being a warrior's apprentice almost guaranteed getting lashed once or twice. Her crimes had never been as severe as Putt's, but you were supposed to handle pain. How would you know if you could if you never experienced it? You were also expected to show no fear in the face of danger. So, physical punishments were the rule, and she had learned to handle it as part of life. She had never considered her master cruel. Even when the punishment seemed unfair, she saw it as valuable experience and good training for the future.
Did Putt see it that way, or would he hate her for this? Even if he had indeed committed a real crime, one that could have cost him his life if he had been older.
She wondered about her previous apprentices. How had they dealt with their punishments? None of them had seemed to hate her. They appeared to have the same attitude she had. Whose world was normal? Did most people feel like Putt? Probably. Most people feared pain and fled danger. Warriors did not.
She watched the stars again. It would be a long night. Her bow was ready beside her. She had decided to stay vigilant, just in case Oon Barsate sent someone to finish the job with her grandson. Avia couldn’t grasp how someone could judge solely on one action. Yes, Putt had helped a prisoner escape, but he was a child, seduced by someone he saw as a substitute for his mother. If Sinik or Pho had done the same, it might have been for other reasons, maybe even a good cause. There were those too, at least in the stories.
Everyone enjoyed a story where the innocent underdog got away, but reality was different. But to look at a child as a criminal without hope... no, that passed every level of understanding. She was glad there hadn’t been a fight about the issue. Oon had not been happy with only four lashes, but no one had been willing to fight her to add more.