Salvia:The Exile Chapter 2

Chapter 2 It had started as a bit of silliness. It had ended at the Locus Praeceptium, with Calamintha sitting in the Seat of Ruling. The memories began to unfold in her mind, like seedlings pushing through the damp earth in springtime. And Rubia. Rubia Peregrina. If she’d known whose garden it was, she’d never have done what she did! Rubia Peregrina, angry and asking for a Ruling. Which Calamintha, sitting in the Seat of Ruling, couldn’t deny her. But there had been someone else there too – who had it been? Nula! Her best friend Nula, standing there, accused with her. But it hadn’t been Nula doing anything wrong – in fact, Nula had tried to stop her. And Calamintha, listening carefully to Rubia’s angry tirade, weighing the case as she heard it. And herself, standing on the Path of Ruling, looking at the scene in the Locus Praeceptium, waiting for it to be her turn to be accused and questioned also, knowing that Rubia did have something to complain about as far as she was concerned. And then it was her turn to stand there, facing her accuser. All judgement on Nula was being suspended until they had heard what she had to say, and she knew this was her one chance to get Nula out of the mess she’d dragged her into. “It wasn’t Nula. I know she was there, but she didn’t do anything wrong. In fact she tried to stop me, but I wouldn’t listen to her.” It was hard to tell if her hurried words had any effect on Rubia at all. The stern face remained as harsh as ever. It was otherwise with Calamintha. Her lovely eyes softened with thankfulness.
“I think we can add it to Salvia’s credit that she spoke up for Nula, and told the truth.” “Add it to her credit? Certainly not! Penalise her for lying, yes, but she gains no credit for being truthful. But I withdraw my asking against Nula, unreservedly. She may leave the Locus Praeceptium, and there is nothing lying between us.” And now it was Salvia’s turn to speak of the mischief she had done. By the time she had told the whole story, she felt very worried. She’d only done it as a bit of fun, but Rubia was taking it really seriously. What if Calamintha had to agree with Rubia? What would her penalty be? When the whole story had been told, Calamintha rose from the Seat of Ruling and went over to Rubia, still standing in the place of the accuser.
“What Salvia did was wrong. I think we all know that. And you have the right to ask for the appropriate penalty. But before you ask, may I plead a little for her. She is young and a little foolish, like so many of the other young ones. But they are losing their wings so early. And has anyone discovered why yet? May not our young be pardoned a little foolishness before they have to face their early loss?” Then Calamintha went and sat down again and waited for Rubia to speak. A little hope crept into Salvia’s heart. Calamintha had spoken up for her. Maybe – surely – Rubia’s heart would be softened by the appeal. And at first it seemed as if Calamintha’s words had worked.
“Reparation is due to me. I ask for reparation: that Salvia shall come and work in my garden to restore the damage she caused. And as she caused it alone, she shall repair it alone.” Calamintha concentrated hard. Whoever was on the Seat of Ruling must acknowledge truth, or suffer. No-one sat here lightly. It was a dangerous place to be.
“I find what you ask to be fair. I rule that your request is granted in its entirety. Do you ask again?” And both Calamintha and Salvia were expecting the formal response that would end the hearing. “I ask again.”
Salvia heard Calamintha’s sharp intake of breath.
“What she did breaks one of the First Five laws. And for this the punishment is exile. I ask for exile – but, in consideration of her youth, I will not ask for permanent exile. She may return when she has erased the marks of her behaviour.”
Salvia knew the last phrase – every mother used it! “Go into the garden until you have erased the marks of your behaviour.” It meant: until you have learnt to think differently about what you just did. Calamintha wasn’t happy, Salvia could tell. But she was sitting on the Seat of Ruling: she could not give way to her feelings.
“I rule that what you have asked is indeed in accordance with our laws. This request is granted in its entirety. Do you ask again?” “What I have asked has been heard. I ask nothing more.”
“Then we will test the truth of this ruling.” The three of them went and stood at the pool that was at the other end of the Path of Ruling. Salvia had heard about this of course – every child knew about the Locus Praeceptium, and the pool there, the Fons Veritatis, that never ran dry, and that would change its colour to reflect the truth of a Ruling. But she had never expected to be here herself. And certainly never as the one against whom a Ruling was being brought.
First Rubia asked the pool: “Has the Ruling been a fair one? Then she reached over and touched the water. Calamintha did the same, and then it was Salvia’s turn. Her voice was husky as she asked the question, and then she reached over and touched the pool. The water was clear, and cold to the touch. It changed beneath her fingers, rippling and swirling in many colours and patterns. Salvia felt as though the breath had been knocked out of her as she heard Calamintha say,
“The Ruling has been fair. You will make reparation, alone, and go into exile until you have erased the marks of your behaviour.” And then it was as though night fell in her mind, and she could not see into her past any longer. As she looked at the grey walls that surrounded her, her heart ached for the colour and beauty of her homeland. But she had her name back! She was Salvia. She was not The Roku. The children returned from school and came in and sat down at the table and did their homework, in silence as always. San was the first to finish, but instead of going to play or read a book, she merely sat there watching Salvia cook. Her steady gaze irritated Salvia. “If you’ve finished your homework, why don’t you go and do something?”
“The Roku has not given me permission. I cannot do anything unusual unless it says I may.”
“I’m not The Roku. I’m Salvia. My name is Salvia.” Maybe it wasn’t fair to be cross with San for calling her The Roku. She softened her voice slightly. “And I’m not it. I’m a she – I’m female. Like you.” “I am it. And so is The Roku.”
“And I am not The Roku. I am Salvia! Say my name: Salvia.” By now Salvia was cross – and sad and frightened, and lonely. She banged the spoon around the bowl for added emphasis.
“Stop being so stubborn! Just say my name: Salvia.”
Each time she spoke her name out loud she felt slightly better. And to hear it from someone else’s lips as well would be so good. But San said nothing. Salvia sighed loudly and crossly, San came over to Salvia as she stirred the dinner.
“Have I been naughty?”
“Yes,” Salvia snapped, crossly.
“How naughty?”
Salvia’s irritation grew. “Very, very naughty. Now off you go.” And she waved the child away. Obediently, San left the room. Salvia put the bowl of food on the table.
“Now let’s not have any nonsense about can’t eat until I give you permission. When the food is on the table, you may get the plates and bowls and help yourselves. You do not have to wait for me to tell you so each time.”
Her eye was caught by the cots at the end of the room. She went over to look at them more closely, while the children did indeed get themselves bowls and help themselves to the food. Five cots. And five children. Had they really been here all their lives? “Where’s San? Why hasn’t she come back in for her food?”
Ichi looked at Salvia as though Salvia was mildly insane.
“You told it that it was very, very naughty. It will be outside where the naughty ones go. It will have told the gates what you said.”
This made no sense at all to Salvia.
“Ichi, what do you mean?” But it was Go who spoke up.
“I will show you.” He pushed back his chair and rose. Salvia followed Go outside. He stopped, halfway along the path that led from the eating building to the sleeping quarters. There, standing forlornly in a little cage-like structure in the middle of the yard was San.
“You told it that it was very, very naughty. It will have gone and spoken to the gates and told them what you said. The gates open to let it in. Then the gates close and move so that it cannot get out until the right time has passed.”
“But how long will that be?”
“For very, very naughty? Three days, I think.” Three days! Part of Salvia said, well, how was she supposed to know anyway? It wasn’t her fault. San shouldn’t have been so irritating. Another part of her said she hadn’t been very kind to San. The practical side of her said that if San was going to be out there for three days, she’d probably die of cold and thirst. And then as she looked at San, trapped in that small space, her memories began to unfold again.