I died, but the devil claimed it was illegal

CHAPTER 6 – THE PRICE OF BEING HUMAN

The settlement was bigger than Ivarn had expected.

Once through the gate, the streets opened into a wide market square. Demons moved in every direction: merchants, soldiers, families, travellers. Stalls lined the edges, selling fruit and cloth and weapons and things Ivarn couldn't put a name to. Blue lamps hung from iron posts, glowing softly. A cart rumbled past, pulled by something that looked like an ox but had far too many legs.

Ivarn stared.

"You're doing it again," Belric said.

"Doing what?"

"Staring."

Ivarn looked away. "Sorry."

They pushed deeper into the square. The noise was overwhelming: haggling, laughter, arguments, the clang of a blacksmith's hammer. A demon woman was shouting at a fruit seller about the price of something purple and spiky. Two men were arguing over a deal that seemed to have gone wrong. A group of children ran past, chasing a ball that bounced off a stall and nearly took out a crate of eggs.

"This is..." Ivarn trailed off.

"What did you expect?"

"I don't know. Fire? Monsters? People screaming?"

Belric laughed. "Demons aren't monsters. Most of them are just trying to make a living."

They stopped at a food stall, and Belric bought two skewers of something that smelled like roasted meat. He handed one over.

"What is it?"

"Don't ask. Just eat."

Ivarn ate. It tasted like chicken. He decided not to think about what it actually was.

As they walked, Ivarn started picking up the conversations around him.

"The Council raised the tariff again."

"Three percent. Can you believe it?"

"If the Black Arbiter doesn't do something, we'll all be ruined."

"Don't speak of him so casually. He has ears everywhere."

Ivarn frowned. "The Black Arbiter?"

Belric glanced at him. "Zevrakh Dreadmoor. That's one of his titles."

"People talk about him like he's a king."

"He is a king. The demon king. But he prefers to be called the Black Arbiter." Belric took a bite of his skewer. "He sees himself as a judge more than a ruler. Contracts. Debts. Broken promises. That's what interests him."

"And that's why people are afraid of him?"

"That's why people are careful around him." Belric lowered his voice. "He doesn't tolerate disrespect, but he isn't cruel without reason. There are worse things in Elarion than the Devil."

Ivarn found that hard to believe.

A demon woman stepped into their path. She was tall and grey-skinned, with sharp horns and yellow eyes.

"Human," she said, looking at Ivarn the way one might look at a strange insect. "Where did you come from?"

"Leave him alone," Belric said.

"I asked him a question." The woman didn't take her eyes off Ivarn. "What's a human doing in demon territory? You're a long way from the Crownlands."

"I'm just passing through," Ivarn said.

"Passing through." The woman smiled, though it wasn't a friendly expression. "I've never seen a human pass through the Barrens before. Most of them die before they get this far."

"I got lucky."

"Lucky." Her eyes narrowed. "Or something else."

Belric stepped between them. "He's under my protection. Move along."

The woman looked at Belric, her smile unchanged. "Merchant Thorne. I didn't recognize you."

"Now you do. Move along."

She held his gaze a moment longer, then shrugged and walked away.

Ivarn let out a breath. "Thanks."

"Don't thank me. Just don't draw attention." Belric started walking again. "Humans aren't welcome here. Some demons see you as an outsider. Others see you as prey."

"And which kind are you?"

Belric glanced back at him. "The kind who hasn't left you behind yet."

They reached the edge of the square, where a large memorial stood.

It was a wall of black stone covered in names, hundreds of them, perhaps thousands. Each name was carved deep into the rock and followed by two dates.

Ivarn stopped.

"What's this?"

"Memorial for the War of Judgments," Belric said. "It happened about three hundred years ago. Demons against the celestial authority. A lot of people died."

Ivarn studied the names. Something about them struck him as odd.

"These dates," he said. "They're exact."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean they aren't just years. Some have days, even times." He pointed to one. "This one died at 3:17 in the afternoon. How would anyone know that?"

Belric was quiet for a moment.

"Because death is recorded," he said. "The Mortality Ledger doesn't just note the day. It notes the exact moment."

Ivarn looked at him. "You're serious."

"I told you before. The Ledger records everything."

Ivarn turned back to the wall. Thousands of names, thousands of exact moments of death.

It was real. All of it was real.

"So this world really does have a system governing death," he said.

"Yes."

"And it's controlled by the First Jurors."

"Yes."

"And nobody finds that strange?"

Belric didn't answer.

Ivarn stared at the wall of names. It was an odd feeling. To know that somewhere in this world, there was a book with his name in it. A book that said he had died before he was even born.

"What happens if someone disagrees with the record?" he asked.

Belric started walking. "Come on. We need to find somewhere to stay."

"What happens?"

Belric didn't slow down. "They disappear."

Ivarn stood there a moment longer, staying with the names. Then he followed.