CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Cevo
Tearing a mammal into four pieces is like disarticulating a wishbone. Or like an angry crowd on the edge of losing control. You never know which way it is going to go. The people simmered, but perhaps they had more sense than I gave them credit for. Perhaps they did remember me after all.
Mahalelel kept his distance. It had been 29 years, 324 days since I lost my temper with him. Since I last broke my vow. Not once had I lost my temper since then. Not once. This is the new Cevo, Mahalelel. What do you think of me? This is Cevo in control. Cevo with vision. I have seen the world and have seen the future. One where I am the only sapient left alive. Father really did love the others best. But I will be the one alive in the end. Then I will carry this limitless power to my grave, this secret that the world should never have uncovered. Because only I have the self control. Only I can handle the power without pain and destruction raining down on all around me.
So maybe I had given myself a few breaks from the vow in the last thirty years. They were short, inconsequential. And only once or twice. What did it matter? The witnesses have been recalled to their maker. Mahalelel knew nothing of those breaks. He only knew he did not want to stand witness to another.
Greenskins surrounded the crowd and edged forward, spears lowered. Eagles large enough to carry away a child circled overhead, sensing the pending meal. The execution proconsul stared at me.
"What are you waiting for?" I shouted.
Shuffling, he glanced at the crowd, their gritted teeth, their smoldering murmur. Worthless porcus; this proconsul will be chiseling rock with the rest of the slaves by the time the sun sets tonight.
"Lynch the man first if it soothes your conscience." I checked my pocket watch. The proconsul gave a command. Men secured ropes to horses and cinched knots. The proconsul cracked his whip. Horses whinnied, lurching forward. I heard the springy sound of a plucked cithara. The man screamed, then, with a gushing pop, fell silent. I cleaned under my fingernails, peering through the balusters to see which appendage hung from the man's torso. The right leg this time. That makes it 233 for the right leg to 205 for the left. The arms are far less likely. I surmise this has something to do with the tendons and joints in the shoulder being smaller and weaker than the hip.
Eagles swooped down, pecking the man's entrails like men husked piscatus on fishing schooners. Guards batted them away, but the birds were too many. Most of the jura's remains were soon gone.
I moved to the edge of my seat. "Now the girl."
The proconsul squirmed like he had nepa crawling in his pants. He glanced sideways at the crowd as his men tied Hagnus's ropes to the horses.
"It ain't right!" someone from the crowd yelled.
"You gotta let her go!"
I jumped to my feet. "Ignore them."
The proconsul finally cracked his whip. The ropes went tight, the same plucked-string-note as with the man, but no pop.
Hagnus vibrated, limbs stretched, eyes closed. Lines of concentration formed on her forehead. The proconsul cracked his whip again. Four Clydesdales heaved. The greenskins slapped the horses. One reared up, straining against the rope. It snapped. The horse galloped into the screaming crowd.
Using her now free hand, Hagnus ripped the gag from her mouth, eyes locked on me. "Do you wish you'd taken the time to see me now?" she whispered. I heard her as clearly as if she stood next to me. I felt the warmth of Hagnus's skin with my outstretched fingers, turned her head a little left, a little right, so she knew I could snap her in two. How I wanted to twist that little neck, but I had to circumscribe. I must keep the crowd ignorant.
It is time for you to commit suicide, little Hagnus. Too bad you do not have time to write a note. I made her free hand rise, grabbing the length of dangling rope. She fought me. Stronger than I guessed she was capable of. But not strong enough.
Hagnus wrapped the rope around her neck again and again.
"Help—"
Forcing her mouth shut, I felt her voice reverberate into my skin. I tried to make her hand release, to let her body fall. She resisted. I leaned over the handrail, concentrated on her fingers, focused on bending her muscles to my will. Two words escaped from her lips.
"Evan Burl!"
My equilibrium tipped. "Quid dicis—" I steadied myself on the handrail. "What did you say?"
She gasped. "I know you're looking for him."
"So what if I am?"
"If you let me live, I'll take you to Evan Burl."
Evan Burl and the Falling, Vol. 1-2 Page 30
