by Nancy Gray
Mercy glanced around her. They were in an open courtyard, and as she took in the terrain around them, she realized it was more than that. It was an execution ground. There was a long, flat stone in the center of the square that was stained an ominous brown color with a grinding stone next to it. There was also a large tree with the remnants of many ropes wound around the thickest branch. It seemed that prisoners were allowed to choose how they wanted to die.
They quickly ran and hid behind the tall, hanging tree and looked around for guards. The entire enclosure was surrounded by a tall, ornate wrought iron fence. Mercy cringed as she noticed two men were guarding the front gate into the courtyard. Two more guards rushed out of the prison, whispered something to them, and the two quickly nodded and started spreading out, searching for them in the opposite direction. She breathed a quick sigh of relief, especially when she saw that they weren’t far from a narrow gate in the back of the enclosure. The path beyond the gate wasn’t well kept. It had to be the overgrown path into the graveyard that Mered mentioned to them.
As she walked toward the gate, Mercy was surprised at how beautiful the courtyard was, with thick green grass and wildflowers tickling her ankles. Kylas, however, wasn’t looking at the flowers. He was staring in horror at the stained stone, and rubbing his neck. Mercy could easily understand why. If they hadn’t found Kylas in time, the bloodstained stone would probably be the last thing that he saw.
Mirilee said in a quiet whisper, “They may be beautiful, but for something so lovely, they have some ugly views about justice.”
Mercy didn’t say anything. Her people were known to occasionally make an example out of a criminal, as well. If she hadn’t begged for Mered and Kylas’ lives in the first place, they would’ve been killed in her village long ago. It was never about justice, it was about showing that her tribe wasn’t to be trifled with. She felt it was the same way with the “People of the Air and Light.” Since they made sure to treat the “condemned” so well, it seemed that they didn’t enjoy killing prisoners, but that they felt it was necessary to prove a point.
They quietly pushed their way through the rusty wrought iron fence onto the thick trail just as they heard guards starting to fill the courtyard. Mercy grabbed Kylas and Mirilee by the shoulders, making sure that they ducked down behind some thick foliage and stayed quiet. The guards walked in the direction of the gate, and Mercy held her breath. She wanted to disappear, but she felt like even the sound of her pulse was already giving her away.
Mercy glanced out of the underbrush for a moment. One of the guards had brown hair and wings. He looked like he used to be one of Mirilee’s people. The other looked like a Stealer Wing through and through with marble white wings and hair to match.
The brown haired guard said a low whisper, “Do you think that they went this way?”
The white haired guard chuckled. “If they did, they’ve done our job for us. I wouldn’t go into that cemetery even to escape an execution, especially with night about to fall.”
“Why not?”
“I keep forgetting how new you are to this place. This land was never ritually cleansed.”
“Why didn’t they cleanse it?”
“Lord Radial said that using our abilities to cleanse the land might be considered insulting to the faith of the Desert People. We should’ve done it anyway.”
“Most of us feel very strongly about our faith. I think what he did was right. Just in case they did go this way, someone should go after them.”
“Be my guest. I’m staying right here. You couldn’t drag me into that place.”
The first guard hesitated, and Mercy could feel his apprehension as he peered into the trees close to where they were hiding. Mercy closed her eyes, imagining being invisible again. Before she could even feel the strange sensation of it, the guard turned and went the other way, following his Stealer Wing friend.
Mirilee whispered, “That was way too close.”
Kylas rubbed his arms as though he felt cold. “I don’t like what they said about that cemetery. Maybe we should find another way.”
Mercy shook her head. “No. If they aren’t going to follow us, then this is the safest way. I’d rather take my chances with local superstition than facing that many guards.”
“Let’s hope we don’t regret that decision.” Mirilee muttered.
Mercy felt a flash of uncertainty and dread from Mirilee. It made her almost want to go back the way they came. Whenever Mirilee was frightened, it meant that there was good reason. She knew Mirilee was thinking of the glass dunes and silently hoped that Mered wouldn’t send them in the direction of the cemetery if it was that dangerous.
They walked down the trail in single file, careful to gently move any branches that might make a loud noise as they went. It was impossible to navigate the narrow trail without making any noise at all, but at least that also meant that unless their pursuers were flying, they would hear anyone following them.
Eventually, the path got wider and the foliage became less dense. The trees were taking on a gnarled appearance with very few leaves, and the leaves that were there had a blighted yellow and brown appearance. The entire area smelled like decay. Mercy quickly realized why as they saw a large wrought iron archway leering above them with the words fashioned across the top in the common language, “Cemetery of the Condemned.” Mercy turned and got sick in the dirt next to the trail. The emotions of despair and fear lingered around the area like the smell of death remaining in a corpse’s silken clothing.
Mirilee said in a falsely cheerful voice, “Well, we’re here. What a lovely evening for a stroll.”
31
As soon as they passed the gate, the oppressive feeling became more like a physical presence, as though Mercy was being pelted by thick rain. She was also surprised at how large the cemetery was, especially if most of the people buried there were the desert nomads. She had a feeling that all condemned prisoners ended up in the same place and over the course of a hundred years, there probably were enough criminals or prisoners of war to create a very large graveyard.
Mercy noticed that there were statues of angelic beast men in regal poses as well as statues of Desert People wearing long billowing fabric as though trying to fight through a dust storm. Some of the headstones had engravings in desert scrawl for epitaphs while others had carvings in a strange flowing language that she knew had to be the written language of the desert angels.
She noticed that some of the headstones were surrounded by a circle of salt. Others sported disturbed earth, but they didn’t look like recent graves. There were even a few with long swords sticking out of the graves, perhaps even the swords used during the unfortunate individual’s execution. Something about the cemetery felt wrong, and it seemed as though the spirits of most of these people weren’t at rest. She decided it was best not to call anyone’s attention to her observations.
Mirilee knelt by an ornate headstone written in the language of her people and read it aloud. “All are equal in death in the eyes of the God of the Stars.”
Mercy shivered and glanced behind her, sensing someone was watching her and the group. She closed her eyes and tried to concentrate. Even though it was very faint, she could feel subtle emotions that weren’t coming from Mirilee or Kylas. She could feel a desperate thirst for something, like a starving animal watching potential prey. There was also a gleeful feeling of amusement, like that of a mischievous child about to play a prank on someone unsuspecting. The emotions were fleeting and primal, just a little above animalistic intelligence.
Mercy whispered, “There’s something else in here watching us. Let’s keep moving.”
Mirilee frowned and nodded. Kylas gripped his long desert cloak closer around his shoulders and followed very close to Mirilee. Mercy followed behind them, occasionally looking up to make sure there were no Stealer Wings following, and then looking around to try to catch sight of whatever was watching them.
The only figures around them were weath
ered, stone statues. One of them in particular made Mercy nervous. She couldn’t tell what the statue was supposed to depict, but she guessed it was death himself. The figure was shrouded in a robe and its face was covered by a cowl. Long, gnarled fingers with long sharp nails poked out of the sleeves of its robes ominously. Both of its claws gripped sharp looking sickles that were made of metal instead of stone.
Mercy tried to keep her voice from shaking, but she failed miserably as she asked, “Mirilee, what is that figure?”
“It’s the Fallen One. The God of the Stars cast him out, because he became corrupted by darkness. He harvests the souls of evil men like wheat with his sickles.”
Mercy glanced behind her and her mouth became entirely dry as she realized the sickles were no longer hanging idly at the statue’s side. They were lifted up and crossed above its torso. The statue was frozen that way, making her wonder if it was her imagination playing tricks on her, but she had a horrible feeling that it wasn’t. She stared at the statue, as though daring it to move, but it simply stood there in silence.
Mercy said in a terrified whisper, “That statue moved.”
Mirilee said, “It couldn’t have. It’s just a statue.”
Kylas frowned. There was clearly something on his mind that he didn’t want to share.
“You’re awful quiet, Kylas, and I’ve seen that look on your face before,” Mirilee whispered.
“It’s just when I went to trade at Concord, the Northerners told me a story. They said statues can be possessed by creatures called goyles, and then they move.”
Mirilee rolled her eyes. “They probably told you that story just to scare you.”
He shook his head. “They seemed pretty scared talking about it. They said goyles are normally invisible, and they feed on negative feelings. They torture people to death so that they get as many emotions from them as they can before they die.”
Mercy glanced back at the statue - only to see that it wasn’t there. She fought back the urge to scream and continued to walk forward at a faster pace, realizing that there were plenty of trees and tall tombstones around them for it to hide behind for an ambush. She tried not to call anyone’s attention to the fact it was gone.
Mirilee laughed. “You aren’t scary, Kylas.”
“Look, that’s just what I heard. I’m not saying they’re real. You’re probably right. They’re probably just a story to scare kids into behaving themselves. Mercy, where did that statue go?”
Mirilee turned and her face became pale.
Mercy asked, “If such a creature did exist, how would a person fight it?”
Mirilee took her dagger from her pocket and glanced around.
Kylas pulled the short sword out as well and looked around warily. “Well first of all, they would try not to be afraid.”
“I can already tell you that one isn’t going to work. What else?”
“They would try to knock the head off. They say that the creature becomes like the statue it possesses. If it’s a horse statue it has similar traits to one. If the statue has a human head, we should aim for the head, because if it can’t see, it’ll leave the statue.”
The goyle was a blur of motion in front of them. They only saw a gray haze as it jumped out from behind the closest tree, grabbing Mirilee into a crushing embrace. She shrieked in pain and thrashed around like a trapped animal. No matter how hard she struggled, she couldn’t seem to break away from the statue’s grip. Mercy readied her bow and tried to remain calm, aiming carefully at the creature’s head. The arrow didn’t even chip the stone, plinking off and dropping to the ground. Mercy could feel the creature’s contempt at her impotent attack.
Kylas rushed forward and slashed at the statue’s head with his short sword. He managed to chip away a large chunk from its neck through sheer brute strength, but the creature pushed Mirilee to its other hand and slammed the back of the sickle onto Kylas’ head. There was a sickening sound, like someone thumping a melon for ripeness and Kylas fell limply to the ground. Mercy glanced away. It was impossible to tell how bad the injury was without examining it, especially since it was bleeding profusely. She needed to focus on saving Mirilee and then she could examine Kylas.
Mercy snarled, “Put her down!”
She stared at the hole in the carved garment where the creature’s face should’ve been. She could just barely make out a narrow chin and a mouth full of sharp, pointed teeth. The creature was smirking. Before she could take back what she had asked, the creature squeezed Mirilee harder with its arm and Mercy heard the sound of cracking and breaking bones. Mirilee screamed loudly and then stopped struggling. It dropped her unceremoniously like a toddler dropping an abused and wrecked toy.
Mercy glanced at Mirilee. She was conscious, but her entire face was contorted in pain. Seeing Mirilee in agony made Mercy feel physically ill with sympathy. As the creature watched her expression, she saw its grin become wider, and it opened up its mouth. A long prehensile tongue made of stone licked the now entirely exposed maw, and she realized it literally tasted her sorrow. From its expression, it liked the flavor. Mercy quickly stepped defensively between it and her fallen companions. It knew her weakness now. If it killed them, she would be devastated which was exactly what the entity wanted.
Mercy rushed forward and grabbed Kylas’ short sword. The creature darted just as quickly and threw one of the sickles into the back of her leg. She overcame the pain long enough to spin around and slam the short sword into the crack in the statue’s neck. It stumbled backward, clutching at its neck with its empty hand. The gesture was so human that it surprised her and she wondered vaguely if it could feel pain, as well. After what it had done to Kylas and Mirilee, Mercy didn’t care. She lunged forward again with the sword, but it blocked the blow with the sickle.
“I’m not afraid of you.”
Mercy heard its derisive laughter at her comment, but she realized she could only hear it in her head. She didn’t hesitate and rushed forward. Even though the creature was guarding the spot in its neck that was already broken, it hadn’t guarded the other side. She slammed the blade against the other side of the neck, leaving a knick. She hoped it would be enough to cause deeper cracks within the structure. She could feel its confidence fading and turning into concern etched with a slight amount of fear. It was starting to see her as a threat, which meant she had to be on her guard.
The creature rushed forward, trying to slice her neck with its other sickle. Mercy deftly blocked just in time as the sickle blade slide against the edge of the sword and sliced open her arm above the wrist. Mercy knew she didn’t have much time. She could feel the blood from the gash on her thigh trickling down to her ankle. The fresh wound on her arm needed to be bandaged or she probably wouldn’t survive much longer, even if she was able to destroy the living statue.
Mercy thought, “I have to protect my friends. I have to be strong for them.”
To her surprise, Mercy saw Mirilee out of the corner of her eye. She had a large, thick branch from one of the trees.
Mirilee slammed the branch against the other side of its neck and snarled, “Go back to Hell, Fallen One.”
Mercy heard the sound of cracking stone. She knew that the statue’s neck couldn’t take much more strain. It wheeled around, focusing on Mirilee. Mercy tossed the short sword to her, which she caught just in time to block the blow of the goyle’s sickle. Mercy grabbed her bow from her back and nocked an arrow. This time she aimed for the largest crack on the back of the statue’s neck. She breathed deeply, concentrating and pretending that she was aiming a shot at a practice dummy.
The arrow struck home, right in the center of the crack, and the statue’s cowled head rolled off. Mercy and Mirilee watched in amazement as the statue’s body swiped feebly at the air a few more times and then began to stiffen into its original pose. Mercy heard a howl that sounded like the shriek of an owl combined with a howling gale wind as an invisible force ran right through her and then dissipated.
“I
t’s not dead, but it won’t be able to come back for a long time. At least, that’s what they told me.” Kylas was trying to stand, but whenever he managed to get slightly upright he stumbled and fell down again.
Mirilee was also staggering, but it mostly looked like it was due to pain in her chest. It was only then as she assessed the others’ injuries that Mercy realized she needed to concentrate on the wounds on her leg and arm. It was as though she had banished the pain during the fight, but now she could feel it again. She took off her cloak, tearing it into strips. She wrapped the wound on her arm first, and then looked at the sickle sticking out of her leg. Mercy knew that while it was bleeding badly now, it would be much worse when she pulled out the blade.
“Mirilee, I’m going to need a hand with this.”
Mirilee hobbled over to her and nodded.
“When I pull the blade out, I need you to put as much pressure as you can on the injury. Shove this scrap of cloth into it and I’ll bandage around it. Are you ready?”
Mirilee looked pale, but she nodded. Even though Mirilee clearly wasn’t comfortable treating injuries, Mercy knew that her friend would follow her instructions to the best of her ability. She took a deep breath and pulled the sickle from the wound. Warm liquid began to flow down her leg, but she felt Mirilee press the cloth into the wound with enough force that it nearly knocked her over. Mercy quickly bandaged it and then instructed Mirilee to let go. It felt like the bleeding had stopped, so she decided it was time to look at her friends’ injuries.
Mercy decided that Kylas’ head wound needed to be tended first. She knelt beside him and tore more strips away from her cloak. With one of the strips she cleaned the blood off of his forehead, silently praying that the wound wouldn’t be as bad as it looked. She gently pulled a small strip of flesh to the side, making him curse loudly in pain, but she was relieved to see that even though it was a deep gash, there wasn’t an injury to his skull. But, from the way he was staggering around and the dilation of the pupils of his eyes, she could tell that some internal damage had been done. She put pressure on the wound, told him to remain seated, and tied a patch of cloth tightly to his head. Then she turned to Mirilee.
