Execution

by Shaun O. McCoy

  Well, that’s true for all but three of the bars, but they are an exception in name only. Those are the bars which the pulleyman can retract up into the trunk. If you fuck with them, the bells chime, and you get a very angry guard with a shotgun pointed at you. As the infidels say, I know this empirically.

  I doubt even a Minotaur could break out of this prison.

  They’ve left me in my Icanitzu armor, probably because they don’t know what the hell it is, so I figure I can survive the first few blasts if I need to—until they learn to go for my head.

  The entire back wall of my cell is open to the Dendra chamber beyond—except for the bars, of course—but even so, not much light makes it in here. The vines on the Wicker Tree provide some very effective shade, and there are some thick branches and a platform below, blocking the bright mists. Ironically, when the chamber is dimming and the mist is just thick enough to be seen outside, my cell is at its brightest.

  My son is located to my right, and I’ve shared a few short words with him, leaning up against his wall and whispering. Q is to my left. He’s sleeping now, but as soon as he wakes up, I plan to ask him about this Varadoolyn. Catty-corner on my right, when I look out into the hallway, I can see Durgan. He’s on constant alert. Whenever a guard walks by, Durgan’s head follows.

  Straight across from me is Neb, and catty-corner to my left is Cid.

  Infidels like alternatives. They need choices to thrive, opportunities to take advantage of. They like to lure their enemies into hostile environments. They like to do all kinds of shit that is just fucking impossible to pull off in a prison cell. And me escaping, that’d just be the beginning. I’d have to somehow get Cid and Q and Neb and my boy out too.

  Well, I guess I could live without Neb, but it would be pretty bad form at this point.

  I move back to the outside bars. If I can somehow knock one loose, I could probably climb the tree. Or I could leap and catch some of the vines out there and land on the branches below. They might absorb my fall a little.

  I reach my good hand up through the bars and feel the tree trunk just above my cell.

  The bark feels rough but is firm enough to get a good grip on.

  Then I hear feet shuffling. A cold, dry hand grabs mine.

  I try to pull my arm back but the icy grip holds me. I feel teeth on my thumb, so I jerk to one side. Then I jump up, my sore legs burning, and let my weight pull my arm down. My hand slips out and I fall to the ground.

  God my muscles hurt.

  A small, thin line of corpse dust descends, slowly falling outside my cell.

  I hear some laughter from the guards. “I think he met one of the upstairs neighbors.”

  Fuck, the corpses are above.

  Well, I should be able to climb up and around them if I can ever get past these bars.

  It’s clear that our best chance is for Cid to try convincing the Tree Lord that we’re in the right, but what are the odds on that? I sit down by the bars, take my thumbnail and start working at the wood around one’s base.

  It’s quite possible the tree will heal itself faster than I can wear it away. Still, I’ve got shit else to do.

  My attempt is futile, I find. The weak link here turns out to be my thumbnail. It’s getting abominably sore.

  “Cris, can you hear me?” Q’s voice comes to me through the wall.

  “Yeah.” I say.

  “Is that Durgan, in the cell over there?”

  “It is.”

  His sardonic chuckle is deep, and I practically feel it vibrating the wood between us. “You doing alright?”

  I thought about this. “I don’t know, am I?”

  There is a long pause. “No, Cris. None of us are doing alright. By lying on our first trip through Dendra, we wasted some much needed trust. I don’t know that we’ll have any leverage left.”

  “I’m working on the bars now,” I say.

  “Yeah, how’s that going?”

  “Like shit.”

  He chuckles again. “Your thoughts are those of a free man, Cris. If you want peace, you must think the thoughts of a prisoner.”

  “I don’t know if this is the right time for that Zen infidel shit. I just got free from Keith, and . . . man, we have to get out of here.”

  “Agreed, but be careful. If your escape options have a very low chance of success, you might want to wait and see if Cid can talk us out of trouble first.”

  I put my fingers on the wall, feeling the grain of the wood. “And even if I can get out, I still need to find a way to get you free.”

  “Remember this one thing, Cris. It is better that one of us lives than all of us die. I don’t know if that’s what’s about to happen. I don’t know if your escape attempt will completely ruin any diplomatic solution.”

  “Q!” I say a little too loudly. I control myself, and lower my voice. “I can’t abandon you, not after all you’ve done for me.”

  He doesn’t respond.

  “I won’t leave without Aiden,” I say.

  I can almost hear him thinking that if I had just done the right thing and killed my son, we wouldn’t be prisoners here.

  And Q’s right.

  Fuck. Cid has to be able to convince the Tree Lord we’re in the right. I mean, Keith is a dead giveaway, right? He’s about to crack.

  She’ll save us.

  She has to save us.

  I hear the sound of gunfire outside.

  “The hell?” I come up to my feet, surprised at the agony in my sore muscles.

  I see Cid come to her bars. Neb is alarmed as well. Only Durgan remains calm.

  “Easy, Cris,” Cid says. “Dendra is under attack, but Amirani says this happens fairly often. It isn’t likely to fall.” She cocks her head to one side. “I hear dyitzu fire.”

  There are more gunshots, and some soldiers are shouting. I keep hoping the sounds will stop . . . but they don’t. The fighting continues. It’s more than just a handful of dyitzu.

  “Can Callodax, or the infused, or whatever he is, control devils?” I ask Cid.

  She puts one of her tiny hands to the bars. “It’s possible. Because the spiders and the pigmaditz attacked his men, it didn’t look like he could control them. To be honest though, we don’t know if Callodax was even there. He might also have been able to strike a deal with a Minotaur or Icanitzu Lord. They could control the devils on his behalf.”

  My gut is screaming that the infused is behind this attack. Dendra might survive small raids from devils, but I can’t imagine them standing up against Callodax.

  A fireball rushes by my bars and buries itself in a set of sinfruit vines.

  I overhear one guard talking reassuringly to the other. “It’s okay, Josh, your family is in the Safe Tree. Those defenses are very strong. They’ll be fine.”

  I limp two steps over to the internal bars. “We can help,” I shout at the guards. “Give us guns and we can help.”

  They’re clearly very nervous and are looking out through one of the empty cells at the end of the hall.

  I hear my son’s voice.

  “What?” I call back to him.

  “Stay away from the window, Cris. You don’t want to get burned.”

  I hear the hisses of the dyitzu fireballs as they coast through the air—then I feel vibrations in the floor as they impact with the Wicker Tree. Sometimes I see the missiles sweeping across the bar-interrupted panorama. Many hit the vines, splashing their liquid fire across them, wilting green leaves and charring the grey sinfruit. Occasionally entire vines curl up in the flames. If the dyitzu break in, I’ll be helpless. They’ll be able to pelt me with fire through the bars, and there will be nothing I can do to fight back.

  On their own, the devils could never kill us, but these damn treemen have done most of the work for them.

  The smoldering fruit smells like burnt marshmallows.

  It seems unfair that the scent, previously associated with my fondest memories of the old world, has to be superimposed upon this livin
g nightmare.

  I hear the shouts of soldiers as they run back and forth from tree to tree. I hear the booms of their guns and the screams of the wounded and the dying. I hear the rush of steam as treemen pour buckets of water on burning wood. Through gaps in the walls of vines, I see the soldiers take up positions in protected wicker nests. Each nest is reinforced with thick wooden planks, and they often have openings so their soldiers can shoot out of them.

  But not all the wicker-helmed treemen have guns; some fight with bows and arrows. I see a nest under attack now, streams of dyitzu fire pelting the wicker and wood structure.

  Other soldiers run into our prison from time to time, whispering in desperate, short sentences to our guards. They point franticly as they speak, as if toward locations in the battle.

  I watch Durgan, the marble man, focus on each guard.

  The thing I hate about Durgan’s eyes is that he can be staring at me, at any time, and there’s no way for me to know. Sometimes, because of the way his head moves, I think I know what he’s looking at—but I can’t be sure.

  The devils won’t kill him when they break in here, that’s for damn sure. They’ll let him loose. On the bright side, that goes for my son as well.

  I walk up to my bars and motion to the guard. It’s the same treeman who guided me into my cell. Warily, he approaches me. He stops before my door, a wisp of his blond hair protruding from a gap in his wicker helmet. His weight is on his back foot, as if he’s afraid to get near me.

  “If it comes to it,” I tell him, motioning to the stairs, “and the devils arrive here, you know you can free us, and we’ll fight for you.”

  He takes a half-step backward. He chews on his lip, and his eyes focus on the floor while his mind tries to process this idea.

  Slowly, as if some terrible nightmare is taking over his thoughts, his face contorts into a grimace of fear. “Is this Varadoolyn?” he asks me. “Will we lose?”

  I feel the hackles rise on the back of my neck.

  This man clearly has respect for me now. I replay the conversation we had on the bridge, and think of his disdain. I remember my responses. What’s changed?

  He’s afraid.

  And I’m an infidel as far as he’s concerned. That counts for something, even in this godforsaken tree cubby.

  But oddly, he’s right to ask me. I know the force which is behind this attack . . . I think. I never saw the infused controlling demons, but I can’t imagine this assault wasn’t in some way his doing.

  Well, maybe I shouldn’t be so sure. This could be a result of our actions. We riled up those devils pretty badly as we fought our way into Dendra.

  “Have there been any humans in the assault yet?” I ask.

  He shakes his head.

  “Then you’ll probably survive this one,” I tell him.

  He nods. “If they come, I’ll make sure you have a chance to fight.”

  I reach out my hand. He steps back quickly, as if terrified I might break him.

  I see Cid stand up, looking at me, her expression unreadable from across the dim room. Tentatively, he reaches out.

  His friend steps forward. “Josh! Don’t!”

  But the treeman, Josh, takes my hand. We shake through the bars.

  I let him go. Josh, a little unsteady on his feet, returns to his post by the gears.

  Durgan is staring at me, I’m sure of it. I meet his black-eyed gaze.

  That’s right, motherfucker. If worse comes to worst, and your friends come to rescue you, you’re not going to be able to murder me in this God damned bird cage.

  If I’m lucky, I might just be able to murder you.

  Long moments of quiet are interrupted by quick bursts of hisses, yells, and the booms of firearms. My mind drifts, connecting thoughts to each other in ways that, were I fully alert, would seem nonsensical.

  I think I slept, but it’s hard to be sure.

  It’s dark outside. The mists are thick and the light is dim. A ruddy glow illuminates the air outside, coming from the dying fires of dyitzu perhaps, or maybe the torches lit by treemen—or quite possibly from both.

  The guards sit, two barely perceptible shadows in the prison hall, their backs to us.

  A woman approaches, her bare feet making no noise on the wooden stairs. She walks between the guards, unmolested.

  It’s so dark I can’t make out any of her features, but her shape, her shape I can see. Her hips do not switch back and forth as she moves. Rather, she steps toe to heel—like a dancer. She’s carrying something, a basket I believe. The distant firelight from outside touches her as she approaches the bars, and I can tell she has red hair.

  Myla?

  No, Myla’s dead. This woman is slightly broader and more busty. She kneels at the edge of my cage, and I can see her face and smell the sweet scent of tree sap. In her arms she carries a wicker basket.

  I recognize this woman.

  We passed her the first time we walked through Dendra. She’d been gathering sinfruit.

  “You’re here to feed me?” I whisper.

  Her half-shadowed face nods very slightly.

  “How the hell did you get stuck with this gig?” I ask.

  She smiles. “Feeding you isn’t so bad.” She motions to her basket. “You should see the shit I have to give the wights.”

  I begin to stand as an infidel does, posting one arm and swinging my leg out to come to all fours, but then I think better of it, and move toward her on my knees. The way I do so is reminiscent of a wrestling shoot they’d taught me. I hadn’t realized that such a short time spent training could entrench their movements so deeply within me. It’s as if I’d always known how to move this way, and they’d just unlocked it.

  The shadow of my head covers her chin, but I get a good look at her features for the first time. Her eyes are blue, their pupils wide to the point of blotting her irises out. Her hair is a little tangled and falls just past her shoulders. And her skin, her skin is as pale as my son’s, smooth as marble, and seemingly as soft as a baby’s. Even in shadow, I can tell her breath is coming quickly. I know the look she’s giving me. This woman wants me.

  It’s a shame my ass is in here.

  Then again, that may be the only reason she finds me attractive. It’s conceivable she noticed me as much as I noticed her on my last trek through here, but I find it much more likely she has a thing for bad men. And the fact that I’m an infidel, well, that has to do something.

  “What’s on the menu?” I whisper.

  She looks over her shoulder, guiltily, as if she’s not supposed to speak to me. But those guards are focused on listening for devils. If I had a way to escape this damn place . . .

  But I don’t.

  And I sure as hell wasn’t going to take this girl hostage.

  She turns back to me quickly, as if emboldened by the negligence of the shadow-covered guards. “I just want you to know that I understand.”

  Her voice is low and has the hint of a southern accent. Even though I didn’t have the first clue what the fuck she was talking about, I was happy to hear those words.

  “Understand what?” My voice is soft, softer than the distant solitary hiss of a dyitzu fireball.

  “I had a child once, and I . . . I couldn’t give her up either. I just. I know you’ll fall for your crime, but I . . . I want you to know that I understand.”

  Finally, a break. This is a woman I can work with.

  “I need to save him,” I say.

  Her eyes widen, and empathy is written clearly in them.

  “I think . . .” She pauses for a second, her lips just barely parted. “I think that you two will get to die together.”

  Rage builds up inside me like bile. I choke it down.

  “That’s something,” I whisper back.

  She reaches her hand through the bars and touches me. “For the moment, you’re safe. As long as the devils keep attacking, the King won’t call court. And, well, it keeps Fabian busy, too.”

  She
looks over her right shoulder toward Cid.

  “Fabian’s a leader?” I ask.

  She nods, and her lip curls up into a sneer. “He’s the general. He also rules the Wicker Tree. Your little black-haired friend is his type.”

  You’d think, having found ourselves surrounded by enemies, we humans would have enough sense to band together. But we’re not that kind of species. Well, the infidels are, but the rest of us . . .

  She pulls her hand back out of the bars and reaches into her basket. She produces some devilwheat bread and a few slices of sinfruit.

  “If you eat quickly,” she says, “I can give you some water. Normally we have to give you water before you eat, and it drives the prisoners crazy—but we might have time.”

  She glances over her shoulder at the guards.

  I didn’t really need any incentive to eat quickly. I wolf down my food in a very, very uninfidel-like manner. She holds up what looks like a hound bladder. I open my mouth and lean against the bars. She pours the water into my mouth.

  It must have been kept in a barrel, or in a tree, because I can taste the wood in the water. A little bit spills over my face.

  I hear distant shouts and more gunfire.

  She stands, turning toward the exit. I stand as well. The shots continue for a moment, then die down.

  “For your sake,” she says, and then she nods to Cid’s cage, “and hers, I hope this attack lasts forever.”

  “But not for your sake,” I say.

  She shakes her head. “Maybe we deserve this.”

  That was anger, not guilt.

  “What did they take from you?” I ask her quickly.

  Her eyes are wide, and a flash of fear crosses her face. Then she regains her composure.

  “Be well,” she tells me.

  Then she walks over to Q’s cage.

  I awaken to Durgan’s voice, the stuff of nightmares.“Those were lies.”

  As if to remind me of my time recovering in Maylay Beighlay, my back locks on me when I try to sit up. And I’d thought I was sore yesterday.