Execution

by Shaun O. McCoy

  “I suppose,” El Cid says. “That line of reasoning would have been a great excuse. It would’ve allowed me to give up on a soul that is not yet lost. It would let me murder a child.”

  God, Cid kicks ass.

  The Accuser purses his lips. “A wight, you mean. It would let you murder a wight. Which is your job, isn’t it? As an infidel?”

  “My job is to help human souls.”

  “By putting our lives in danger?” he shouts. “You brought this monster among us, hoping against hope that you’re right about him. But you know you’re wrong. And here you are, a wight at your side, gambling our lives on your hunch!”

  She turns to him. “I had no intention of coming here. I was driven by—”

  “Yes, yes, I know!” the Accuser breaks in. “Convenient of you to defend that infraction! But you brought the leper here, risking our city, of your own free will. Did you not?”

  “I did bring him through here,” Cid says, “hoping to save him.”

  “A task at which you failed. Meaning all our lives were put at risk for nothing!”

  “Very true,” she says. “The boy wasn’t strong enough to stand, but he was capable of killing you all.”

  There are a few chuckles.

  “You joke, but you know the dangers of wightdust.” The Accuser grins like he’s won. “You know that had anyone died here, they would have risen as a wight.”

  The Tree Lord gives his calm Jesus smile. This is probably the trial he’d been expecting.

  My heart sinks.

  Cid nods. “That’s my point, actually. Your law doesn’t distinguish between a leper of corpsedust or wightdust, and maybe it should. That’s not my place to say, Lord. However, I should let you know that while a sprinkling of corpsedust will raise a corpse, a sprinkling of wightdust will not raise a wight. For the sentience to be properly kept intact, usually that process has to take place while the victim is still alive.”

  The Accuser stalks up to the platform. “Every criminal wants the law to be changed when they’ve been found guilty of breaking it.”

  Cid smirks. “I’m bringing it to your attention. I’m not an expert at your laws, and I don’t know the balances you keep. I do know, however, from the survival and wellbeing of the people here, that the Tree Lord is a fair leader. I expect he’ll make the right decision in regards to the laws.”

  The Accuser points at her with a quick, jerky motion. “Which may send you to your death! You can’t pretend you’re unbiased.”

  She holds up a hand again. “Easy, Perry Mason, don’t throw out your shoulder.” There is some snickering at that. “I know you’re the Accuser here, and that your job is to argue a point no matter what, but even you should lose sleep at night wondering about whether the laws are fair or not. To do any less would be inhuman.”

  The Tree Lord gives a tired sigh. I think Cid pulled it off.

  “Amirani, any questions?” the Lord asks.

  For once, he decides to do a cross examination.

  Amirani’s black cloak sweeps around him as he walks toward her. “El Cid, how many demons have you killed?”

  “That’s not relevant,” the Accuser steams, but Cid ignores him.

  “Not enough,” she says.

  The crowd laughs again.

  “Seriously though?” Amirani asks. “How many?”

  “Thousands. Maybe tens of thousands.”

  “Have you killed wights before?”

  She purses her lips. “They’re rare, so not many. But a few.”

  “Would you like to kill more?”

  Cid grins, bloodlust plain on her face. “Yes. Yes, I’d like that very much.”

  Amirani smiles back at her.

  The Tree Lord’s shoulders are still slumped. “Bring out the father,” he says in a monotone voice.

  Guards flank me as I walk across the platform. Josh is not with me, though I almost wish he was. The faces in the crowd seem more curious than judgmental. I long to believe the fate of my son is already decided, that nothing I can do or say will sway my fortunes.

  What a comforting illusion that would have been.

  The guards stop, and I mount the steps. Boards creak as I make my way onto the stage. A gentle breeze blows across my face in the strange silence.

  I feel their eyes on me. I feel the weight of their expectation. I feel their need for judgement.

  Fuck them.

  They have no right to judge me. I should be judging them.

  The Tree Lord smiles. He’s a thin man, and gaunt, which is odd for a leader. From a distance, I’d thought he was almost supernaturally calm, but up close he’s a little twitchy. His fingers tremble as he adjusts his green cloak over his chest. A golden key, looking more medieval than modern with its circular head and uneven tines, hangs around the thong necklace he wears.

  The key to the kingdom, I suppose.

  The silence holds as he stares at me. A sparrow flutters by.

  “So you’re the one we have to thank for endangering our city?” the Accuser asks.

  I survey the crowd. The redhead’s eyes are the ones I catch. She’s still by the cage, her face unreadable.

  I return my gaze to my erstwhile Jesus.

  “Son,” the Accuser addresses me condescendingly, “are you going to answer the question?”

  I ignore him.

  The Tree Lord’s face is unchanging. He leans forward. “Are you the one we have to thank for endangering our city?”

  “Would you let your son die?” I ask the Tree Lord.

  He raises his chin. “I don’t have a son.”

  Oh no, fucker. You don’t get off that easy. I motion to the crowd. “You’re a leader. In some way, all of these people are your children. Would you let them die?”

  “I’d much rather one die than many,” he says.

  “I agree.”

  I can feel the tension between us. He irrationally dislikes me in the same way that I dislike him. I’m an infidel. There has to be a way to work that to my advantage. Maybe I can make him overcompensate? Can I be the kind of person he loves to hate? Or loves to forgive?

  Do I want to be forgiven?

  Of course I do. I hate him, but I don’t want to lose my son. Aiden can’t die for my pride.

  The Accuser was saying something, but I don’t pay him any attention. He throws up his hands.

  The Tree Lord speaks, “So you don’t think you endangered my people by bringing your son here?”

  “Of course I don’t. Cid told you that wightdust doesn’t work like corpsedust does. You probably knew that already. That may mean that you might want to switch the way you ferment your bloodwater. I’m sure your people fear the dust from the corpses.”

  The crowd mumbles. I’d struck a nerve. The Tree Lord’s forehead creases. We did want to aim more for the people than for the Tree Lord in the hearing, so maybe I shouldn’t worry that I’d put him off.

  “We’ll speak of that later,” the Tree Lord says authoritatively, losing his Christ-like demeanor in favor of a typically Christian one. “You make a terrible assumption. It is I, for Dendra, who decides the level of danger an act causes.”

  “Yes, my Lord.” I say. “I’m asking that you make that assessment. I was hoping you believed El Cid. If not, I’m sure her or Amirani can arrange a test for you so you can verify I did not endanger your people.”

  “You broke the law!” His head jerks fast enough to disturb the key on his chest. “Whether it is correct or not doesn’t matter. A law is a law, even if you don’t agree with it.”

  I see some motion out of the corner of my eye. I turn back to our cage and see Neb. He’s having difficulty controlling himself.

  Something the Tree Lord said must have pissed him off.

  “Correct, my Lord,” I say. “It’s not my place to make the decision on whether you can countermand the law in the name of justice. That is for Lords and Judges. As I said, I leave that in your hands.”

  The Accuser speaks up. “Are you above
the law, my Lord?”

  The crowd goes silent again. Apparently this hasn’t been decided yet.

  What was the Tree Lord to say? Would he rather give up control or look like a fair leader? And is someone who blindly follows legislation fair, or just cruelly disposed in a more predictable manner?

  “I have the right to pardon people,” he says, which is a better answer than I would have given.

  “May I?” the Accuser asks.

  The Tree Lord nods, patting the key at his chest. “As you will.”

  The Accuser takes my measure. “You love your son?”

  This time I answer. “More than anything.”

  “No matter what happens to him?” he asks.

  Oh no. You’re not fooling me with this shit. “No matter what happens. Even if I have to slay Aiden to prevent him from harming others, I will still love him.”

  He takes a few steps to one side, like a pacing cat, and then turns back to me. “I think you’d slay this entire village to save your son.”

  Damn right I would, and I’d start with you. “I value life more than that.”

  He laughs. “I don’t think you realize how transparent you are. I don’t think you realize how clear it is to everyone that you’re lying.”

  No, sir, I’m not falling for this shit either. “I don’t care if you believe me, Accuser. It’s the Tree Lord’s opinion that matters.”

  “You don’t know us,” the Accuser continues. “You do know your son, however.”

  “I have a conscience. I don’t know about yours, but mine prevents me from killing people who don’t deserve to die.”

  He paces a few more steps. “Does it?”

  “It does.”

  He looks directly at me. “So you didn’t slay an entire room full of innocent men in order to kill your wife?”

  How the fuck does he know? Durgan? Did Durgan tell Keith? And then Keith told the Accuser. Jesus Christ. I feel like my soul is sinking.

  But I don’t care.

  I don’t care how many people I killed. They deserved to die anyway. They wouldn’t stand up and fight Hell. They might as well have been the Archdevil’s men. Evil thrives when good men do nothing, right? In Hell that means they deserve to die.

  I’d fucking do it again. I would. I would. I fucking would.

  Don’t say I wouldn’t.

  There’s no need for me to feel guilty.

  No fucking need.

  Jesus. You can’t cry here, Cris.

  You’re fucking losing it. You can’t lose it now. You’re going to kill your son.

  But the tears are already here.

  You have to do something. You have to. You can’t let him win like this. You have to lie to win.

  “Not the men,” I choke. “My lover. She’d turned and served the Archdevil. I had to kill her to save my son.”

  The Accuser spits on the square’s floor. “Don’t lie to me. Keith’s been through Maylay Beighlay. He’s seen the carnage you created.”

  I let the tears fall and meet his eyes. Each lie which had left my lips hurt. It felt like it had left dark stains on my soul—but there would be time enough for absolution later. Right now, good needs to win, and if not good, then I need to.

  “Damn right,” I say. “The Archdevil had taken that city. It had gone dark. The people who were his, I slew. The wights and the soon-to-be wights. I did not kill any innocents.” I turn to Keith. “If you found the bodies of any who did not deserve to die, then those were men the Archdevil killed.”

  “So you claim,” the Accuser says.

  I roll my eyes. “Were you there?” I ask.

  “And it—”

  “Were you there?” I repeat.

  “You don’t ask the questions, you answer.”

  “Were you there? If you weren’t, how are you pretending to know what happened? Hell, Keith wasn’t even there. What did you do, look at every dead body, decide some men were good and some were bad, and then pretend you knew that I killed the good ones?”

  The Accuser looks back to Keith. Keith’s eyes are on me.

  I can’t be sure of his expression, but I think he might be afraid.

  “I’d say it’s awfully odd that you are the only person, good or bad, to walk away from that city,” the Accuser tries.

  “You fight a fucking Archdevil,” I say. “See if you can keep anyone alive.”

  Some in the crowd are nodding. Thank God somebody’s on my side.

  “May I?” Amirani asks.

  The Tree Lord holds out a hand. “Be my guest.”

  The infidel walks up to the stage. “Would you slay your son if you thought he was beyond hope?”

  The question is a set up, I know, but it stings me as badly as one of the Accuser’s.

  No. No I would not. “Yes,” I say. “Even if he had hope, I would if I thought he was going to hurt people.”

  Amirani walks away, apparently satisfied.

  The Tree Lord smirks. “Then before we hear from the scout, let’s hear from Callodax.

  Amirani stops dead in his tracks, then looks over his shoulder.

  The infused steps down from the stairs the Tree Lord had used.

  The Tree Lord turns and smiles on seeing him. “Keith’s master. The man you claim drove the wight here.”

  Callodax is hairless. Not like a bald man, but lacking eyebrows and, though I can’t see him clearly at this distance, I remember him not having eyelashes either. His manner of dress hasn’t changed.

  He’s got a black, velvety-looking turtleneck that shimmers in the greenish light of Dendra. His pants are also black, but loose fitting. He wears no shoes, but instead has his feet wrapped in dark cloth.

  The crowd doesn’t know what to think. He certainly appears alien, and his bald head and turtleneck don’t make him visually charismatic. Or maybe they do in a way. He just looks demonic. How could they mistake him for anything other than a devil?

  His walk is . . . not awkward, but unique. Maybe he lifts his knees a little too high, or a little too quickly, but there’s something inhuman in his measured strides.

  The way he ascends the stairs to the stage is familiar. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but it’s as if he has too much control over his motion. He pauses, for a brief second, near the top stair of the platform—one foot still in the air—but his frame seems as well balanced as when he had both feet firmly planted.

  Then he mounts the stage.

  He turns to face the Tree Lord. His arrogance is not like the infidels’. It’s something more sinister, more demonic—or at least it seems that way to me.

  The Tree Lord gives the man a knowing smile.

  “Callodax,” the Tree Lord addresses the infused. “First, let me thank you for the peace. As I understand it, you attacked Varadoolyn’s devils, stopping their attack on the city.”

  Well, that does explain why the Tree Lord thinks things are safe enough to have a hearing.

  Callodax steps forward with one foot and says, “With Carrion born I’ve come, soldiers whose mettle has been tempered in the black depths of that most obscene labyrinth. We made short work of the devils which besieged and beleaguered your foliaged town in no small part, I assure you, because we came upon them from behind.”

  His speech is all wrong, and his accent is unrecognizable. He uses a mode of speaking which doesn’t seem to quite fit English grammar. Or it does, but in an odd way—as if he’s trying to meet the dictates of two languages at the same time. One, ours, and the other, some demonic tongue.

  The Tree Lord smiles. “Did you drive these men into our city?”

  Callodax shrugs. “We gave chase for many miles, Lord of Trees and Branches, though the demons became so thick that we held back, deciding to give up pursuit in favor of attacking them on the by and by.”

  My heart skips a beat, and Aiden looks up.

  On the by and by. I’d heard that before. And that accent . . . only I hardly recognized it because the Archdevil who spoke in that manner had seeme
d to be half talking in sound, and half talking to my mind.

  The infused speaks like Xyn.

  What had infused it? Was it really a Revenant, a soul they’d dragged back across the Erebus from Sheol? How much devil had they managed to put into the body of the man? Xyn had been a horror, not just because of his power, but because he’d found men and women who were moronic enough to follow him. But this thing, it seems human. Any old fool would follow it.

  “We found these infidels holed up near the Northern wastes,” Callodax is saying, “along the desolation that follows the flow of the river Erebus. We knew they harbored a wight in their stronghold, so we felt bound by virtue to strike. What flummoxes us, Lord of Trees and Branches, is that you have given them shelter. I have been tasked by Igraine herself to use her Carrion born in an attempt to slay this wretched being.”

  The Tree Lord gives Amirani a snide glance. “The infidels claim to have been driven here by evil men, but you and your army are not evil. It may well be that the wight will walk the plank.”

  Callodax shakes his head. “That will not do.”

  The Tree Lord’s eyes widen. Is he surprised? I’m not.

  Of course the fall won’t satisfy the infused. Callodax doesn’t want Aiden dead, he wants my boy at his side.

  “To my care, deliver the wights, Durgan and Aiden,” Callodax says. “If you do this, Igraine and I shall honor the deal for ammunition as discussed. Fail, as you are wont, and I and my men will no longer hold back Varadoolyn’s devils.” The crowd erupts, but the infused speaks right over them. “Your village for too long harbored these wights, and have done yourselves the . . . dishonor . . . of putting one on trial. You’ve no right to end the life of them, and have no understanding of what steps must be taken to ensure the permanence of the creatures’ death.”

  Callodax threatened them. I can’t believe he just threatened them. What a stupid fucking move. The Tree Lord was about to happily deliver us into their hands. Why would he . . . but I don’t want to underestimate Callodax. Maybe it’s not some kind of demonic pride which drives him. Maybe this is just his first play. He convinced Igraine to give him some troops. He’ll probably want Dendra to be under his thumb too. His dominance over Dendra could be as important to him as getting my boy.