The priest looked over. “Have you decided whether you would be willing to accept Heleth the Mother as she would guide you along the road to redemption?”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“If that is the way you see it, then you may leave the world, still searching for redemption. Know that the Mother would offer you her embrace up until the moment of your death. I will be with you each step of the way. Praying.”
The priest stepped off to the side, and one of the iron masters entered, handing a bundle of cloth to Finn. He looked down at it for a moment, confusion in his eyes, until he realized the purpose behind it.
The Sinner’s Cloth.
The iron master nodded to him, and Finn unfolded it. They were gray, much like the executioner’s leathers, and as he slipped them on, they were more loose-fitting than he had expected.
This would be the last clothing he ever wore.
When he was dressed, the priest nodded to the iron master, and they guided him from the cell.
The first step was the hardest.
Every step after that meant he was closer to his death.
In his mind, Finn knew what he would find on the outside of the prison. The festival would be in full swing. People would be collecting near the gate, wanting to get close enough to watch the actual execution. Some would remain as close as possible, usually hegen who wanted to get near enough to the body they could take parts from it for their magic, but not so near that they drew the Archers' attention. At this point, he didn’t know if it mattered if they took a part of his soul. That would be gone soon enough anyway.
When they stepped outside of the prison, a chill to the air sent goosebumps along his skin. He cupped his hand over his eyes, the bright sun shining down offering no real warmth. Even if it did, Finn didn’t know if he would feel it. He felt numb, as if he were in some sort of magically induced trance, almost as if one of the hegen already had a hold of him.
The iron masters guided him forward to the street outside of the prison where the executioner waited. His gray leather seemed to gleam in the sunlight, giving him a pale glow. The priest started reading from the Book of Heleth, the words blending into the noise all around him.
Even in this part of the city, vendors had set up makeshift stands, and a crowd had begun to form. He smelled sausages, cabbage, bread, even sweet treats, all of which seemed out of place so close to the Declan Prison. None of them had been there when he had attempted his escape, but now the crowds and the shops were busy.
Had they been here when he had broken free from the iron masters, Finn might have escaped.
The executioner studied him. “Finn Jagger. I, Master Henry Meyer, first inquisitor of Verendal, serving at the behest of King Porman Arcald the Righteous, am present to escort you for final sentencing. Have you anything to say before we begin?”
Finn could only shake his head.
“You will be offered one more opportunity to bare your soul before the gods.”
A bell tolled nearby, soft and carrying across the city. Others began to join in.
Finn had never paid attention to the sound of the bells during the Gallows Festival before. They filled the city with their song, a mournful sound that rang out all around him. The priest muttering his prayer added to it, combining with the sound of the bells and creating a sense of sadness for him.
This would be how he left the world.
The executioner guided him forward. They hadn’t gone very far when three others joined. One was the magister, and he was dressed in his red-and-black finery, holding on to his staff of office, his peaked hat covering his hair. He nodded solemnly to the executioner before moving forward. Two other jurists joined him, one the heavyset older woman and one of the other men. Finn didn’t know either of their names. It seemed a shame he would die not knowing the names of those who had sentenced him to death.
When they reached the end of the street, two more jurors joined the procession. The Blood Court continued to progress, growing with each additional juror. Finn regarded the one he’d seen with the King, wondering for a moment if he might be the Client, before shoving the thought away. There would be no salvation from this. Not from the King, anyone he bribed, or the mysterious Client.
The priest murmured a steady prayer behind him. He had reached the part of the Book of Heleth Finn actually remembered. It was a section his mother had favored, and Finn found himself speaking the words along with the priest. The executioner must’ve heard, as his back straightened.
“The Mother leads us all on our first step, and she welcomes us back with her embrace for the last. The warmth of her touch guides us through the cold of death and leads us to our meeting with the Others.”
The priest nodded encouragingly to Finn.
Finn licked his lips, knowing that he needed to continue.
Speaking the words did help. It surprised him that it would. He had thought he would not find comfort in the gods in his remaining time, but somehow, there was some reassurance in saying those words. He could almost feel the warmth of the Mother, as if she truly were walking with him.
“The Mother protects those who remain behind. She comforts them, the rain her tears shed on their behalf. The sun and the warmth of her embrace. The fresh blades of grass each spring, her way of reminding those who still live that life persists.”
Finn’s voice caught at the last.
They turned a corner.
Teller Gate was visible.
Had we really gone so far?
Finn didn’t think that he’d been walking that long, but everything had become something of a blur. He no longer paid attention as he had when he’d first come out of the prison, not aware of the crowd lining the street, paying no mind to the vendors, the people shopping as if this truly were a festival rather than a celebration of his death. He had even ignored the occasional vegetable thrown in his direction.
The only things he paid attention to were the pealing of the bells and the priest speaking the words of the Book of Heleth.
When they reached the gate, a chill washed over Finn’s skin. The sun had risen in the sky, and bright shafts of sunlight streamed down but provided him no warmth. The crowd followed, almost a physical presence pushing upon him, guiding him beyond the gate. Finn moved forward with the crowd. He had no choice. He trailed behind the executioner, the jurors and the magister leading the procession, the priest bringing up the rear.
The Blood Court.
A strange thought occurred to him. Were he a more prominent prisoner, the viscount would have been part of the procession. Finn thought that having the viscount a part of it might have been fitting, especially as the viscount was the reason he’d been sentenced to death. He had seen him in his home but had not seen any sign of him since then. The only connection to the crown that he had seen had been the magister and the jurors.
The Raven Stone loomed in the distance, the gallows on top of it a dark shadow.
That would be his final destination.
He made out a blur behind the Stone, the hegen section and the forest beyond, but his heart hammered too fast to focus on either.
The priest’s voice rose. He had to do so to be heard above the sound of the crowd behind them. Every so often, there was a shout, someone swearing at him, someone else calling out, and even that of laughter.
It was the laughter that he found the hardest.
At one point, Finn swore that he saw Oscar looking at him from a place within the crowd, but when he turned to try to see him, the Hand was gone.
He had been wrong.
Having Oscar watching him during this final walk might have been better.
As it was, Finn found it harder to take each step.
His legs felt heavy. His heart pounded wildly. His breathing came in short bursts.
Only the words of the Book of Heleth helped.
Maybe he was more religious than he had realized.
Or maybe it was just a matter of him wanting to go to his final
meeting with the gods prepared. He didn’t want to go having not made any amends.
He found himself chanting along with the priest. The words came easily now.
When they reached the Raven Stone, the jurors parted off to either side, taking up a position in front of it. The magister stood at the center of the raised platform, looking up at the gallows. Bellut stood next to him. Finn hadn’t realized before, but he wore a similar maroon-and-black cloak as the magister, though the hat on his head wasn’t quite as tall. The crown's symbols were marked on either shoulder, one for the throne and one marking him as serving under the king himself.
Had they waited even a few more days, King Porman would have been there. Finn might have been able to make his plea to the king, a cry for clemency, though he doubted that would have been heard. Even if it had been heard, the fact that Finn had broken into the viscount’s home would have been reason enough for the king to have sentenced him no differently than he already had.
The executioner guided Finn up the stairs.
The priest stayed with them, still speaking the words of Heleth behind him, though Finn no longer spoke them along with him.
He had seen several executions during his time in Verendal. They were common enough, though not something that he particularly enjoyed watching. The Raven Stone took up space just outside the city gate, and though he had gone outside of the city with his father many times over the years, Finn had never approached the stone before.
There was something surreal about climbing it.
The steps leading up to it were solidly made, and he realized that a symbol etched on each stone represented one of the gods, as if he were climbing toward them with each step he took toward the Raven Stone. Once he reached the top of the stairs, the platform was made of heavy stones, darkly stained.
Blood, he realized with a hint of revulsion.
Why should I be repulsed by that?
Soon, once the hegen claimed their prizes for their magic, his blood would join the others.
The executioner turned Finn so that he could look out on the crowd. Thousands of people crowded around the Raven Stone, watching.
The priest stood at his side.
“Have you decided to repent?”
Finn found himself looking down at the magister. Anger filled him.
It was unexpected.
“No.”
“All you must do is find a way to welcome the Mother into your heart. She will embrace you. You can accept her forgiveness. She will guide you the remainder of your way to the rest of the gods.”
Finn turned to the priest. “What, do the gods care when my mother suffers? The gods don’t care that my family has been broken. Why should I embrace them when they have never embraced me?”
“If you accept the Mother—”
“The Mother hasn’t embraced my family. If she had, my mother would not have been sick. My father wouldn’t have been lost. My sister not forced to…” Finn couldn’t even get it out. “I might have been able to be something honorable.” He said the last softly. Finn looked away and found the executioner watching him. “What? If you’re going to wrap the rope around my neck, then do it.”
Where were these words coming from?
It surprised Finn that he would react in such a way. He thought that he would have been more accepting of his fate at this point, but how could he accept what they were doing to him? How could he accept what the magister and the jurors, most of them nameless to him, had chosen for him?
He was a criminal. There was no denying that. Only, who had he hurt?
No one. That wasn’t the kind of crime Finn ever participated in. Stealing from those who had more than he had was no crime to the gods. It certainly was no crime that warranted execution.
Only because he had broken into land owned by the king.
He glared out at the magister, at the jurors. “I don’t deserve this.”
“You have been sentenced for your crimes, Finn Jagger,” the magister said.
The other jurors stared at him, and Finn liked to believe that he saw a flicker of a question in their eyes, though he doubted that was real. The only one that stared at him with any sort of empathy was Bellut.
The magister was to blame. All because he wanted to move this along more rapidly. All because the king traveled toward Verendal. All because they wanted to prove the viscount had been working to diminish crime at the edge of the kingdom. All because they feared the Alainsith beyond the forest.
Executing Finn did nothing to make the city safer.
“Do you have any last words?” the magister asked.
“Is this really necessary?” one of the jurors demanded. Not the one Finn had seen with the King, though. “Get on with it, executioner. Do your job.”
The executioner came forward. He rested one hand on Finn’s shoulder. “Custom demands that the condemned be offered the chance to speak. Would you violate custom?”
“There is far too much that must be done before the king’s arrival. Get on with it.”
Finn could scarcely believe it.
His execution was an inconvenience to the jurors.
The executioner stared at the magister and the jurors. Finally, he pulled Finn back, toward the gallows. He dragged something down from overhead.
The rope.
He fit it around Finn’s head, sliding it down to his neck and adjusting it.
The rope felt rough, scratching at his skin, irritating his throat.
Why should I be thinking of that?
Nearby, the priest continued to pray for him. The words seemed a blur. The crowd out in front of him was a blur. The only ones Finn could make out at all were the jurors and the magister standing not far from him.
The executioner studied him. “Is what you said true?”
“I told you, I was alone.”
The executioner regarded him. “Choose your next words carefully. Is what you said about your family true?”
Finn looked over. The executioner’s deep brown eyes seemed to hold him in place and compelled him, almost as if he were looking into the eyes of one of the gods.
“Yes.”
“Your mother is sick?”
What did it matter if I shared the truth now?
“Yes. She’s been sick for a while. We need money to help her, though everything goes to the apothecary. I wanted enough to pay for a physician.”
A darkness clouded the executioner’s face for a moment before fading. “Why did you not share this before?”
Finn frowned at him. He looked past the executioner toward the jurors. “Would it have mattered?”
“Perhaps not with them.”
“Then it wouldn’t have mattered.”
“More than you might know.”
A murmuring began to build in the crowd, and behind the executioner, Finn heard the magister cry out.
“What is taking so long?”
The executioner ignored them, focusing on Finn.
“What would you have done?”
“What?”
“Had you not needed to steal. What would you have done that was honorable?”
Finn looked at the executioner. It was a question he’d never been asked, and with everything that he’d gone through, it was a question he had never even really considered.
What would I have done?
“I don’t know. My father was dishonorable.” Though that had not always been the case. His father could have been honorable. Assisting the cartwright certainly had been.
“Just because your father was dishonorable doesn’t mean you must be,” the executioner said.
“Apparently, I’m going to die dishonorable as well.”
“What would you have done?”
Finn hadn’t thought about it in a long time. “A surgeon or apothecary, I suppose. If the guilds would’ve had me.”
“Why?”
“Does it matter?”
“Why?” the executioner demanded.
“My mother h
as been sick a long time,” Finn said. “I’ve seen how hard it has been to get her any sort of help. My father… well, my father did what he could to help my mother, but there was only so much that can be done for her.”
“If you were given a second chance, that is what you would choose?”
What was this line of questioning?
“If I were given a second chance, I would want to do whatever it took to help my mother. I don’t regret doing that.”
A hint of a smile curved the executioner’s mouth. He regarded Finn for a long moment before nodding.
The executioner stepped away, leaving the rope around Finn’s neck.
This was it.
Soon, the executioner would demand that Finn climb the small stairs. He would tighten the rope. He would kick the stairs out, and Finn would hang until his breath escaped him. Either that or his neck snapped.
His body would be left hanging. The hegen would sneak in in the dark, claiming his hands, his feet, his eyes and ears and nose, probably even his manhood, all for their magic. The ravens would swoop down, picking at his flesh, tearing away what remained after the hegen had taken their cut.
And he would be forgotten.
The crew would move on. Someone else would be brought in to take his place. The King would take on different jobs, hopefully something less dangerous.
Only his sister and his mother would remember him.
Hopefully, Oscar had done what he’d promised and told Lena that Finn had been exiled. It was easier that way.
Unless she came out for the execution.
He blinked, realizing that tears filled his eyes, but he couldn’t clear them. He couldn’t move. His body didn’t seem to react to him the way he needed it to, and as he looked out over the crowd, they were nothing but unfamiliar faces. All of them looked up at him with anger and disdain.
Impatient shouts rang out.
It was only then that Finn realized the executioner wasn’t near him. He stood at the Raven Stone's edge, speaking to the magister, along with the jurors.
Something strange was happening.
“You cannot,” the magister said. His voice carried above the din of the crowd.
The Executioner's Right (The Executioner's Song Book 1) Page 12