by Kate L. Mary
He went down, but my focus had already moved to the other man. Now that Asa was only fighting one, he gained the upper hand in no time at all. Still, I remained where I was for just a moment to make sure he did not need my assistance.
The Fortis man finally went down, and like Asa, Asger needed no help, so I turned my attention to the other people in the room.
The two Sovereign women had moved to the back of the room where they cowered in fear, huddled in the same corner as Lysander. The pudgy man’s face was red, the electroprod in his hand still up, but still not on.
I moved toward them, my focus on Paizlee and the other woman. “Surrender, and we will make your death quick. It is more than you have done for my people and more than you deserve, but you are not why I am here.” My gaze flitted to Lysander.
“Has the city fallen?” Paizlee’s voice shook, as did her body. She looked nothing like the haughty woman I had seen in Saffron’s house.
“It has,” I replied. “Do you surrender?”
Behind me, the sounds of fighting had died down. I ventured a glance back long enough to find both Asa and Asger moving to join me.
Paizlee was already nodding when I looked back. “We surrender.”
The woman at her side had yet to utter a word, but she followed the councilwoman’s lead when Paizlee got to her feet. Together, they moved forward, hesitantly, but with their hands out in front of them in a gesture of surrender.
I let them get halfway to me before moving. When I was in front of them, I lifted my sword and slashed it across first Paizlee’s throat and then the other woman’s. They dropped to the floor, gasping. Gulping like they were desperately trying to fill their lungs. But I was no longer looking at them. I did not care if they died immediately or struggled to hold onto life for hours. Not when Lysander was finally standing in front of me.
“What about you?” I said, raising my voice even though there was no other sound to drown out my words. “Do you surrender?”
“If I do, you’ll show mercy?” The flash of defiance and anger in his gray eyes told me he knew I would not.
“Never,” I hissed. “You will suffer more than anyone has ever suffered, and then you will die.”
Lysander lifted the electroprod when Asa stepped forward, but it did not turn on. Just like I thought, it was useless. As useless as he was without his technology.
33
Asa
My sword clattered to the floor, and before I had even realized what I was doing, I was in front of Lysander. He had the electroprod up, but it wasn’t on. It didn’t work, and we both knew it. Not that the thing would have stopped me now. He could have shocked me over and over again and I would still fight him. There were no consequences now, nothing to stop me from doing what I wanted.
The first punch got him in the stomach. My fist sank into his soft belly, and he dropped the now useless weapon he’d depended on so much in the past. He doubled over, his body curling over my still extended fist as the air whooshed out of him in a painful burst.
He was still down when I brought my knee up. It made contact with his nose, and the result was a sickening crunch. I barely registered the blood spraying across the floor as I brought my fist down a second time, this time getting him in the cheek.
That was when he went down. He was a lump of bloody flesh when he hit the floor, barely moving already, but the sight of him curled into a protective ball didn’t stop me from kicking him in the stomach. Didn’t stop me from spitting on him before punching him in the face again. Nothing could have. Nothing except Indra.
She grabbed my arm before I could go in for another hit, and I froze. I looked back to find tears in my wife’s eyes, and she shook her head. Even before she spoke, I knew what she was going to say.
“You are not the only person he has wronged.”
I exhaled and forced my fingers to relax. Once they had, I reached out and touched her cheek. She leaned into my hand, her eyes holding mine as a single tear escaped her eye. It rolled down, over the passage markings on her cheek, and landed on my thumb, and I stared at it. If it was the last thing I ever did, I swore this would be the final tear my wife would ever have to shed.
“Let’s end this,” I said for the second time that day.
Then I moved to where Lysander was slumped on the floor and pulled him to his feet. It was time for him to suffer.
34
Indra
Emori dragged herself to her feet when she saw us, her eyes on Lysander as Asa pulled him through the room. She moved but stumbled and was forced to use the wall to stay on her feet. I went to her side, but she was so focused on Lysander that she barely acknowledged my help when I lifted her arm and draped it around my shoulders.
My family and the other Sovereign prisoners we freed were still huddled together, and I paused long enough to say, “If you do not wish to watch this happen, you can stay here.”
“Will he suffer?” Aralyn asked.
“He will suffer more than anyone has ever suffered before,” I told her.
The Sovereign woman pulled herself to her feet. “He deserves it, I know. But I cannot stomach it. I have witnessed too much blood and torture inside these walls.”
“This will be the last time,” I said then looked to where my mother sat. “And you?”
Edwina had her arm around Samara, and at her side Jareth leaned against the wall. The three of them looked too ragged to even get to their feet, but if they wanted to come outside with us, I would make sure it happened.
“I’m with Aralyn. I’m sorry.” Edwina paused and looked me over. “You have a special interest in him?”
I stiffened, knowing what she was asking. “I do.”
Sadness filled her eyes. “I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you.”
“You were powerless. It is something I know well.”
Emori shuffled impatiently when my husband and Asger disappeared through the door with Lysander. “Indra.”
“I know,” I said gently before once again turning to Edwina. “Stay here. We will make sure you get medical attention when it is done.”
“Thank you, Indra.”
Before leaving, I turned my gaze on Tereza. She was already staring up at me from where she sat beside Aralyn, tears shimmering in her eyes, and I knew before she said anything what her response would be, but I could not understand it.
“You do not want to see him die?”
She shook her head and swallowed. “My mother. Is she dead?”
“She is.”
Tereza wiped her hand across her face, smearing snot and tears in the process. “She deserves it, I know. She was a hateful, mean woman.”
“But she was still your mother,” I said, thinking about Asa and his father and how he had been unable to kill the man who had tortured him so much.
“She was still my mother.” Tereza looked down at her hands, twisting the gold ring on her finger until it slipped off. “Lysander is a monster. He deserves to die, but I can’t watch. I can’t stomach it.”
Something like envy moved through me, thinking about these women and how they had been able to hold onto their distaste for blood. I could not imagine it, though. Could not put myself in a position where I did not want to watch the life flow out of Lysander. More than anything else, that was what I wanted right now.
“I will let you know when it is done,” I said before turning away.
Emori leaned on me as we made our way down the hall and out to the platform.
Unlike when we went into the building, the square was no longer empty. Hundreds of Outliers had crowded into the space like they were waiting for something. What, I did not know, but it was entirely possible they did not either. Or perhaps they did and this was it. Asa and Asger dragging Lysander from the building, and me helping Emori after them.
Regardless of whether that was the case, a hush fell over the crowd when we emerged. People watched in triumphant silence as Lysander was pushed forward. The man stumbled but did not fall.
He was still standing when I released Emori and slammed my foot into the back of his knees.
He fell then, dropping in the center of the platform where my husband had once knelt waiting for his death. Where Ronan, a boy of only ten, had been forced down so he could have his hand removed from his body. Where I had been whipped. Where dozens of other Outliers had been beaten and abused.
Miraculously, Emori was still on her feet. Her gaze was like fire, scorching and hot. Lysander, who had once wielded so much power over both of us, stared back with an expression in his eyes that was half rage and half fear. He looked like he would love nothing more than to tear me limb from limb, but flanked by my husband and Asger, he was powerless, and he knew it. For once, he would be forced to bend to my will. To cower in fear. To suffer as others looked on.
Next to the Fortis men, Lysander seemed like a child, small and plump, with a round face and big eyes. He had always looked silly to me, but never as much as he did now.
The crowd shifted, and Roan appeared, pushing his way through so he could join us on the platform. Ontari followed only a moment later.
“This is the man who defiled you?” the Huni Head asked, her intense gaze focused on Lysander and her expression as cold as a winter morning in the wilds.
“Yes.” The urge to look away from the hard gray eyes staring up at me was strong, but I refused to obey. “Not just me. This man has been responsible for more pain than even I know. He is also to blame for the valley.”
I did not know if it was true, but I knew I wanted him to suffer for it. Even if he had not been the one to send the electricity, there was no one left alive to take the blame. Like the punishment Saffron had offered me, Lysander would pay for the sins of all his people.
At my side, Ontari’s body stiffened. “He killed our people?”
“He did,” I said.
Lysander’s mouth scrunched up, but he said nothing to defend himself, and I was still looking at him when Ontari drew her sword as if to strike the Sovereign man down.
Behind me, Emori shouted, “No!”
I was already moving, though, already putting myself between Lysander and Ontari, my hands raised.
“Stop!” I called.
Roan had moved, too, and he stood on the other side of Ontari, his hand on his own sword as his gaze moved between the Huni Head and me.
“You would have him live?” the Ontari hissed.
“No. Never.” I held her gaze and shook my head so she would understand. “There will be no real peace as long as he is alive, but it is not just me he has wronged.”
I looked over my shoulder, back to where Emori stood. Her shoulders were heaving even as they slumped in near defeat. She looked nothing like herself, but even as beaten and bruised as her body was, I knew it was nothing compared to the turmoil inside.
“He can only die once,” Ontari said, drawing my attention back to her.
“But it does not have to be fast.”
On the other side of Ontari, Roan lifted his eyebrows. “A cut for every life he has taken?”
“No,” I replied, “a cut for every hurt he has inflicted on our people.”
Ontari finally lowered her sword. “It is a fair sentence. An eye for an eye.”
“An eye for an eye,” Roan said.
“An eye for an eye,” I agreed before turning to my husband. “Put him in the stocks.”
Asa moved, and even though he did not need the help, Asger was soon at his side, and together they dragged Lysander across the platform to the stocks. Despite the beating he had already taken, the little man fought them the entire way, although he made no progress.
It seemed to take little effort to get Lysander in place, Asa was more than twice his size, and Asger was there as well, and once Lysander was secured, he seemed to give up. His body slumped, his hands hanging and his gaze staring at the ground. He looked small and powerless, and seeing him like that sent a burst of satisfaction shooting through me.
“You’re sure you want to do this?” my husband asked when he was once again at my side.
“Yes,” I replied even as I thought about how he had reacted to facing his father’s death, and how Tereza had not been able to stomach seeing this happen. “I may burn in the afterlife for this, but at least I will know what it means to find peace while still on this earth.”
Emori was the first to move, practically dragging herself forward. She stopped in front of Lysander, but did not move at first, instead staring at him in silence. In her eyes I could see the scars left over from the abuse she had endured at the hands of the Sovereign and Fortis, could see where her hate stemmed from. Even more importantly, though, I saw Emori’s need for retribution.
When she finally made her move, it was quick. Faster than I had thought possible considering her damaged body.
“This is for the child I was,” she hissed as she slashed her knife across Lysander’s arm.
The blade cut through the fabric of his shirt, and red burst from the wound. When he cried out, the sound echoed off the surrounding buildings, but had no chance to die away before Emori cut him again, this time on his chest.
“These will be for the woman I became,” she said, and then slashed her knife for a third time.
After that, she did not speak. I counted as she lashed her knife, and with each cut she made on Lysander’s skin, my understanding of Emori grew. I did not want to count, did not want to think about the things he had done to her, but avoiding it was impossible. Thirteen cuts passed before she stopped, her shoulders heaving. The blood of her tormentor painted the platform and stocks, as well as Emori’s arms and face, but when she finally turned away, it seemed as if she was a little more at peace than she had been before.
“The cuts are not deep,” she said as she moved past me, as if wanting to reassure the rest of us that we would each get a piece of this man.
I watched until she had reached the back of the platform. There she slumped to the ground, leaned against the wall, and closed her eyes.
“Indra,” Ontari said, drawing my gaze back to Lysander, “You should go next.”
For years, I had been dreaming about this moment, had pictured Lysander’s face every time my arrow sank into the body of a Fortis hunter. Now, though, I found myself hesitating. Why? He had stolen my innocence, had a hand in my husband’s death, and in the death of my people.
He deserved this.
“Are you having second thoughts?” Asa asked.
I shook my head and moved. “He should die for what he has done.”
The sun glinted off the blade when I lifted my knife. Lysander jerked as if stung, and I held it in front of him for just a moment, savoring the fear in his eyes like never before.
“You watched as a child’s hand was cut off,” I said, then slashed him across the cheek.
He groaned but managed to keep his scream in, his eyes focused on me as they swam with rage.
“You violated me.” A second slash, this one across his other cheek. “Twice.” Number three was a quick cut across his upper chest, above a larger one Emori had made. “You are the reason my husband was killed.” The fourth came quick and deeper than I intended, drawing the first cry from Lysander. “You are the reason my village was burned to the ground, the reason the Winta are no more, and the reason my mother died.” As I listed the last three transgressions, I ran the blade down the length of his torso, over his chest and round stomach. He gritted his teeth, doing his best to bite back his cries of agony. “You raped my friends.” I slashed the blade to the left and he howled like a wounded dog. “You beat my husband.” A cut to the right drew another cry. “You would have killed us both if we had allowed it.” The last cut was quick.
When I stepped back and took my place at my husband’s side, Ontari was already moving forward. Lysander’s once white shirt was now soaked in red. It was shredded, too, and his soft, bloody flesh was visible. The areas not coated in blood were paler than his face. Ghostly. As if he were already no more than a p
hantom memory.
“Forty-five of my people died in that valley,” Ontari said, her voice rising so it was heard over the murmur of the crowd.
Lysander, proving that not all the fight had gone out of him yet, scrunched his mouth up and spit on the ground at her feet. “Good riddance.”
Ontari’s hand lashed out and she grasped his chin, forcing him to look up. “It is a foolish man who spits in the face of death.”
She let go, and his head dropped.
Ontari moved behind him then, where she brought the knife down, slicing it across his back over and over in quick succession. Counting as she did. By the time she reached had ten cuts, Lysander’s wails of agony had risen until they drowned out the sound of her voice. But she did not blink. Did not slow. Did not stop until she had sliced him for the forty-fifth time.
When she stepped back, her shoulders were heaving. Blood dripped from Lysander’s body onto the platform below, and his head hung. He was still breathing, though. I could tell by the slow rise and fall of his shoulders.
“Now my people will be able to rest.” Ontari tossed the knife on the ground and turned away from Lysander.
More people came after that. A few I recognized from Saffron’s house, but most had never set foot inside the building, or even the city. They cut Lysander, using him as a substitute for others who were no longer on this earth. People who had raped and tortured and murdered. With each cut, the puddle beneath Lysander grew, the drips coming faster until it was like rain falling from the sky, until finally, there was nothing left of the man who had tormented me so much.
“He is gone,” I said, my voice low.
Asa put his arm around me, and when I leaned against him and inhaled, it felt as if I was taking in my first breath of air.