Coven Queen

by Jeramy Goble

  “Split up and tear apart every room. Once we’ve cleared them all, we’ll go up to the next floor, and then the next. Understood?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” came the chorus. Vischuno pointed at a subordinate, silently commanding him to guard the stairs and lift. Jularra nodded her approval. It wouldn't do for Keleah to slip away while they searched.

  They spent a great deal of time on the first floor, consisting of a kitchen, a shared space used as a spicery and saucery, a small reception chamber, and a small library. The queen and her accompanying guards went from room to room, slapping open cupboards and kicking over chests. Guards knelt down to rummage through cabinets, tossing out pots and leaning inside to look. From across the floor, Jularra heard muffled shouts of “No!” or, “Not here!” as each guard confirmed that Keleah was not to be found.

  As Jularra’s hunters searched for their prey through the second and third floors, their pace quickened, but yielded the same result.

  The fourth floor was the height of relaxation and comfort. The rooms here were reserved for visiting heads of state. Every extravagance was imagined and realized: fireplaces, tapestries, paintings, gold and bejeweled fixtures, engraved mantles, and countless other luxuries adorned every room on this floor, and while every nook and crevasse was searched, sniffed, and scoured, Jularra's guards proceeded especially deliberately as they hunted amid the luxury. Still they found nothing.

  The slinging of furniture and linens came to a rest. As the queen and her guards filed out of the fourth-floor rooms, the silence and rising tension allowed Jularra’s adrenaline to spike. The fifth and top floor of the tower was her private residence, and was the most likely place for Keleah to have stuffed herself away if she hadn’t slipped out of the city in time.

  Jularra thought about trying to calm herself, but it was a mixture of excitement and unbridled rage that carried her toward the stairwell. She nodded at a Spire captain to ascend to the fifth floor, then looked to Vischuno. “Watch that no one makes it to the stairs.”

  She turned back to the rest of the group. Her emotions ebbed and flowed with anxious spikes of anticipation.

  “Keleah is a traitor. She conspired with Latham to bring war to Morganon; to harm our people, our families. But no one is to kill her. Bring her to me.”

  Jularra swept her arm up and around, signaling her men and women to move up the stairs before her.

  As she reached the top floor, she bent her head down in a silent, final command to Vischuno. The understanding was firm and clear. No one would pass him.

  In the first room—the changing room Jularra used to disrobe after the official duties of her day had concluded—men and women were already tearing open the wardrobes, grabbing clothes by the armful and tossing them on the ground.

  Jularra stepped back out into the corridor, fists clenched. She hadn’t felt overwhelmed by such energy or anticipation before, or at least not in recent memory—not even at Leona’s. She pounded the stone wall of the hallway and screamed, pushing the pain of grief and helplessness out through her throat. Her cry echoed down the corridor and into the other rooms.

  “Keleah!”

  As chairs and other materials launched out from rooms into the hallway, the queen and her rage marched deliberately down the hall. Guards shouted at others for help moving wardrobes. Sliding beds. Flipping tables. The traffic in and out of the rooms rivaled that of Morganon’s busiest markets. Jularra would occasionally stop to let her Bedrock and Spire pass by, and fester in her rage.

  “Leave nothing unturned! Leave no space unexamined! Everything can be replaced! Find her!”

  While looking into one room to observe the progress being made in it, Jularra was startled by an exclamation from another.

  “Your Majesty!”

  Jularra stopped, still peering into the room she had been inspecting.

  “We have her!”

  Her heart skipped a beat at the thought of Keleah’s impending death. The shouting guard slung debris out of the way and stepped out into the hall. Keleah was dragged out after him and presented to the queen. As soon as Jularra saw her, she scrambled over, stumbling over the mess in the hall, eyes focused on the girl's wrists.

  “I’m sorry, my queen,” a guard offered. “She cut herself just as we noticed her. We couldn't get to her in time to stop her.”

  “Tie her arms off and stop her bleeding,” Jularra snapped at one of the Spire holding Keleah.

  The guard reached apologetically for one of Jularra's strewn tunics, which she tore and began to tie tightly around the bleeding girl's upper arm. The queen watched Keleah, and her voice lowered into an almost nurturing monotone.

  “You will bleed only how I wish you to bleed.”

  The Spire tore the tunic again and started on Keleah's other arm.

  Jularra looked her maid up and down. Keleah’s clothes were badly wrinkled, and the bottom of her skirt had more dirt than might be expected after even a month of continued wear. Must’ve been hiding for a while. The queen’s eyes returned to her wrists. Her brow wrinkled.

  “What did she cut herself with?”

  The guards exchanged glances. The one who had initially proclaimed Keleah’s capture returned to the room.

  Jularra took another step closer to Keleah, listening as the guard kicked and tossed items out from around the bed. Keleah shivered as Jularra stared into her eyes. The guard stepped back into view and approached, offering the implement to the queen hilt-first.

  “Looks like it was this dagger, ma’am.” It was the dagger Jularra had presented to Keleah just months before.

  “How could you?” she asked softly.

  “Morganon has fallen. I can die a happy—” Keleah started, but Jularra whipped around, smashing Keleah's cheek with the back of her fist.

  “Hold her mouth open,” Jularra ordered.

  One of her Spire clenched her fingers around Keleah’s jaw. A Bedrock kept her head still by holding it under his armpit like a vice. With Keleah restrained, Jularra reached in to grasp her tongue, pressing the sharp knife blade against it.

  “No,” Jularra said through the beginnings of the girl's screams. "No," Jularra said again as she sliced through Keleah's tongue with her own knife. “No. You will not die happily.”

  The queen nodded to her people to let Keleah stand again. Her eyes were red, and blood spilled from her mouth.

  “That is just the beginning. You will die soon, make no mistake. The end of your existence is quite near, but I’m going to have so much fun before that time comes.”

  Jularra glanced at her men and forced her shoulders to relax.

  “Bring her and follow me.”

  As the queen began to turn, Keleah spat a large mouthful of blood onto her. Jularra nodded with understanding. As she reached for a scrap of cloth to wipe her face, her Bedrock and Spire shuffled to react.

  “No, no,” the queen said calmly. “She can have that one. Come.”

  With Keleah now in her possession, Jularra walked patiently back to the beginning of the hall and started down the stairs, tapping Vischuno on the shoulder as she passed him.

  The small party soon emerged from the base of the residence tower. Jularra led them through the courtyard and past Latham’s corpse.

  “Ah!” Jularra said, stopping and looking to Keleah. “This is your first time seeing your friend post-mortem! Care to say a few words, or, well…”

  The queen offered a few muffled, throaty grunts in mockery of Keleah before continuing.

  “…mumble something?”

  Keleah silently stared down at Latham’s corpse. Tears streamed down her face.

  “No?” the queen asked. She looked to her guards and then gestured at the corpse.

  “If any of you need to relieve yourself, please feel free!”

  A few Bedrock and a Spire stepped up, delightedly taking the queen up on her offer to cause pain to the traitor.

  As the guards began to piss on Latham's corpse, Jularra made another request o
f her guards. “Anyone need to take a shit?”

  A few small laughs rippled through the group, with some in the front shrugging.

  “Oh well, then,” she said with slight disappointment.

  Jularra craned her neck to obnoxiously catch the glance of the grieving Keleah. She held her eyes for a few seconds, then straightened back up.

  “All right. Continuing on! If we still have an executioner available, have him meet us down at the Hole. If not, send me someone who is up to the task.”

  Keleah continued to spit occasionally; not at anyone in particular, but simply to expel the blood from her mouth. There was still no talking, except for Keleah’s indecipherable whimpers and mumbles. As they weaved their way in and out of smoking rubble and uncollected bodies, resting guards and fighters would stand and walk up to the group before cursing at Keleah or spitting on her.

  “Draw it out, Your Majesty!” one Spire shouted.

  A different fighter spat on Keleah’s face before following with his own comment.

  “Let there be no mercy for the bitch!”

  The queen made no reply, nor did her guards.

  As they approached the Hole, Jularra’s mind was clear and confident. Hate and contempt had her full attention, and for once she had no regrets at allowing it to consume her. Whatever was about to take place, she knew Keleah deserved it.

  Jularra still had not decided what fate would consume Keleah’s final moments, but she signaled for her guards to bring Keleah up to the platform where most executions were carried out. Jularra herself walked to the middle of the platform with her hands on her hips, weighing the various options available to her. She stood with her back to the rest of the group, slowly shifting her head from side to side as she tried to decide what would be the most horrific way to kill Keleah. She heard sounds of a growing crowd and turned around.

  Though she wasn’t surprised, she saw the bulk of her remaining Bedrock and Spire gathering at the base of the execution platform. She nodded slightly in solemn understanding. Her people deserved to see this. As she was about to address her people, she saw an executioner starting to make his way through the crowd.

  “The imminent execution of Keleah will be as grotesque and obscene as I can fathom,” she rumbled to the crowd. There was no response. Each person there held a proper respect for the situation. The queen continued.

  “I trust you will not judge me too harshly, and I hope each of you will be able to realize a clear conscience after you bear witness to this sight. We do not know what justice may take place in the next world, but some betrayals justify the harshest punishment in this world, first.”

  The silence from the crowd remained as Jularra stepped towards Keleah, before returning to the edge of the platform.

  “This mediocre, common slab of shit, who has accomplished nothing and will never be remembered for anything, conspired to have our city destroyed. Our people, killed. Our culture, exterminated.”

  The crowd grumbled and stirred as the executioner reached the top of the stairs and stood next to the queen. Some from the crowd gesticulated at Keleah. A few began to hurl clumps of rocky mud at her. The executioner held up his hands, encouraging restraint.

  Jularra spun and marched to within inches of Keleah's face, continuing to shout so that everyone could still hear.

  “But she failed! I am alive! You are alive!” she screamed while whipping her arm around at the crowd. “Our city still stands! And while we still live, all meaningless scum who conspire against us will meet similar fates and be erased from history!”

  The crowd bristled, until someone finally screamed a motion of judgment.

  “We’re with you, Queen Jularra!” a voice shouted. “Destroy the slut!”

  With that, the crowd erupted into roars or primal excitement. Some at the edge of the platform shouted to where Keleah could hear them specifically.

  “You’re about to die! Ha!”

  Others joined in a repetitive chant of, “Kill her! Kill her!”

  With a final glance at the crowd, the queen turned to the executioner and nodded at him. She then signaled for him to follow her to a nearby chest. The chest held numerous torture and execution implements. Jularra kicked the top off the chest and pointed as. The executioner couldn’t hear her over the crowd and stepped closer. The queen leaned in close to his ear and shouted her desired method at him. The executioner paused, only for the briefest moment, before reaching into the chest. He snatched what Jularra had ordered him to use and spun to display it to the crowd, who roared in approval.

  The executioner held it in the air for a few seconds before approaching Keleah. She couldn’t see anything yet. But the executioner soon stepped out in front of her, presenting her with an impalement stake.

  Keleah’s eyes widened until they almost popped from her head. Immediately, she began to shake. Tears spilled down her bruised cheeks. But as Jularra watched, Keleah tried to hide her fear from those nearby. She looked up and away from the stake, and into the eyes of the executioner. Her shaking reduced from her entire body, to only her lips and chin.

  The executioner turned towards a few guards and beckoned at them to approach.

  “It doesn't look like we'll be drugging her or anything, so I’m going to need you to hold her steady as I hammer the stake in,” he instructed.

  One of the guards looked to the others hesitantly. He swallowed. Just before declining the executioner’s request, the guard peered out across his smoldering home and the corpses littered throughout. He turned back to the executioner and nodded.

  The queen had gone back to the chest and returned with two buckets. One was already filled with pitch, and the other was empty. She handed the empty bucket to a nearby guard and yelled for him to fill it with mud. He jogged down the few stairs and quickly scooped up double handfuls of mud. He returned and set the now-full bucket down beside the other.

  The crowd was still screaming in judgment. A few had begun to share particulars of what they knew was about to happen.

  After another trip to the chest, this time by the executioner, he returned with a gigantic mallet and motioned for the guards he had spoken with to hold Keleah down on the floor of the platform, on her side. The executioner leaned down with a knife, and cut away Keleah’s skirt.

  As the guards restrained Keleah, Jularra stepped into her line of sight and came down to her knees, looking directly at her as the event unfolded.

  One of the guards held down one leg by kneeling on it. While hovering over him, another guard held the other leg up and away so that her legs formed a 'V'. After he'd finishing cutting away her clothes, the executioner quickly began to slice Keleah from behind.

  Keleah's agony pierced the air. Her scream was shrill, and rattled with vibrations of horrific pain. The queen stared at Keleah as the despair of her impending end registered on her face. Jularra smiled at her.

  “I had to go through something similar, once,” Jularra said softly.

  Within seconds of making the cuts, the executioner grabbed alternating fistfuls of pitch and mud and stuffed them into the traitor’s newly enlarged cavity. The substances would prevent Keleah from bleeding out too quickly.

  The insertion of the stake was next. Clearly familiar with the process despite never having witnessed an impalement before, one of the guards reached with his foot to roll the stake within reaching distance. He held it in place. The sharpened point of the stake was closest, with a small seat carved from the stake’s original length of wood, to prevent the victim from sliding down and dying too quickly.

  The executioner stood up, measuring the mood of the crowd before looking to the queen. The crowd's volume had grown, finally covering up Keleah’s tongueless screams. The queen, still focusing on Keleah’s eyes, nodded at the executioner to continue. He reached for his mallet.

  The guards holding Keleah looked up at him and also nodded. The executioner flexed his fingers around the handle of the mallet, lifted it, and swung. It was a heavy, solid swing,
powerful and accurate. The stake stabbed into Keleah’s body. She screamed again, and this time it was full-voiced and sickening.

  A cold wave of uncertainty stabbed at Jularra’s nerves immediately following the first slam of the executioner’s mallet. Not knowing how to interpret what she was feeling, she remained focused on Keleah. The traitor.

  The executioner swung again. Keleah’s screams stopped, then sounded again, weaker this time, and different in tone and timbre. The stake was surely doing internal damage. With a third strike, the carved seat of the stake reached Keleah’s bottom. The executioner tossed the mallet to the floor and motioned for the guards to lift her, along with her spike, and set it vertically in one of the nearby holders designed for the purpose.

  The queen stood up and followed her men to where Keleah's stake would rest. The girl's screams were low in pitch and volume now, and couldn’t be heard at all over the crowd. Most of the chanting now consisted of, “Die! Die! Die!” with a few outbursts of, “Suffer!” and, “Traitor!”

  Jularra smiled no longer, but stood before Keleah and looked at her straight on. Keleah’s head dipped. She looked about to pass out, but Jularra grabbed her chin and held it up so they were looking at each other again. While holding her chin in place, Jularra reached back and slapped some wakefulness into her. Keleah’s body shook obscenely on the stake.

  Without warning, Jularra’s nerves also began to shake in response. She had ordered a horror into existence that she would never have thought herself capable of. Her earlier lust for revenge was supplanted by another feeling, though she knew she could show her people no sign of wavering.

  Jularra's stomach turned; her throat grew acidic, and nausea overcame her. But she forced it back, arguing with herself internally. She had to maintain her role in that moment. For her people. For the sake of those all around her who had lost friends, family, and fellow soldiers, she had to unequivocally maintain her composure and power.