by Casey Hays
This was before she performed her first execution—before she shook hands with Death and made a pact to use his services often. Firm, unmoving resolve and controlled cruelty settled over her then. She had a village to maintain at every cost. And today? Layla will die, and Mona won’t flinch. Because every day, she weighs the worthiness of every human life in the Village, and she says, “Shall you live today?”
Sending someone to the grave is not difficult for Mona at all.
But to allow Layla to live? Now this would not be so easy because Mona would have to answer for her compassion. Killing Layla is what everyone expects, and Mona rarely disappoints expectations.
I would make a different choice if I were leader. And if I were brave enough to take a risk, I would do what is right instead of what is easy. I would not be a coward.
My eyes flicker open, and a slow burning flame wells up and begins to lick at my conscience.
Here I lie, struggling with my own self-pity, deliberately avoiding the tragedy about to befall my friend on the outskirts of the Village because, in my selfishness, I don’t want to endure it.
What am I doing? This isn’t about me!
I shoot straight up on the mat. Mia jumps, startled out of her slumber. “What?” she says through heavy lids. “What’s wrong?”
I ignore her. I’m crawling over her and grabbing at yesterday’s clothes, pulling them awkwardly over my body. I pile my hair into a mess atop my head and scramble for the door.
“Kate!” Mia shrieks. She jumps to her feet and rushes after me. “Kate, where are you going?”
“Maybe we aren’t too late. Maybe we can stop her.”
“What are you talking about?” Mia’s voice is laced with panic. “We can’t stop her. We’ve never been able to stop her.”
I’m not listening. “How could I just lay there and do nothing?” Blood pounds in my temples. “I have to try one more time.”
I’m breathing hard. I bolt through the bamboo leaves—tearing several completely free as I do—with Mia hot on my heels.
“Try?”
“To save her!” I scream.
Stunned, Mia stops dead in her tracks. But I don’t slow my pace, and she has to rush to catch up with me again.
“What are you going to do?” she asks, panting heavily.
I don’t know what I’m going to do. Stop Mona if I can. Somehow, I have to make her see that this is not the answer. More than likely, I’m signing my own death sentence, but I can’t sit by and let this happen. For Layla’s sake, I can’t. If I don’t say something this time, who will be next? Mia? Diana? I don’t want to lose any more friends.
I burst into the clearing and spot the makeshift platform standing tall before us. Many of the villagers have come to see the spectacle, to my disgust, and they gawk at me as I hurriedly weave my way through them toward the front with Mia trailing. Layla’s mate is already dead, his head lolling to one side, a deep gash smiling across his throat. His body hangs heavily from the pole where he’s tied.
Next to him, Layla is bound to a separate pole. Her face is hard, her chin set stubbornly in a sort of last minute attempt at pride. She doesn’t move; she doesn’t cry. She only waits quietly for Mona to raise the knife to her throat. Courageous to the end as only Layla can be. Our eyes meet, and I see a nearly indistinguishable relief in hers. Shame washes over me. I should have come sooner. I should have been here from the beginning.
The crowd gasps when I clumsily climb the steps of the platform, tripping on my uneven skirt. They gasp because this is strictly forbidden. No one is allowed to take the stage without permission from the Council leader, but I don’t care too much about formalities just now. I fall at Mona’s feet, breath heavy, and bend my head in respect. Mona lowers the knife, her eyes glowing with an angry hint of shock at this intrusion. Again, I don’t care. My friend’s life hangs in the balance.
I do manage to keep my eyes down, respectfully prostrating before the one person who has the power to honor my request, even though my entire body is quivering with apprehension under Mona’s heavy glare. If I were going to rethink this bold decision, it’s too late.
“Mona,” My voice is hoarse. “Please don’t do this. I’m begging you. There has to be another way.”
I still don’t look at her. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Mia at the foot of the stage, her eyes wide with fear. I glance at Layla. Her hardened expression has changed, her eyes suddenly glinting with fear and desperation that causes my heart to thump wildly. Her light hair blows up around her pale face like a halo. A single tear slides down her cheek.
“Kate, you have crossed a line.” Mona’s voice lacks any kind of compassion whatsoever. “You dare to defy the order of the Council? You dare to stand against Atropos? There is nothing that can be done. Move aside.”
“No.” I look straight at her. “You can’t do this. Layla is innocent!”
Mona’s angry eyes bore into me like wooden stakes.
“The Lion has spoken,” she says.
And with that, she turns her back, raises the knife and slashes Layla’s throat. Layla’s eyes widen, then glaze over. They rest on me briefly as the blood gurgles, dripping down her neck to her chest. She gasps, chokes on her own blood. Her head rolls to one side, and she is still.
And just like that, she’s gone.
Someone is screaming—blood-curdling screeches that pound inside my head. I realize it’s me. I cover my mouth with my hands, my body shaking fiercely. The tears sting my eyes. My mind fogs over, and Layla blurs out of my vision.
And suddenly, all of Layla flashes through my mind: She’s across from me at breakfast in the nursery, molasses smeared across her face as she plunges another handful of porridge into her mouth; she runs across the meadow, blonde hair flying wildly behind her as the rest of us try to catch up; she brushes my hair; she teaches me a song as orange flames of the fire-pit dance in her eyes; she sits on the seat of honor dressed in her own white sarong and smiles at us all from her perch.
She hangs from a pole. Dead.
The crowd is mumbling, but their voices grow louder, intensify inside my brain. Mia calls out to me; I cover my ears.
“Lay- laaaaa!!!”
Her name escapes my lips in a single wail, and after . . . I don’t think. I just crawl across the platform to Layla’s feet, grab hold of her ankles, bury my tear-stained face into her bare feet. Her body hangs heavy.
“No. NO!”
The rush of blood from her throat has caused a red river to flow down the front of her dress. I lift my eyes slightly and press a finger into the stain.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper.
In a flash, Mona has me by the hair and drags me to my feet. I cry out, but she disregards this. She pulls me close, her fist entangled tightly into my locks. Her breath is so hot on my face.
“Fate decides who is innocent or guilty, and the Council carries out the sentence,” she hisses. “Last time I checked, Kate, you were neither of these.”
Her eyes shift to Tara with a silent command. Tara complies, cutting Layla’s mate loose. He slumps to the floor—dead weight. She kicks his body aside, yanks me from Mona’s grip, and pulls me to the empty pole. I wince as Tara turns me away from the audience and ties my wrists to the post.
I know what is coming. My breath wheezes out in panicked gasps. I twist and catch Mia’s eye. She stares in horror, helplessly watching.
Mona moves in and whispers in my ear. “I didn’t want to use you as an example again. You’re far too pretty. But you’ve given me no choice with this display today. You are a strong-headed girl—a good quality sometimes, but it can also get you into a lot of trouble. You’d best learn your place, Kate.”
She signals Tara and leaves the platform. I stare at her retreating back. She won’t even stay to watch her orders carried out? Coward!
Tara steps forward, a fire lighting her eyes. One easy stroke, and she rips the back of my shirt loose. She reaches for the whip that hangs from her bel
t, and meets my eyes for a brief second. I can tell she plans to take pleasure in this.
I concentrate on Layla’s limp body beside me. Her vacant eyes stare back at me from the place of the dead from which no one returns. My heart thumps in resistance.
“Good-bye, Layla,” I whisper.
Seconds later, the whip slams against my skin with a whizzing snap. I squeeze my eyes tightly shut and suck in my breath, stifling a scream that threatens to escape. The pain sears me. And this is only the first blow.
The crowd is silent. The Council members stand to the side of the platform, their faces unreadable. All I hear is the whistling of the whip as it slashes through the air, the thud as it cracks against my back, and my muffled shrieks bordering on screams. Ten lashes later, Tara folds the whip. She cuts the rope that holds me and turns, descending the steps and moving in the direction of the Village. The crowd splits to let her pass. And it’s done.
Mia darts to the stage just as my knees give out. She catches me as I slump to the floor, exhausted.
“Kate!” She pulls me close, careful to avoid my bleeding back. “Oh, Kate. This was a bad idea.”
Sadly, I’m aware. No good came of it at all.
The grave diggers are lugging Layla and her mate from the stage. They step over us without a word. Mia and I watch them go in silence. The bodies leave twin scarlet streaks, dark and wide across the platform. I close my eyes. I don’t know what to feel anymore.
The women, eying the stage warily, begin slowly to break up and leave in quiet conversation. Some look at me with sad eyes; others won’t look my way at all. The excitement is over for today. Nothing left but clean up. The Council members turn away, happy that another complication has been dealt with, and they can return to their easy lives.
“Come.” Gently, Mia lifts me, hoists my arm around her shoulder. We stagger down the steps together. I take in a sharp breath.
In my hogan, Mia tenderly wipes the blood from my back with a soft, wet cloth. She breaks a prunella plant in half and squeezes the whitish juice into the wounds. I lie on my stomach, not moving, not blinking. If I don’t move, it doesn’t hurt so much.
“That was foolish, Kate,” Mia scolds while she works the herbal medicine into my wounds. She’s always been good with herbs. If she wasn’t so pretty, she could have been a physician. “What were you thinking? You can’t change what the Council has decided. And you certainly can’t change Fate’s mind.”
She’s sniffling quietly, and occasionally, she wipes at her eyes. Layla is dead, and we are both numb with the reality that we will not see her again. I don’t want to think about it anymore because if I do, I get this sinking feeling that nothing can ever be changed. And I don’t want to face this.
I want it to stop. All of it. All the abuse of power, the beatings, the killings.
The breeding.
It’s wrong. Our village is wrong. If Ian has taught me nothing else, he’s taught me this.
I bury my face in my blankets. What’s the use? No change will be powerful enough to bring Layla back.
Mia sighs, standing. “Get some rest. You’ll heal faster if you do.”
After she leaves, Layla stalks my mind. Her eyes haunt me, staring at me—halfway living. There was so much blood, so much brutality.
But what had I expected? This was Mona’s doing, and Mona is brutal. I forget this sometimes when I see a glimpse of her softer side in fleeting moments, when she reaches up to straighten my hair, when she caresses my arm or utters the occasional kind word. But I can’t let those moments fool me. If I do, I will never be able protect myself. Mona cannot be trusted. She is not the same woman from my childhood days.
I feel angry. Mona has created a society that lives in terror. She controls all of us through intimidation and fear. And I hate her!
She can speak of protecting the greater good and keeping the peace until she’s out of breath, but I will never believe her. Layla felt no peace as she died strapped to that pole. Neither had Meg. Where was Mona’s protection when they needed it?
I know what she would say. “Individual needs are trivial needs. And we don’t deal in trivialities.”
A tight fist clenches my heart. Something has to change.
>--->
Later, Mona comes to see me. She bends over my mutilated body.
“I’m sorry this had to happen. I never intended it.”
I hold perfectly still at first, hoping she’ll think I’m sleeping and leave. I tense, listen to her steady breathing. None of this affects her at all. Still the strong, fearless leader.
“I trust that you have learned your lesson and will not interfere with a judgment again. Next time it will be worse for you, Kate.”
I turn carefully, glare up at her, hatred pouring from me.
“Why didn’t you just kill me?” I ask, bitterly.
What seems to be shock crosses Mona’s face for an instant, and I feel a sense of satisfaction that my words have affected her. I hope she burns with guilt for all she’s done. She purses her lips, regains her composure.
“You should be dead. I should have killed you when you defied me on your birthday. But,” she paces the room, “I knew you’d come around on that point.” She casts a glance over her shoulder at me. “Just as you will come around on this one.”
Glowering, I turn away.
“The reason you are still alive is simple, Kate. I wasn’t planning to share this with you so soon, but I fear I have no choice. I alluded to it last night, but I will clarify.” She paces for a moment, stops, hands clasped behind her back, and sighs. “There is no one else qualified to take my place. The Archer, in his divine wisdom, has pulled you to the forefront, and so this drives my decision. If you die, the Village will crumble. So you see, I have to keep you alive at whatever cost you may have to pay.”
I cast my eyes up at her, utterly repulsed. I am to be leader? The idea itself digs an ugly, cavernous tunnel through one side of my heart and out the other. I should have known. All of it is so typical of her, planning the next step in my life and crediting it to the Archer. I meet her heavy stare, but I respond with quiet indignation.
“I want nothing to do with your plans for me. I don’t want to take your place.”
Mona chuckles and squats down beside me. She brushes a gentle hand across my cheek. I jerk away.
“Oh, Kate. Stubborn to the last. Get better. And watch yourself. We don’t want a repeat of what happened out there this morning.”
She pats my leg twice. The leaves rustle as she passes through them.
Her words leave no room for misinterpretation. If pain works, she will use it without a second thought. Even on me, the proclaimed next leader. If I cross any more lines, she won’t hesitate to hurt me again.
The next leader . . .
I feel sick. And angry.
I narrow my eyes. How dare she choose me!
I think of Ian for the first time all day. He’s waiting for me—expecting me to return to him. Yesterday, before the dramatic turn of events, I’d hoped to visit the Pit today.
And now there is the added danger of further rebellion on my part. If I’m caught helping him escape . . . .
I push this dangerous thought aside. Ian’s escape is still my priority.
But Layla’s baby raised the befallen curse theory in the Village. If Mona searches long enough, she just might discover the fault lies in me. As far as I’m aware, no one has ever attempted the escape of her mate before.
And Layla? Could Mia be right? Had Layla paid the price not for Mia’s lack of productivity, but for my treachery? Had her baby died because of my decision to save Ian? Would Fate be so cruel?
I remind myself that I don’t believe in Fate.
Layla’s dying body absorbs my thoughts, but so does her smile and her hazel eyes, her laughter, and her easy way of accepting all things, even her death, with such composure. I want to be as strong when the time comes for me. I shift painfully, and as Layla’s face flickers in my memor
y, I suddenly realize that I’m no longer afraid of dying. I inhale deeply.
I also realize this could be a fleeting moment of bravery on my part, but as I lie here racked in pain and convulsing at even the smallest movement, I understand one vicious truth:
There are far worse things than death.
Chapter 14
“. . . the punishment that brought us peace was upon Him, and by his wounds we are healed.” Isaiah 53:5
I don’t return to the Pit all week, or the next week, either. The wounds from my whipping become infected, and for nearly ten days, I toss and turn on my mat, delirious with fever.
The Village physician checks on me four times a day, using what herbal remedies she has to fight off the bacteria that eats away at my body. For a while, it seems hopeless. On the sixth day, my fever spikes, and I hear the doctor say she is sure I’ll die in the night. But in the morning, I’m still holding on, mumbling in my sleep. I’m too tough-skinned to give up so easily.
Mia stays with me night and day. She does not make her trips to the Pit, but spends every moment drenching me in cold water to bring down my fever, and my body alternates between sweating and shivering, unable to make up its mind. At times, between waking and sleeping, I see Mia. Huge bags rest beneath her eyes from lack of sleep, and she grows thinner each day. She forces water and tiny pieces of cut fruit down my throat, doing all she can to keep me alive, refusing to give up on me.