Daniel shifted his position. Pain groaned in his ribs and chest. A fresh wave of shivers tore through his shoulders. True to his predictions, it wasn’t long before black clouds blotted out the pale moonlight. As though someone had snuffed out a candle, the shed in which he was confined was swallowed in darkness. Without the cracks in the stone walls to stare at, he succumbed to exhaustion and slipped into a numb trance. He didn’t sleep—how could he?—but if anyone had passed by and caught a glimpse of him, they would have guessed he was dead. He may as well have been.
Chapter Seventeen
A silent sun rose. Daniel expected dread, or a sickening twist in his stomach, or the sudden urge to attempt any means of escape possible. But the sun rose silent, and it was a silence that he found himself matching. After a sleepless, motionless night, he felt as though he had become one with the stone wall against which he lay. Cold, hard, unyielding. Indifferent. As though his subconscious had been preparing him for what lay ahead, the long hours of the night had completely numbed him to anything other than perceiving with his eyes and ears. He saw the first rays of sun pierce through the narrow window above him. He heard the sounds of footsteps beyond the walls of the shed. But he did not feel the sun’s warmth, nor did he feel anything save for a bitter aftertaste of regret as the lock clicked and the door swung open.
Two low-ranked Preceptors pulled him to his feet without a word. They led him outside, where he had to squint even in the young rays of the morning. It wasn’t until they forced him to walk between them that he realized just how stiff his body had become during the night. His joints screamed with each feeble step, and his back and ribs still ached from the beating he had received from Andrale the previous day.
The Preceptors each kept a firm grip on him, even though his arms were bound and he wouldn’t have been able to take five steps on his own if he had wanted to. He didn’t look at them, nor did they address him. They led him along the beaten cobble path in silence, as though under a mutual understanding that communication simply wasn’t necessary. Daniel kept his eyes glued to the stones and weeds under his feet.
It wasn’t a long walk. They stopped in a place where the sunlight hit unobstructed, and the sound of murmuring voices permeated the air. Daniel lifted his chin out of grim curiosity and got his first glimpse of his execution area.
They stood under what used to be a grand archway leading into an ample courtyard of white stone and marble, though Daniel couldn’t tell where this courtyard was in relation to Galaratheas’s restored center. The courtyard was surrounded by portions of walls that once upon a time stood proud. Those sections that remained were covered in tangles of vines and lichen, while the gaps between these sections led into piles of broken rubble and mazes of crumbled structures. Near the back of the courtyard stood a platform of weathered yet sturdy planks on beams as thick as pines, and on this platform loomed the gallows. The simple structure leered at him, taunting him with its mere presence, and though purely functional in its design and build, it had an aura of impartial justice about it, capped off by the heavy noose that swayed ever so slightly in an unfelt breeze.
Daniel stared back at the gallows in silent defiance, challenging it to knock him farther down than he already was. He felt a shadow of a grin pull at the corner of his mouth. In truth, the noose held no power over him. He was a shattered vessel, and as such, the threat of being further broken was hollow. A raw chuckle escaped his lips, and the noose swayed towards him, as though extending a hand of welcome, inviting him to sit at its macabre table. He gave a slight nod. So be it.
The Preceptors shoved him forwards, and the motion broke his focus on the gallows and brought his attention to the rest of the courtyard. For the first time, he noticed the ring of people lining the perimeter of the courtyard. Townspeople and Preceptors alike had gathered to watch, as if his execution were some form of required entertainment. He didn’t want to look them in the eye, so he kept his gaze low. He didn’t know them. They didn’t know him. He was a murderer, and murderers hung. It was just the way of the law. They weren’t here to help him or to mock him. They were witnesses, nothing else.
Dom Maravek stepped into view, occupying more space in front of Daniel than was necessary. He folded his arms over his brawny chest and scowled down at him with unmasked contempt. “Given the reputation you’ve built for yourself,” said the first-ranker, “I was hoping for a bit of a show from you.” He kept his voice low so that only Daniel could hear. “No fighting? No fleeing? Not that you’d make it more than half a step, but still…” he shrugged. “No matter. It’ll be over quickly, and once you’ve been purged, the rest of us can carry on in peace.”
Daniel didn’t answer. He expected this was about as much of a trial as he was going to get. This far west, where the reach of the Order was symbolic at best, Maravek was the judge and the jury. His verdict was all there was to it, and even if the Preceptors had gone through the hassle of a formal process of law, which would have been little more than a waste of time, Daniel wouldn’t have been able to plead anything but guilty.
Maravek jerked his chin towards the gallows. “Get on with it.”
The two low-rankers led him around to the right side of the platform and up the steps until he was positioned directly under the beam from which the rope hung. Daniel glanced down and noticed the trapdoor under his feet. The height of the platform, which couldn’t have been more than three feet, indicated that Maravek was even crueler than Daniel had originally assumed. The short drop wouldn’t be enough to break his neck—they intended to let him hang until asphyxiation did the job. This suspicion was confirmed when he saw the noose was a simple slipknot. After a twinge of disgust, he pushed the thought aside with an ease that almost alarmed him even in his numb state of mind.
A Preceptor beside him rattled off a length of judicial jargon, none of which mattered enough for Daniel to pay it any attention. While he spoke, his companion double-checked the bindings on his wrist and adjusted the noose so that it would slip over his head.
As they went through the motions, Daniel surveyed the gathered crowd. The Preceptors were outnumbered five to one by the townspeople, but he knew he had no friends out there. They were all silent, stoic, and passive, like gravestones all in a row, watching.
One of the Preceptors slid the cord over his head and tightened the slipknot until the rope was snug against his skin. “You need to not be hooded,” she said.
Daniel thought in the back of his mind that he recognized the voice, but it could have been any one of the Preceptors he had interacted with since the evacuation, and it was of little consequence who pulled the lever.
Standing just off the platform, Maravek addressed the onlookers with all the charisma of a shrewd leader. His words were lost to Daniel amid the ringing in his ears, but the crowd stirred and murmured, and eyes that had previously avoided him now scorned him. Maravek was turning the crowd against him, as though relishing the chance to toss a final stick onto the flames that licked at his feet.
Then silence reclaimed the courtyard, and the Preceptor standing just behind Daniel prodded him forward half a step, so that his feet were centered on the trapdoor. Daniel’s palms grew clammy, and his chest tightened. He closed his eyes.
“Look to the left, where the two walls draw together.”
The Preceptor kept her voice so low, and he was shut so far behind his iron walls, that it took him several moments to realize she was talking to him. He reopened his eyes and risked a glimpse at her. It was then that he recognized her—she was one of the Preceptors that had been with Maravek when he arrested him in Obenon. Why continue to taunt him now, when he was as good as dead?
The Preceptor gestured ever so slightly towards the back left corner of the courtyard, as though urging him to follow her command. Her eyes weren’t hard or pitiless as he had come to expect from the Preceptors. In fact, her face reflected next to no emotion at all, as though she were going the extra step to not betray her thoughts.
&nbs
p; Daniel slowly turned his head, distinctly feeling the rough cord scratching at his skin, and looked in the direction she had indicated. Tucked away in the corner, nestled where two half-crumbled sections of wall met, was a pile of rubble set apart from the crowd and all but concealed in the shadow cast by the wall. A figure sat atop the pile, dressed in commoner’s clothes, face hidden by the hood of a light jacket. Despite his face being hidden, Daniel could tell by his position that the figure was staring directly back at him. In his arms there was a bundle of dusty blankets.
Any guess Daniel could have as to the identity of the figure was pointless. He was about to voice his confusion when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Preceptor give a quick nod. The figure on the rubble pile shifted the bundle in his arms and peeled back the corner of one of the blankets, revealing what was inside.
It was Litty. As though an arrow had pierced his chest, Daniel stumbled forward and a cry caught in his throat. The rope tightened around his neck, and the Preceptor had to pull him back to his feet.
All along, Daniel had known Litty was in Galaratheas somewhere, but it hadn’t once crossed his mind that the Preceptors would bring her to the hanging. It was inhuman. “Why?” He choked the words out past his ragged throat.
Litty wriggled free of the blankets that had been hiding her and, still held by the stranger on the rubble pile, reached out her arms towards the gallows. The gesture slammed into Daniel’s iron walls like a sledgehammer, and he felt his countenance crack. His heart beat.
The Preceptor beside him reached into her jacket and pulled out a floppy, pink object—Ducky. Daniel then understood. He bowed his head and slipped back into defeat. They weren’t trying to make Litty suffer—she probably didn’t even understand what was happening. Their intentions were the same as they had been all along. They would do everything within their power to make him hurt to the very end. “If there’s a shred of humanity left in you,” he murmured, “Please give that back to her. She needs it.”
The Preceptor kept her face turned towards the crowd. “She’s not reaching for the duck.”
Daniel looked up again, and found Litty’s blue eyes staring right back at him. Her arms still reached forward, and her little lips mouthed one word. Despite the distance and the crowd that stood between them, Daniel heard that one word as clearly as though Litty were in his arms. Danny. His heart beat again. Hot tears stung his eyes. His iron walls crumbled and blew away like dry grass. He felt a surge of something that he couldn’t explain well up inside—something raw and primitive, as though a dormant part of his very being were rousing from slumber.
The Preceptor casually showed him a blade tucked in her sleeve. “The rope is weak. When you land, roll as quickly as you can away from the crowd.” She paused and locked eyes with him for the first time. “Litty needs you.”
The next instant, the trapdoor dropped open, and Daniel fell through the platform. The rope snapped taught. He heard—no, felt—a crack, and then his body hit the cobblestone. His neck burned where the robe had cut into his skin, but the cord now felt slack.
On his stomach with his arms still tied behind his back, he could only watch from the shadows underneath the platform as utter chaos erupted in the courtyard.
* * *
First, half a breath’s worth of silence. Then came the shouting—mostly from Maravek. From his viewpoint, Daniel could only see the legs of the Preceptors as they scrambled towards the gallows platform. Behind them, the townspeople backed away slowly, as if unsure if their safety was in some way compromised. In another second, gunfire rattled in the courtyard. A spray of bullets ripped into the beams of the platform like teeth. Daniel sucked in a breath and rolled as quickly as he could away from the edge until his back hit one of the posts.
Maravek roared an equal amount of commands and colorful exclamations over the pandemonium. The Preceptors rallied under his threats and came at the platform in an organized line, their weapons trained towards Daniel’s hiding spot.
Overwhelmed by the turn of events, Daniel could only watch as they advanced. In a few moments they would be able to duck underneath the platform and finish him off—he had no doubt that was exactly what they intended to do. He searched the crowd, but there was no sign of Litty or the stranger that had been holding her.
A pair of hands grabbed him from behind and pulled him further back, away from the Preceptors. “Hold still,” said a male voice that he didn’t recognize.
Daniel felt a cold blade press against his wrists, and after a few strong sawing motions, the cords snapped and fell away. He twisted his arms from behind his back and rubbed his chaffed wrists. Then he turned to face his liberator. He found himself staring into a young face with dark eyes and shaggy hair. The man was garbed in the greens and browns of the mountain forest, yet the knife in his hand seemed to be his only weapon. “Who are you?”
The man shook his head. “The guy whose job is to get you out of here before the Preceptors turn you into a cheese grater.” He jerked his chin towards the daylight filtering through the posts from the back of the platform. “Follow me.”
Daniel didn’t see how he had a choice other than to trust this man. As the Preceptors reached the far edge of the platform, the two of them weaved their way through the posts in the opposite direction. When they made it to the edge, the man glanced over his shoulder. “From here you’ll make a straight line towards the wall. You’ll be out in the open, so don’t look back. Run as fast as you can. There’s a broken section in the wall—once you’re through, turn left and follow the road. There’s someone waiting—” A hail of bullets cut him off, and both he and Daniel flattened themselves against the stones. “Go!” The stranger all but shoved him out into the courtyard. “I’ll keep them busy.”
Dazed and confused, Daniel stumbled to his feet in the sunlight. Sure enough, directly across a stretch of the courtyard, the wall had crumbled, leaving room for him to squeeze through. A shout startled him into motion like a hunted rabbit, and he bolted for the opening. One of the Preceptors took a potshot at him from across the courtyard, but the bullet pinged off the stone wall a good five feet away. He threw himself through the breach, bashing his knee against a protruding brick in the process. He landed on his hands and knees on the other side.
Picking himself up, he ignored his bloodied palms and followed the road as indicated by his mysterious helper. The fire he had felt in his chest when Litty reached for him was still there—the walls of iron were gone. His spirit was alive again. Though he didn’t know why, he was being given another chance.
His legs pumped as quickly as his pulse. Even though he had no idea where he was going, as long as the road led away from the Preceptors and their guns, he would follow it. His mind raced. The Preceptor on the platform must have cut partway through the rope without anyone else noticing. But why? Why did she help him? There was obviously a plan afoot—the man under the gallows had been waiting for him to drop. Who was he? And who was waiting for him down the road? What about Litty? He skidded to a halt. He couldn’t leave without her. He doubted she was in any immediate danger, but he refused to get lost in the ruins of Galaratheas without knowing where she was.
He was about to turn on his heel and go back to the courtyard when a Preceptor stormed at him from the cover of one of the abandoned buildings alongside the road. Before he could so much as shout out, the Preceptor barreled into him. He fell to his back on the cobble, the wind driven from his lungs. His vision blurred as the Preceptor knelt over him and drove a fist into his jaw.
“You almost made it, Black,” said a gravelly voice.
Daniel recognized the voice. It was Andrale, the Preceptor that had beaten him in the cell just last night. He felt the hope that he had just rediscovered flicker out like a candle. He tried to move, to get up, to keep running, but he could hardly gather a full breath, much less force his limbs to respond.
Andrale leveled his sidearm at Daniel’s chest.
A voice somewhere in Daniel’s mi
nd told him that being shot was a simpler way to go than a short drop hanging.
A shout that was halfway between a roar and a yelp came from behind them, and Andrale glanced up just as a hulking form flew over Daniel and collided with the Preceptor, sending them both rolling across the cobblestone. Andrale’s gun bounced away from him.
Amid the tangle of arms and legs, Daniel caught a glimpse of sandy curls. “Ram!”
Ram bellowed and pushed Andrale’s shoulders against the road and delivered a furious rain of blows to his torso and face. “Don’t even think about getting up! You—will—not—hey!”
While at first it had seemed that Ram’s battery assault would render Andrale unconscious, the Preceptor now locked his fingers around Ram’s throat and managed to fling him off as though he were no heavier than a sack of apples. Ram landed a few feet away with a heavy grunt.
Andrale struggled back to his feet, but Daniel was already up. He stumbled over to the gun, wrapped his fingers around the cold metal, and pointed it at the Preceptor. “Not a move,” he said between labored breaths. His pulse throbbed in his ears like a drill. “I’ll shoot.”
Ram picked himself up, looking dazed. He staggered to his feet, but pulled up short when he saw Daniel and Andrale. His mouth dropped open as though he were going to say something.
Andrale’s eyes gleamed cold. “Do it. Kill twice, hang twice.”
Daniel tensed. His nostrils flared. This Preceptor was the man who had broken him. He had beaten him and scorned him. He had ripped out his hope with his bare fist, and now, he would pay. He wanted nothing more than to shoot. His finger paused on the trigger, and his lip curled into a snarl. He aimed at Andrale’s head.
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