That hadn’t been Finn’s experience with the gods or with the priests. In Verendal, the priests had a very different view of the gods, though there were plenty of people who thought the way to honor the gods was to fear them. It just wasn’t what Finn would have wanted to be a part of how he honored any god.
“I suppose we have to take any protection we can get outside of what Verendal offers,” Olanth said. “I doubt it’s like that in Verendal.”
“Have you ever visited?”
“That’s too far away for me to reach.”
“It’s only a few days.” Not even that. One by a fast horse. Maybe two or three by foot.
“By horse. There aren’t many of us in Weverth who have one,” Olanth said.
Finn looked over to the mare tied to the post outside the house. She’d stood quietly since he’d gone into the home, so if there was one thing he could take from all of this, it was that she had a more stoic nature than he would have expected based on his experience coming through the forest with her. He had thought she would be more skittish and expected her to jump more based on what Finn had encountered inside the home, especially considering how Lyle had jerked on the chains to try to rattle Finn.
“I don’t think most people in Verendal have horses either. This isn’t mine.”
“You borrowed it?”
“Something like that.” Finn looked to the house again. “Would you be willing to show me to Lyle’s home?”
“I don’t know,” Olanth started, looking toward the forest. “It’s getting late and that’s not really the place you want to travel in the dark.”
Finn nodded toward the house. Now Lyle had started growling again, his voice taking on a throaty, raw sound. “A man’s life depends on me knowing what he did. For me to do my job…” He looked over to Olanth, wondering if that might be the way to get through to him before realizing that wasn’t going to be enough. “If you lead me to his home, I would have time to share stories with you.”
“I’d rather do that over a pint of ale, but I suppose…” He looked behind him. “Let me get a lantern. I was supposed to do that anyway but forgot on my way here.” He shrugged. “Besides, don’t want to go traipsing through the forest in the dark and end up lost.” He regarded the mare. “We could ride. That might be faster.”
“I doubt it.” When the man frowned, Finn just shrugged. “The trees would make it difficult to navigate. She’s not going to go that much faster than we’d be able to travel on foot.”
“That’s too bad. I haven’t ridden before.”
Finn almost smiled at the idea of giving Olanth a chance to ride the mare. With her round body, it was a wonder the saddle even stayed on. “Maybe when we return I’ll let you take her out.”
“It’s a deal.”
He hurried off, leaving Finn alone in front of the home. They were on the outskirts of Weverth, the quickly darkening forest nearby. It was mostly filled with pine trees, and the scent of their needles drifted to his nostrils. The earthy, damp odor of the forest lingered in the air as well, though it carried the same strange, almost foul stench he’d noticed when he first came into Weverth. That had faded a little, enough that he didn’t notice it quite as much as he had when he’d first come, but not entirely.
He sorted through the saddlebags of the mare and grabbed a few strips of dried meat and cheese, then ate while waiting for Olanth to return. He didn’t love the idea of heading out into the forest in the darkness, but he did need to see where Lyle lived, if only so he could get a sense of the man. Finn wanted to know what kind of a person he might be to try to understand why he would have done what he’d been accused of doing. As he stood there, he realized he still didn’t even know what it was that Lyle had done.
Olanth returned carrying a lantern and a pack slung over his shoulder.
“Do you think we’re going to be gone overnight?” Finn asked.
“I can’t say that I know. I just figure it was better for us to be prepared for any possibility.” Olanth shifted his pack and held out the lantern. “You want to carry it?”
Finn glanced over to the house. The chains had gone silent, almost as if Lyle realized that Finn and Olanth intended to visit his home and wanted to hear what else Finn might be up to. “I don’t know the way, so maybe it makes more sense for you to guide us.”
Olanth shrugged. “Maybe you should unsheathe that sword of yours.”
“It’s not that kind of a sword.”
“What kind of a… oh. I see. I suppose you wouldn’t have that kind of a sword.”
Finn just nodded.
“Have you ever used it? Wait, what kind of question is that?” Olanth said, shaking his head and smacking himself on the side. “Of course you’ve used it. You’re an executioner. And you come to Weverth carrying a blade like that, so of course you would’ve had some experience using it.”
Finn chuckled softly. “Why don’t you lead the way, and I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”
“Good enough,” Olanth said.
He started off, heading back through the village, not quite the way Finn would’ve expected.
When they had traveled through a few streets, he veered off, heading north. They reached the outskirts of the village, and the houses lining the forest there were made of stone—the same kind of dark gray stone that he’d seen used by the Alainsith, as if the houses had once been some sort of Alainsith settlement.
“How old is Weverth?” Finn asked as he caught up to Olanth.
“The village itself is centuries old. Some say it was founded by the priests themselves. Honestly, though, I don’t really know. Nobody really does.” He nodded toward the stone building that Finn had passed. “We see things like that, and those of us who have lived here a long time figure our ancestors built those buildings. It’s impressive how long they’ve stood the test of time, if you ask me.”
He continued off, heading toward the trees. Finn watched where he went before he followed him. It was more than just impressive. It was surprising to Finn that they wouldn’t realize it was Alainsith who built the village, though maybe there were people who lived in these villages who didn’t really understand the influence of the Alainsith and the role they played in the surrounding community.
“How far is the house?” Finn asked.
“It won’t be too far,” Olanth said. “Far enough that it’s going to be dark by the time we get there, but even old Lyle didn’t want to live too far from the village. But, like I said, he would stay away for weeks or months at a time before coming in for supplies.”
“What exactly did he do?”
“That’s right. You asked me that before.” Olanth paused and turned back toward the village. “I don’t know what your people do in Verendal, but we bury the dead in Weverth.”
“We burn them,” Finn said.
“I always knew that the people in the bigger cities burned their dead, but never really understood it. Maybe that’s because we follow all of the priests, and we don’t tie into just one of them like you do.”
Finn shrugged. He would’ve thought it was the opposite. In Verendal, there were churches for each of the different sects of priests, and he would’ve thought those in Verendal had a stronger connection to all of the gods than those in Weverth had. “It’s a big city, and we follow the teachings of Heleth, which instructs us to return the people to the mother. Their ashes become new life.”
Finn felt as if he were simply speaking the words without any belief in them. He often felt that way about the priests and the lessons they taught, but he had learned long ago that there was a certain expectation placed upon executioners, and he needed to at least present himself as devout, even if he wasn’t.
“You see the village?”
They had moved into the trees, but not so far that Finn couldn’t make out the outline of the village.
“I see it,” he said.
“If you look just to the east, you might see a small clearing. That’s the graveyar
d. That’s where we bury our dead. We done it for generations. Ever since Weverth was founded.”
Finn glanced from the clearing back to the village, noting the stone, and doubted that they had done it ever since this village was founded. “And?”
“And old Lyle started digging up the dead. Defiling them, you know.”
“How did he defile them?”
“I’m not exactly sure. They tried to keep that from most of us.”
“Why?”
“We all knew something had happened. The smell… They don’t like to talk about it. But the priests came upon him. They had to stop him, but old Lyle was determined.”
“Determined how?”
“You’re going to have to ask the priests about that,” he said, shrugging.
Finn nodded. “Why don’t you lead me to his home?”
“I’ll do that, but you need to start regaling me with stories of what it’s like to be an executioner. How did you even get into such a thing?”
There was the question Finn had anticipated.
Not that he hid from his past, because he didn’t, but he didn’t necessarily enjoy sharing the details of what he’d gone through and what had brought him into contact with the master executioner. It was shame, more than anything else.
“I was found by my mentor, and he brought me into the job,” Finn said, picking his words carefully.
“Your mentor?”
“The executioners have a guild. I work with a man named Henry Meyer, master executioner in Verendal.”
“And are you a master executioner?”
“Not yet.”
“What’s involved in that?”
Finn shrugged. “To be honest, I haven’t really given it much thought.” The lantern cast enough of a warm orange glow into the trees to push back the growing darkness, but every so often, Finn thought he caught sight of movement beyond the lantern’s glow, shadows that seemed to press upon them. Maybe it would’ve been better for them to have come in the daylight. “I have enough work as it is. I try not to think about what it’s going to take for me to get more work.”
“Are there really so many killings in Verendal?”
“It’s not just about the killings,” Finn said. “It’s about learning the truth. Digging into the crimes, searching for answers so we can ensure the king’s justice is carried out.”
“I thought the Archers did that in Verendal.”
Finn shrugged. “Most people don’t really know the truth of the matter. The role of the executioner is not just to carry out sentencing. We’re involved in all the aspects of the crime itself. We’re tasked with trying to understand whether somebody is truly guilty or not.”
“There’s no doubt that old Lyle did this,” he said.
“Why do you say that?”
“Only because of how he was found.”
“In the village?”
“We found him in the village, but he… well, he stank. There’s no other way to say it, and I know they had to drag him out to the stream and force men to scrub him so they could get some of the filth off of him.”
He had stunk quite a bit when he’d been in the prison. Finn couldn’t imagine how much worse he would’ve smelled then.
“How much farther do we have to go?”
“Are you already bored with sharing your stories with me?”
Finn shook his head. “I told you I would regale you with tales of what it’s like to be an executioner, but I’m trying to figure out how far you’re going to be leading me outside of the village.”
“It’s only about an hour,” Olanth said.
An hour.
That would mean a lot of stories.
As he looked over at Olanth, he saw a burning curiosity in his eyes.
Finn should share with him.
And, if he was being honest with himself, he couldn’t deny that there were stories to be told. He certainly did have enough experiences, and he understood why somebody like Olanth would want to hear about them. It was probably part of the reason why Meyer documented everything he did. Finn hadn’t taken up the habit of journaling the way Meyer had, but if he were to do so, he wondered if it would help him process what he went through in the same way it helped Meyer.
“Why don’t I tell you a little bit about some of the more interesting things I’ve investigated?”
Olanth looked over, grinning.
As they made their way through the forest, Finn shared stories of crimes he’d investigated, focusing mostly on the investigation and less on the sentencing. It was his way of conveying that his role was more than just that of the hangman. As they traveled, Finn found himself looking toward the trees, looking at the shadows, the darkness, and searching for any sign of something else. Every so often, he thought he caught sight of something in the trees, but then it drifted away, fading, leaving him feeling as if perhaps he had imagined it.
They traveled quickly. The path was narrow, but Olanth seemed to know it pretty well. When Finn asked him about that at one point, he merely shrugged, saying that most people knew the way to old Lyle’s house, partly because there were other houses in the area, and partly because they had all been tasked with running supplies out to him when they were younger. That seemed a little surprising to Finn, but he ignored it as he continued telling his stories.
The darkness fell in full, and the bright moon started to rise, casting silver beams through the trees. The lantern pushed back the remainder of the darkness and the shadows faded as they headed through the forest. The sounds of the night began to appear: insects chirped, an owl hooted, and somewhere distantly there was the mournful cry of a wolf.
All of it was almost comforting.
Almost.
There was still something a bit off-putting about coming out into the forest, especially in the middle of the night.
It wasn’t even the middle of the night, but Finn didn’t like it. He was a city person at heart, yet in the time he had been working with Master Meyer as an executioner, he had found himself outside of the city far more often than he had ever preferred. Many of his more challenging investigations had taken place outside of the city.
“It’s not far now,” Olanth said.
He started to slow, and Finn realized that the trees opened up in the distance.
“Is that it?”
“It is. I…”
Finn looked over and realized there was a foul stench in the air. The forest itself had seemed to conceal it before, keeping the odor from him, but as they neared the home, the forest could no longer keep it hidden. He found himself wrinkling his nose at first, then pulling up his shirt to cover it.
“I don’t think I can go any farther,” Olanth said.
“I need to investigate,” Finn said.
Olanth looked at him, holding his gaze for a moment then shaking his head. “We can come back in the morning. I can bring you back here.”
“I’m here now,” Finn said.
Olanth looked up at the trees. There was something haunted in his eyes. “If you go, I…”
Finn just nodded. “I understand. You need to return.”
“No,” Olanth said, straightening. “I told you I would lead you here, and I’m going to finish leading you here. You lived up to your end of the bargain, telling me stories about what it’s like for you to be an executioner, so I’m going to do what I told you I’d do.”
He took a deep breath, then shook his head, as if immediately regretting what he had done. He brought his arm up over his face, covering his nose and mouth, then continued forward, shifting the pack on his back and holding the lantern up.
Finn followed, though he stayed closer to Olanth now.
He tried to keep his mind engaged with what he saw.
There could be dangerous and supernatural things out in the forest. He wouldn’t be surprised if there was some Alainsith presence out here, especially considering how far into the forest they were, but he also worried about the possibility of witchcraft. Given what
had been described, what he knew about the power of death, Finn thought that more likely.
And if there was witchcraft out here…
He continued forward, moving quickly, carefully, and looking all around him.
The trees occasionally swayed, as if the breeze picked up then died back down. Finn looked over to Olanth, who looked uncomfortable, but continued to head forward, his jaw clenched as if he was trying to prove he was confident enough to do this.
It took everything in Finn to resist the urge to reach for the sword.
There was power in the blade. It had been used more than a few times now, and would have the power of death within it so that it could be used against witchcraft, but he also didn’t want to give into the fear. That was its own kind of power.
They reached the clearing.
For a moment, Finn stood there, tensed, looking everywhere around him.
His gaze tried to take in everything. There was a stone home, small, compact, similar to abandoned Alainsith structures Finn had seen outside of the city. If it was Alainsith, the home itself might have a power of its own. A low, stacked stone wall surrounded the yard and looked to be newer than the home. As the lantern light reflected off of the stone, he saw that some of the sections of the wall had crumbled and started to tilt.
Something else caught Finn’s attention.
Shadowy figures were spread all around the clearing.
At first, Finn didn’t know what it was that he was seeing.
Even as he stared, he still struggled to make it out.
“What is that?” Olanth asked.
Finn took the lantern from him and started forward. He had to step up over the wall, almost tripping as one section of it crumbled and the stone crashed down.
Olanth jumped, and Finn looked over to him, trying to smile reassuringly, but he wasn’t quite sure if he did a good job of that.
He held out the lantern.
Finn crept toward the nearest shadowy form.
He had seen scarecrows in the fields he passed. Finn remembered the very first time he’d seen one, trying to make sense of what it was. He’d never spent time out of the city before he had started working with Meyer. It had been unsettling, partly because of how lifelike some of the scarecrows were. Some farmers took great pains to make it look as if there was a person out in the field.
The Executioner's Rebellion (The Executioner's Song Book 4) Page 10