The Executioner's Rebellion (The Executioner's Song Book 4)

by D. K. Holmberg

  “It’s about something I thought had been resolved.”

  And it still probably was. Finn knew it didn’t matter at this point. At least, it shouldn’t matter. It bothered him though.

  She pointed to his plate. “You need to eat more than that, Finn.”

  “I know,” he said softly.

  “I know you know; it’s just that…” She trailed off as Master Meyer came in, dressed in his executioner leathers, and took a seat at the table. He nodded to Lena as she placed a plate in front of him, then he turned his attention to Finn.

  “Are you still displeased?” Master Meyer asked.

  “How am I supposed to be pleased with this outcome?” Finn asked.

  “I understand it’s difficult for you since this is somebody who came from your section, but there was bound to be a time that would happen.”

  Finn sighed. If only that were it.

  “We’ve had other people from the Brinder section.”

  “Not anyone you knew,” Master Meyer said.

  “We’ve had other people I’ve known,” Finn said.

  “The circumstances were quite a bit different,” Meyer replied.

  Finn breathed out and nodded. The circumstances had been different. When he had been tasked with executing his crew boss, a man known as the King, it had been easier, mostly because Finn had known he was guilty, but also because the King had truly been responsible for what had taken place.

  More than that, though, the King had wronged Finn.

  “I could perform the execution,” Meyer said, lowering his voice and not looking over to Lena.

  Finn just shook his head. “That is not necessary.”

  Meyer grunted. “You realize I’m still capable of it.”

  Finn nodded and pulled the tea toward him, bringing it up to his nose and deeply inhaling its scent—mint, which reminded him a bit of the hegen tea that Esmerelda always served him, though this was not nearly as refreshing. When she gave him mugs of tea, it usually helped clear his head, something that might be beneficial now.

  He had to stop thinking about Esmerelda. He had to stop thinking about the hegen. He had to start focusing on what was to come.

  “I realize you’re capable of it,” Finn said. “This is my responsibility though.”

  He had a feeling that this was another sort of test that Meyer had placed upon him—whether Finn could carry out an execution when he felt conflicted.

  He had certainly been in enough situations where he knew he would have to carry out an execution even when he wasn’t completely in agreement with it. For that matter, Finn had even carried out executions when he had not been fully convinced of the evidence, though he had always found a way to get himself comfortable with it. In this case, however, Finn wasn’t sure he could get himself comfortable with it.

  “Could you give us a moment, Lena?” Meyer asked.

  Lena had a plate in hand for herself and looked over to Finn, then Meyer, then nodded. “I will take my breakfast in the office, if that is acceptable?”

  “You know it is,” Master Meyer said.

  She left them, and Meyer sat quietly, chewing on his food. He didn’t say anything until the door to the office closed with a soft click.

  When it did, he rested his hands on the table and looked at Finn. “What is this about?” Meyer asked.

  “It’s nothing,” Finn said.

  “We know that’s not the case. If it were nothing, then you would have eaten by now. You have been through many sentences at this point in your career, Finn. I recognize that there is something to this one, even if you don’t want to acknowledge it.”

  Finn looked over to Meyer. “I thought maybe it had something to do with the fact that he’s from the Brinder section, but I don’t think that’s what’s troubling me.”

  “Then what is troubling you?”

  “It’s the details of this. All of this. It feels—”

  “Wrong?”

  Finn frowned, eyeing Master Meyer and nodding. “You feel it as well?”

  “I can’t say I feel good about what must be done,” Master Meyer said, taking another bite of sausage and chewing slowly. “Unfortunately, there are times when we must take action that we don’t always fully agree with when it serves a greater good.”

  “What if I’m not convinced this serves a greater good?”

  “Why would you say that?”

  Finn couldn’t tell if Meyer was asking or testing.

  “I’m just not convinced he’s responsible for what he’s been accused of doing.”

  “And I would argue that his death will possibly serve an even greater good than his life ever could.”

  There weren’t many times when Finn had felt Meyer was heartless, which was strange, considering his occupation of an executioner; in fact, throughout the time he had worked with Master Meyer, Finn had found him almost compassionate. He had a unique combination of qualities for an executioner, but it suited him, and it suited the nature of the job. Finn feared what would happen if Meyer were to lose his compassion—and if he did, he worried he wouldn’t ever be able to regain it.

  “Why would his death serve the greater good?” Finn asked.

  Finn sipped at his tea, staring at it for a moment before setting it back down.

  “If the jurors and the magister are correct, his death will hopefully limit additional protests.” Meyer smiled sadly. “It is a sad state of affairs to say that, but I can’t help but think that if he were to serve any purpose, then it could be that. We could hope his death will prevent the protesters from continuing to riot and fill the streets with violence.”

  “What if it only prompts more protests?” Finn asked.

  Meyer sighed. “That is always a possibility.”

  “So, you’re acknowledging that it may not change a thing. You’re acknowledging that it might make everything worse. And you’re acknowledging that we—”

  Finn cut himself off. He wasn’t angry at Master Meyer. He was angry at the situation, but to be honest, it wasn’t even that. If Walter was guilty, then he should face the punishment for the crime.

  Finn didn’t know, though.

  He had spent time searching in the days since the sentencing, but all he’d found was that there had been an Archer who had died, and every other Archer whom Finn spoke to suggested it had been Walter who’d struck him.

  Which was reason enough for Finn to believe that Walter was responsible and that they needed to carry out the sentence.

  “You don’t have to do this, then,” Master Meyer said.

  Finn shook his head slowly. “No. I think it should be me.”

  Meyer took a deep breath, nodding as he let it out. “Very well. If you are finished with your breakfast, then it’s time for us to make our preparations.”

  Finn could only nod. The preparations were the easy part—if anything they did could be considered easy. They had to ensure the knot on the rope was tied tightly, and they had to head to the prison to question Walter Briggs one last time, giving him an opportunity to confess—though given that he had already confessed, there wasn’t much else that could be done. He would need to make sure the priest of Heleth was ready for the procession, but that was about it.

  Finn gathered himself, got dressed in his executioner leathers, and pulled the sword Justice out of the closet, holding on to it carefully—not that he had expected to use the blade during execution, as the jurors had convicted Walter Briggs to hang. It was a part of the attire expected of the executioner.

  Meyer joined him and they headed out.

  As Finn stepped out of the home, he glanced behind and saw Lena looking out the door, a hint of worry etched in her eyes.

  “I didn’t even ask her about the others,” Finn said softly.

  “There is not much to have asked about,” Meyer said. “She has several of them coming around, and I think we are going to need to move them out of the old prison, but I didn’t want to do that until I could ensure the riots wouldn’
t preclude us from doing so safely.”

  “I understand,” Finn said.

  “We might need to move them at night,” Meyer said.

  Finn looked over. That was unusual.

  “I will do whatever you think is appropriate.”

  Meyer slowed, looking over at Finn. “And what about you? What do you think is appropriate?”

  Finn kept his gaze locked straight ahead of him. “Not this.”

  They made their way through the streets, and the closer they got to Declan prison, the more Finn began to feel that something was not quite right.

  At first, it was just an underlying sense of the city that bothered him, something that triggered a feeling deep within him, but it was a feeling that Finn didn’t really understand. Maybe it was nerves. That would be unusual, as Finn no longer had nerves about going to an execution, though having a bit of nausea, the way he did this morning, wasn’t altogether surprising.

  It was possible it was something else though. The streets were emptier than he would’ve expected.

  “There’s no festival?”

  “The Archers have a heavier presence today,” Master Meyer said.

  “I suppose that makes sense,” Finn said. “A festival might cause more danger.”

  “That is what the Archers felt.”

  Finn looked over to Master Meyer, frowning. “The Archers, or you?”

  “Both,” Meyer said.

  They made their way farther along the road, closer to Declan prison, and Finn looked over. “Are you concerned about what might happen?”

  “I’m always concerned about what might happen,” Master Meyer said. “In this case, it might be nothing, but I worry there will be an explosion of activity. Violence. All of it tied to what is to come.”

  Worse, even if they wanted to make it less of a public display, Finn didn’t think that would accomplish what the magister and the jurors really wanted to. They wanted the public display, and they wanted to carry it out in a way that would deter others from protesting, from rioting, and from doing anything similar to the violent acts that had been taking place in the city.

  By the time they reached Declan prison, Finn felt his unease growing.

  He had been a part of so many executions in the time he’d served Master Meyer that he knew how each one should go. He knew how it should feel. What was happening now, the way the city felt now, was not the way an execution should feel. There was something off here, a distinct feel to the city that was wrong.

  At the same time, the streets were empty and it was less of a spectacle than it normally was, which left Finn thinking that perhaps it was right.

  “Have you ever given much thought to the gallows festival before?” Finn asked as they neared the prison. The dark outline of the building towered over them, casting a shadow over the street.

  “I’ve often wondered whether there should be a festival celebrating the death of the men and women whom we bring to their sentencing,” Master Meyer said, nodding slowly. “Though I think it gives the people in the city a chance to grieve, in their own way. If you’ve noticed, there are plenty of people in the city who mourn the dead. Some use it as an excuse to gather and congregate, and some use it as a chance to get vengeance.”

  “Our job isn’t about vengeance,” Finn said.

  “Our job is not about vengeance for us,” Master Meyer said. They reached the door leading into the prison. “For others, there is a measure of relief brought when they feel vengeance has been served. Even if they don’t necessarily agree with the way that vengeance is carried out, there is something to be said about how people feel.”

  “They are going to feel that this is justice. Or vengeance.”

  “Not all of them,” Master Meyer said.

  “Not the people who come to the gallows festival,” Finn said.

  “Which is why we tried to limit the number of people who would come.”

  Finn wondered if such a thing would even be possible, if people decided to come out. There was no way to force people into their houses, to prevent them from coming out and watching, and no way for them to ensure the streets would be kept safe if they did come out.

  That was what he had to keep in mind.

  Finn pulled the keys from his pocket. He unlocked the door leading into the prison and nodded to Master Meyer.

  “You can still step aside and let me carry this out,” Master Meyer said.

  “I don’t need to,” Finn said.

  He made his way to the cell where Walter Briggs would be held. It was a different cell from the one he had been imprisoned in before—a place where he would’ve been given a chance to look out into the daylight, the sky, and have the opportunity to commune with the gods and decide if there was anything he could do or say that would sway them in his favor.

  Finn remembered his own night sitting there, how he had lost hope, how despair had filled him as he realized his final days were gone—and that within hours, then minutes, he would die.

  It was an empty, hollow feeling, and it didn’t make Finn feel any closer to the gods. How could he, when he had to question why the gods would permit him to be brought into such a situation?

  Would Walter feel the same way?

  By the time they reached the room, Finn paused at the door. It was a stout oak door, with heavy bars crisscrossing it and a small open window that allowed him to peer inside. He looked through the window and saw a priest of Heleth bowing in front of Walter, his head bent forward as they spoke softly, whispering their voices in prayer.

  Finn turned to Master Meyer. “This is the only time when I still think about my night. It influences so much of what I do, but I don’t really consider it too much anymore. Maybe I should.”

  “The fact that you don’t suggests you have moved on,” Master Meyer said.

  He tapped on the door, and the priest looked over to them. Finn recognized him. Garrett was a priest of Heleth, one who had a warm demeanor and who had served for many of the past executions. He was so different from the priest who had served during Finn’s sentencing, though that priest had also spoken the words of Heleth in a way that had convinced Finn to say them alongside him. Maybe he wasn’t so different after all.

  He stepped over to the door as Finn unlocked it, pushing it open.

  “He is ready to meet the Blessed Mother,” Garrett said.

  Finn stepped in. Walter sat on a ledge looking out a window, resting his chin on its sill, his back turned to Finn.

  “Walter Briggs. I, Finn Jagger, am present to escort you to your sentence.”

  Walter looked over. “I don’t want to go. I don’t want to die. I don’t deserve this. I—”

  “I know,” Finn said.

  He and Master Meyer joined Walter, both of them standing on either side of him, guiding him to his feet.

  Finn wasn’t sure what kind of prisoner Walter was going to be. There were some who resisted. Some who tried to force him and Master Meyer to drag them through the street, whereas others simply came along with a determined stride, as if facing their death was some measure of manhood. Finn had gone with an emptiness within him, facing his fate, though he didn’t feel as if he had done it to prove himself, but rather that he knew it didn’t matter anymore.

  Walter came willingly, though he looked up at Finn, his wide brown eyes beseeching him. “You have to do something. I know you can. You were saved. You could do the same for me. I could be an apprentice. All you have to do is say those words.”

  Finn licked his lips, then swallowed.

  He couldn’t deny the thought had come to him, but he was only a journeyman. Only master executioners took on apprentices, and he doubted that Master Meyer was going to do anything to delay this execution—not when so much he believed was at stake.

  “Come with us,” Finn said.

  “What if I refuse?” Walter asked.

  “We will drag you,” Finn said.

  “The gods don’t want me dragged to my death,” Walter said. He looked
over at Garrett, as if looking for reassurance, but Garrett didn’t say anything.

  Garrett had risen among the priests of Heleth, but still chose to serve during executions. Typically, that was the responsibility of newer priests, though occasionally more seasoned priests would accompany higher-ranking criminals. Then there were times when the priests felt a calling. He wondered whether Garrett had felt called to serve Walter.

  “The gods won’t refuse us dragging you to your sentence,” Finn said. “Don’t make it be like that. Make the march with dignity.”

  Walter swallowed, then got to his feet.

  Finn motioned for him to keep ahead of them, and Walter started forward, through the cell door. Once in the hallway, Garrett began speaking the words of Heleth.

  They reached the entrance to Declan, and once they stepped outside, a pair of Archers joined them, taking a position on either side of Walter.

  “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Finn asked, looking over to Master Meyer.

  “It is tradition,” Master Meyer said.

  “Tradition or not, I wonder if perhaps in this circumstance it is not the wisest of decisions.”

  Meyer said nothing.

  Archers were stationed throughout the city, far more than usual.

  The two with Walter guided them along the street, heading toward Porman’s Path, and once they reached it, they began the winding road toward the Teller Gate. The city had an eerie emptiness to it, as there were only a few people out.

  There were no street vendors today and the crowd didn’t line the streets, but that didn’t mean there weren’t people watching. Finn could see them on rooftops and packing side streets. He could see them in alleys, some poking their heads out to watch.

  He swept his gaze around, looking for signs of agitators, but didn’t see anyone.

  Everything was quiet.

  But there was the sound of Garrett murmuring the words of Heleth, and Walter speaking those words along with him, his voice filling the street. There was the sound of Finn’s own boots thudding along the cobblestones, even the soft sound of Walter’s slippers on the stones. Finn knew just how much he would feel through those slippers, each contour of the cobblestones, as if the walk to the gallows was one more torture before his hanging.