| |
––––––––
Aselian.
Joss fixated on the word, still hearing Aric’s voice repeating it. He never did wake up to tell her more, sleeping peacefully through the night and into the morning, even when she had to leave. The fact a man directly from Aselian was in her home was both baffling and wearisome. He wasn’t close to being royalty, but he was too close to the family she despised for her liking.
“Master Brevyn.”
Joss snapped to attention, being thrown back into Quinn’s office. He stared at her, and she realized too late he was motioning to her. She also noticed she was gripping the handle of her ax too tightly, her black gloves squeaking under the pressure.
“It’s time to collect him,” Quinn said again, which was Joss’s cue.
Nodding, she stepped out of the room and moved down the hall of cells, the chants of “Angel of Death” following her along. When she reached the condemned row, she found a chaplain and two guards fitting Charleston Ore in a white garment that was traditional for the soon-to-be executed. While they prepared him, Joss eyed the end of the corridor, finding the two unfamiliar guards from before still at the far cell.
The chaplain moved into her view, just to be out of the way as the two guards escorted Charleston Ore out, having to move a tad slower due to his limp. He caught sight of her immediately, and as he limped forward, they eventually stopped him so that he was in front of her.
“Master Brevyn,” he greeted her, his voice hoarser than before.
“Charleston Ore,” she said officially with a touch of gentleness she couldn’t deny him.
Holding out his hand, he produced a single coin, more than likely given to him by one of the chaplains to pay for a clean death since he didn’t have any coins himself. “For your services,” he proclaimed, the same phrase every prisoner said. Except for the one that had spit in her face, but that whole ordeal had been a rough one anyway.
If he had been a murderer or condemned of something heinous, Joss would have been directed to take him before the magistrates and witnesses who would further remind him of his sentence. Murderers usually brought a bigger crowd, so the council followed the formal procession religiously, hoping the act would deter others from following suit. However, due to his age and the fact his crimes were more of a nuisance than life-threatening, the formalities were voided.
“Thank you,” Joss said, taking the coin. “I’ll see you in a few minutes.”
The fear was taking over him, so Joss turned away to give him his privacy. As she crossed the jailhouse, she knew they were shackling his wrists and ankles; as she charged up the stairs and escaped the building, she could imagine him limping along, his chains clinking to a beat that was all his own while the other prisoners would offer their condolences to him, one dark soul to another.
The crowd had gathered, and Quinn had been right: there were more. Lots more, pouring into the square to see what kind of massacre they would bear witness to that day. Joss gritted her teeth as she moved up the stairs and crossed the platform, coming to a stop in the middle against the back railing. Lord Vaspin was already there talking to some of the town council that had perched themselves off to the side. Quinn stood down below as well, keeping to himself like he always did.
Henrik, while remaining in the corner out of the way, came to stand near Joss. She wasn’t sure if he had come home last night since she had gone to bed and risen without seeing him. She tried asking him when she found him there that morning, preparing the block, straw, and blankets, but was pulled away by Quinn who wanted another pep talk about “just do the job” and “don’t be distracted.” Eyeing him, she realized he was tired but not hungover.
“I’m sorry I didn’t come back,” he said quietly. “There was a rowdy fight Garrett and I broke up, and one of the men was wounded pretty good.”
“But you’re okay?” Joss murmured back, concerned despite the fact he looked fine.
“Oh, I’m fine,” he reassured her. “It just got late, so Garrett gave me a room for the night so I could be rested for today.”
Given how often they found bodies on the roadway after nightfall, she was glad Garrett kept him safe; though, knowing the tavern keeper, he had acted begrudgingly, only helping Henrik because he had helped him. Breathing easier, Joss saw the crowd stir before the shouts started, the signal that the prisoner had emerged.
A path cut through the crowd, Charleston Ore being led by the two chaplains. The two guards on horseback remained next to him, keeping with his slow pace as they held the end of the chains. Because of his age and the charges against him, the crowd was less enthusiastic to see him, though some still jeered just because they could.
Joss watched as the old man struggled to keep his pace, breathing heavily as they reached the steps. The chaplains said their last peace with him as the guards dismounted, and once done they led him up the steps. That bewildered look crossed his face as he took in the scene, as most of the prisoners did when they realized their end had come. They pivoted him to face the crowd, at which time Lord Vaspin stepped forward.
“Charleston Ore, you have pleaded guilty to thievery that involved several honorable households in this district, and as such, you are condemned to death. However, due to your time spent in the king’s army, you will not be hanged as a thief but beheaded. If you wish to say your peace, say it now.”
Lord Vaspin moved back to his spot, allowing the prisoner to take a feeble step forward. He scanned the crowd as if looking for the right words, and after a few seconds Joss realized he had none.
“My only last words,” he said at last, his hoarse voice making it hard for people in the back to hear, “are for Master Brevyn.”
Joss glanced at Lord Vaspin, who looked back and nodded in allowance.
With ax in hand, Joss stepped forward, coming to Charleston Ore’s side. The old man rotated to face her, hunching over slightly from the draft of the white garment. “They made you into what you are,” he said softly so only she could hear. “But always remember that this does not define you. I may die a thief, but I was a soldier. You may die as the town executioner, but what are you really?”
Joss thought about the question, realizing she didn’t have an answer outside of what she did for a living.
“Figure that out,” he continued on, “and don’t let anyone take that from you.”
His words sparked something in her, an old familiar feeling of hearing her father talk about such things before his mind slowly began to decay. These words made her heart ache, knowing they were false hope.
“I’ll do my best,” she lied, keeping her face composed so he wouldn’t see the skepticism in it.
The old man smiled. “It is an honor to be added to your list, Master Brevyn.”
Joss swallowed hard as the man began to kneel before the block. He struggled, too frail to be graceful about it. Taking hold of his arm, she gently helped him down, to which he thanked her with a pat on her arm.
Letting go of him, she couldn’t help but place her hand on his back, leaning into his ear. “Godspeed, Sir Ore,” she whispered.
The old man turned his head at her, surprised by the words. When he saw the small smile on her face, he relaxed into the block, his own smile soothing his face. Closing his eyes, he imagined his favorite battle, the men he fought against and the ones he fought beside. “Here I come, you ugly lot,” he whispered, the smile never leaving.
Even after the ax was brought down and Joss lifted his head to the crowd to show the beheading’s success, his smile remained.
