Realm of Monsters

Chapter 590: Execution Part 2

  “What are dragons doing here…?” Stryg mumbled.

  The mention of the mythological beasts caught Plum and Tauri’s attention. The two of them leaned over the balcony and craned their necks up to try and get a better view.

  The dragons were small colorful shapes in the sky. The sun refracted off their glittering scales as they flew in a circle high up over the plaza. It was not long until the crowds noticed the dragons as well. Many of them began pointing upwards and then the shouting began. Some were curious or excited, most were in terror. The people of Hollow Shade had yet to recover from the attack of the dragonbanes.

  “My lord, we should get you somewhere safe,” advised Gale as she gripped the hilt of her sheathed sword.

  “I’m inclined to agree, young master,” said Gian.

  Stryg narrowed his eyes and stared up at the dragons. The direct sunlight blinded his sight until the rings of his irises squirmed and suddenly broke. The rings expanded until his purple irises covered the sclera in reminiscence of an owl.

  His world was bathed in a world of black with silver threads outlining every object. Light filtered through the darkened world in the shape of ribbons, the rays of sunlight weaving through the black sky in a dream-like pattern.

  The dragons appeared clear in his altered sight. They were flying in slow circles, staring down at the execution scaffold. They weren’t happy or angry, they looked… somber? Stryg wasn’t sure. He was never particularly good at reading people’s emotions and certainly not those of dragons.

  He really wished his sisters were here. They would know what to do.

  “Young master, we should leave,” said Gian.

  Stryg slowly shook his head. “No, let’s stay for now. The dragons aren’t doing anything. They’re just watching. We’ll proceed with the execution as planned.”

  Gian stroked his trimmed beard. “Ah, we’ll show a strong front then. Let the people know that we are not afraid of such beasts.”

  “I mean… that too,” Stryg added.

  “But if they do get too close I’ll make sure that you escape and you won’t fight me on that, understood?” Gale grabbed Stryg’s shoulder in reinforcement.

  Stryg smiled wryly at her. “Don’t worry, if it comes down to that I’ll heed your every word.”

  “Good,” Gale nodded, satisfied.

  As the voices of the crowds grew in panic, Lady Calantha Ashe leaped off her balcony booth and floated down to the scaffold with an air of grace and a touch of magic.

  The crowds grew quiet at the entrance of the High Priestess and they watched her with a gaze of hope.

  “My people,” Calantha began. A yellow spell wrapped around her voice and carried it over the wind and to the crowds all around the plaza. “Do not fret, for the dragons are here only to bear witness.”

  Stryg didn’t know if that was true or not, but at least the crowds were calming down.

  “The dragons were sent by the gods to aid our city and they fought alongside us during the dark night of the siege. Now they have come as omens once more to observe and judge the guilty.” Calantha gestured to the line of prisoners in question.

  Now Stryg was certain she was lying. Sure, the dragons had joined their side during the siege, but they had come to fight their eternal enemies, the dragonbanes. They hadn’t come to save the people or on the commands of gods. From what he knew, the dragons and the ebon god titans were on tenuous terms at best and wanted to kill each other at worst. His own father had killed countless dragons throughout the millennia. If Stjerne were here right now, he’d probably fly up there and slaughter every single last one of them.

  Memories from his great-grandmother’s book flooded his mind once more. He was reminded of the carnage Stjerne had left in the wake of Lunis’ destruction.

  “...And so let us begin with the warlord himself,” Calantha ended her speech and directed the guards to bring the prisoner forward.

  The guards yanked Marek’s chains and dragged him up the stairs and onto the scaffold. He looked worse than when Stryg had visited him a few days prior. Marek was dressed in what was once a simple white tunic. Now it was stained with blood and dirt, torn and frayed from where he had been beaten and tortured. His beard had grown unkempt and the blonde hairs had dried blood on them. His left eye was swollen shut and his face was gaunt as if he hadn’t eaten in days, which Stryg guessed he probably hadn’t.

  The crowd booed at Marek and cursed his name. When he reached the front of the scaffold, the guards grabbed his shoulders and forced him onto his knees.

  Calantha raised her arms to the sides. “My people, I give you the Dusk King himself. The warlord of the valley. The chieftain of the Cairn. The man who dared defy the gods and our Great City of Shades.”

  The crowd’s voices grew louder with spite and anger.

  Plum furrowed her brow. “Stryg… You said the council decided that Marek should have a more ‘fitting end.’ What exactly did you mean by that?”

  “There are many people Marek hurt. Many on the council wanted his head. I certainly wanted to rip his throat out,” Stryg admitted. “But in the end, we decided that there was one person who Marek took more from than any one of us. He has claims over Marek’s life.”

  “Who is he?” asked Plum.

  “I call upon the Great House of Helene to lead us in the first and most vital of the executions,” said Calantha.

  A young boy, no older than 10 walked up scaffold steps. An older woman, his advisor and caretaker walked beside him, pushing him along with a gentle hand on his back.

  “Stryg, you cannot be serious,” Plum said in horror. “He is just a child.”

  “And Marek murdered his family right in front of him,” said Stryg.

  “You can’t let the boy do this. You’ll scar him for life!”

  “Plum’s right, Stryg. This is wrong,” said Tauri.

  Stryg cocked his head to the side. “Why?”

  Plum stared at his curious expression and realized he actually didn’t understand the implications of having a child kill another human being. “You really aren’t like us, are you?” she whispered. “Does your kind hold so little value for our small short lives? Is that why the Ebon Realm is so broken, because its rulers are coldhearted gods who care nothing for mortal kind?”

  “I care for your life, Plumela,” said Stryg sincerely.

  “And theirs? The people outside your tribe?” She pointed to the people down on the plaza.

  He glanced at the thousands of unfamiliar faces. “Should I?”

  “The fact that you have to ask that question is the problem,” Plum sighed in defeat.

  “Lord Tristan Helene, may you avenge your House with dignity and honor.” Calantha drew her ceremonial dagger from within her sleeve and offered it to him.

  Tristan grabbed the gilded dagger with shaky hands and tried his best to put on a brave face for the crowds. His advisor leaned into his ear and whispered, “Hold your head up high and do not hesitate, young master.”

  “R-Right,” Tristan swallowed. He turned and stepped up to Marek.

  The warlord looked up in surprise with his one good eye. “It’s you…” he muttered. “So you got away after all… good for you.”

  “I am going to kill you,” said Tristan anxiously, though it sounded more as if he was trying to convince himself.

  Marek bowed his head in resignation. “Do what you must.”

  “Y-You killed my mom and dad.” The boy bit his lip, “Why?”

  Marek glanced up and for a moment there was shock in his expression, but then it turned bitter. “...Your grandmother, Alessandra, was my mother’s younger sister. My mother was the firstborn, she was to inherit the Helene throne. But Alessandra was envious, she betrayed her. Your grandmother killed my parents and slaughtered half my tribe.”

  “So you wanted revenge?” the boy asked, but there was no anger in his voice.

  Marek licked his cracked bloody lips and swallowed. “I wanted to cause her the same pain she wrought upon me. I thought if I avenged my tribe, then it would somehow all be worth it. All the destruction, all the death, and pain… I thought… I guess it doesn’t matter anymore,” he scoffed softly. “It all seems so worthless now. Just kill me and be done with it. I deserve nothing more. A fitting end for the legacy of the Helenes, don’t you think?”

  Tristan slowly raised the dagger to Marek’s chest, right above his heart. The boy’s hands shook. Tears fell down his cheeks. “I can’t…” 

  Tristan dropped the dagger and ran into his caretaker’s arms. He cried and buried his face into her side.

  Calantha smiled stiffly at the crowd and walked over to Tristan. “What is happening?” she whispered.

  “My lord does not wish to take the man’s life,” said the caretaker sympathetically.

  Calantha sighed, “It doesn’t matter, I’m afraid. The council decided that House Helene has the rightful claim over Marek’s life. If the young lord does not wish to kill the prisoner, then one of his servants must complete the task.”

  “I will do it then,” said the caretaker. “But I don’t want my lord to have to watch.”

  “No.” Tristan stepped back. He sniffed, rubbed his eyes, and looked up at the high priestess, head held high. “If my House has claims over Marek’s life, then I choose to spare him.”

  “What!?” Calantha frowned. “You can’t do that.”

  “Can I?” Tristan glanced at his caretaker.

  The older woman nodded slowly, “The council gave House Helene the claim over Marek’s life. As lord of House Helene, you can do what you want with him.”

  “Then I choose to spare him,” said Tristan.

  “Why?” Calantha asked incredulously.

  “...My mom hated all this fighting, she always told me I needed to be better than those before us. She wanted me to be better…” Tristan balled his tiny fists and glanced at Marek. “I won’t let this be my family’s legacy.”

  “If you do this the Ruling Houses will turn on you,” warned Calantha.

  He glanced up at his caretaker. “Will you turn on me?”

  “Never,” she smiled.

  Tristan nodded, turned to the crowd, and took a deep breath, “House Helene will spare the prisoner’s life! He will serve his sentence as a prisoner in my House.”

  The crowd broke out in boos and angry shouts, and cursed the Helene name.

  “He can’t really do that, can he?” asked Stryg from his balcony.

  “You and the rest of the council gave him the claim over Marek’s life,” replied Gale. She bared her fangs in displeasure. “Do not worry. I swear to you, I will find a way to rectify this. Marek will not escape.”

  “Marek must die, but I must admit the boy has more courage than men twice his age,” mused Gian. “It seems that the House of Helene may still have a future yet, if they can survive the coming storm.”

  “I think you’re right,” Plum said, a trace of pride in her voice.

  “MAREK HELENE,” a voice boomed over the plaza.

  The crowd shouted and pointed at a mysterious cloaked figure that had suddenly appeared on the execution scaffold. Stryg didn’t need to see underneath the stranger’s hood, he recognized his sister’s voice.

  Calantha Ashe stepped between Tristan and the stranger. “Who are you—?” She froze as she peered underneath the hood. “Y-You…”

  “Me,” said Melantha. She walked past the stunned High Priestess and made her way to Marek.

  “H-Hey stop!” shouted Tristan, but his caretaker quickly pulled him back.

  “Halt!” The guards holding Marek down rushed at Melantha. 

  She slapped them away with what seemed to be a gentle flick of the wrist, but the guards went flying off the scaffold and crashed into the crowd.

  The two executioners on standby summoned forth their shades, a pair of ghostly black souls that screeched as they emerged from their orbs. Melantha glanced at the shades and they cowered underneath her cold gaze, before quickly slipping back into their orbs, much to the shock of their mages.

  The crowd broke out into a thousand different voices, all shouting various opinions. Confusion about Marek’s relation to House Helene and the stranger’s appearance echoed throughout.

  Marek stared at Melantha’s approach grimly. “Are you one of Caligo’s servants?” he asked.

  “I tried to kill Caligo.”

  “So did I,” Marek admitted. “That doesn’t change my question.”

  “I am no god’s servant, nor shall I ever be.”

  “Then who are you?”

  “Your reckoning.” Melantha raised her hand and held it over his face. “MAREK HELENE, FOR YOUR CRIMES AGAINST YOUR OWN KIN AND THE EBON REALM, I SENTENCE YOU TO DEATH AND ETERNAL DESPAIR.”

  Her pale hand turned into its original blue shade and her fingers began to glow a faint indigo. Marek suddenly began screaming in agony and tried to escape but he could not move as if an invisible grip was holding him in place. His eyes rolled up and the white wisp of his soul was dragged out of his mouth and into her open palm. Marek’s body went slack. 

  The wisp of his soul coalesced into a small marble of light and disappeared as Melantha closed her hand over it. The goddess of death turned to the crowd and then in a flash of blue light she disappeared.