I stood by my father, my attention divided between two men. One dressed in an all black robe, his heighth the only discernible physical feature, he made no movements to speak of. He may as well have been a statue in a robe from what I could gather, he was there when I arrived and had not moved since. The other man was standing on a wooden platform, as pale as the moon and as sorrowful a man as I have ever seen, he rubbed his neck mournfully. My eyes peered at the black-robed man, trying to find a face in the shadow of his robe’s opening. I tried and tried without finding the slightest hint of humanity under the black cloth.
The two men, my father, myself, and the crowd that had gathered around us all stood in silence, anxious and fearful. It seemed to be hours that we stood in the pale morning light silently staring, waiting. We were forcefully woken from our silent trance when the town’s bell was tolled to signal dawn. I counted six chimes, after which a man stepped out into the clearing, it was Asiron. He spoke loudly to the crowd, “Ezra of Southern Shkhem has been found guilty of rebellious actions against Southern and Northern Shkhem through direct action, and the whole of Eret through indirect action. He is the direct cause of twelve deaths, and incalculable loss to the families the dead have left behind. He is determined to be unredeemable. According to the Iron Eret Code of Tsor, the proper punishment for his actions as determined by myself, Eron the jugar of Southern Shkhem, is death by ligature at the Sorrow Tree by Tsor’s command. His token will be given to his widow.”
Asiron receded into the crowd, leaving the black-robed man and Ezra as the center of attention. My focus shifted to the cloaked man. He was a Tsorian priest, his usual bright white robes were forsaken today for dark black ones, today he was an executioner. One stark white hand, save for the intricate dragon tattoo it bore, emerged from the black robe, and pulled the wooden handle at its side. The wooden platform on which Ezra stood forcefully dropped. The crowd was aghast in unison.
I watched as the rebel Ezra dropped with the platform. I saw what blood remained in his face brighten his pale demeanor in the pale morning light as the rope tightened around his nick. I felt a smile creep onto my face as I watched his foot twitch violently repeatedly. I would like to say that I restrained myself more at the spectacle, as would my father would have liked to have seen me do, but I can not say that I did such a thing, I reveled in what my eyes beheld. The smile on my face was not alone, it had brought with it cheerful eyes which could not be concealed by my hand, like my smile now was. I blended well into the crowd with my hand over my gaping mouth, however my eyes were not wide in shock as the rest of the crowd’s eyes were, my eyes were slanted in appeasement. No lip or tongue biting could mask my pleased eyes like it could mask a smile. Some time passed while the prophet writhed in the death throws before the attentive audience. Most of which watched for a time until they could take no more then turned away, moments later looking back to Ezra to see if it had ended yet. I watched without blinking and without looking away until I saw his foot twitch softly one last time, and all the movement had diluted to a gentle rhythmic swaying of his lifeless body to the left, then to the right, and back.
I, a boy of fifteen, stood defiantly and unflinchingly next to my father as we watched that rebel relinquish every last bit of life to the rope tied round his neck. The tension I had been storing in my body since I arrived I now released by taking a deep breath. As a young boy I was lucky to be admitted to that morning’s events considering the graphic nature. My father did not so much care whether I stayed home or came that morning, he was making conscious efforts to make me grow up some so he let me decide on my own attendance. The choice was easy for me because there was nothing that would make me miss the execution of the man who killed my mother.
The crowd departed from about me leaving me like the sole tree to survive a windstorm, standing alone in the open. I revelled in the sight of the dead rebel until my father tore me away, visibly displeased at my visible satisfaction. I received many looks as I took my place among the crowd when I arrived that morning, still more I received as we made haste through the crowd on our way home. He did not say a word until we were back on the road to Northern Shkhem away from public ears and eyes. “You know son,” he said in a tone I had not experienced before, “I know you hated that man, believe that I did too. She was my wife after all.” He hesitated with the words he was about to say. I gathered what he was preparing to say was harder to say than the obvious point he had just made. As he spoke, his tone was sympathetic yet corrective. I had never heard him walk this fine line between sympathy and correction before, but he did so with striking mastery, which meant he had almost complete power in the conversation, since there was no way I could argue with his humility. This also meant all the times before when he was scornful and corrective with me, he could have instead been sympathetic and corrective. Perhaps this was part of him trying to make me mature, or perhaps it was the circumstances of which we had the conversation.
After his long hesitation he finally resumed, his voice weak, “Demos, I know you are a good kid and would never take pleasure at the harm of others, but show some respect. The man’s family was there too. From what I’ve heard of the story he was a respectable honest man in the community who just woke one morning with the idea that he would start a political rebellion against the Chairman. I don’t know how a thing like that gets planted into somebody’s mind but it did. He had the history of being a good person, good people make mistakes too. Good people make wrong decisions. Everyone does, you, me... your mother..” his voice staggered with the last. He exhaled deep and started again “I’m not condoning what he’s done. I’m not justifying it. It was absolutely wrong. He deserved every bit of the punishment he received. You can hate that man all you want, but it’s not going to bring your mother back to life or change a thing. I honestly don’t care how much you hate him, but you can’t think only of yourself. I’m sure his family was stunned as they saw that man change before their eyes from a good man who provided and protected, they saw him change into a monster. They were just as stunned as we were to see mom change into a misled, misinformed pawn being led to her death by him. Ezra’s family was bystanders as much as we were with mother; his family is full of victims too. You need to control yourself for their sakes; they’ve lost a husband and a father. Please just think about it.”
I started in with my defense, but he must have sensed the large breath I took to begin speaking because all I got out was “Da” when he held his hand out to silence me. His hand still in front of me, he said, “This isn’t a discussion, that will come later. I asked you to please just think about it, and that’s what I expect you to do. There are many people mourning their losses today. We can discuss further tomorrow, at home. Until then, do as I say.” Knowing now that obedience was non-optional, I obliged. I took strange comfort in the fact that there would be further discussion despite the fact I had just been silenced. At least this would provide me the time needed to bolster my rebuttal.
It was the second Thursday of December, first day of summer, and that meant the dry season was nearing its end, the rains would be upon us soon. Months of dry heat left the road a fine dust. It billowed about us as we walked home in silence. The dust was the only thing in the air as we walked; no words were heard in the early morning air.
My afternoon could not have been any greater contrast to my morning. That morning I was surrounded by people in sorrow and people burning in hatred against Ezra. That morning I had managed to find my father’s reproach as well. I was ready for a change; a lighter mood would be greatly welcomed. It had been four months since my mother had passed and the execution that morning was the last thing that needed to happen before we could begin to move on. No more trials and no more incessant reminders of our family’s loss would occur. I had finished my last year of classroom studies this month and had a three month break before it was expected of me to start my prentice studies. Today marked the end of sorrow, and the start of my new life.
When my mother died, her token was sold by my father according to my mother’s wishes to family friends who had an unexpected child on the way. They were in need of the token and my father would never remarry, so he would have no use for another token since he would have no more children. Also, my father was a rich man and did not need the iron he received for the token either, so he gave the entire sum of iron from my mother’s sold token to me. I had just been informed of this earlier in the week, and had not had the chance to spend any of it; it was the largest amount of iron I had ever seen. More money than most of my parents’ friends ever had, more money than my teachers could ever hope to have. So much iron and all of it left in my fifteen year old hands.
I had plans this afternoon to meet with a friend, Carus. I had known her my whole life and had only just become friends with her in the past year. She was beautiful; her eyes were vibrant and bright. Her hair was long and dark. She was perfect. I met Carus in the town square of Northern, just a short walk from where her father, the mayor of Northern Shkhem, had just built a new home. I started our day together by taking her to Northern’s inn; I bought the most expensive, most delicious meal they sold, a generous cut of good meat. Nothing too fancy I guess, but it was not as if we were in Eretton or Hub. A good cut was not easy to find in Northern. After lunch we went to the general wares store. There I bought Carus beautiful obsidian earrings. She wore them happily, constantly trying to catch glimpses of them as we continued our day. The dark glass caught light subtlely and illumined her hair like she was an angel. At the general wares store, I also bought for myself a nasty looking obsidian knife. Its blade was large and nearly symmetrical on both sides, which is very difficult to achieve with obsidian. The handle was a well carved piece of sayl wood, crafted by the best woodsmith in town, my father. I had monitored his craft of it in our shop like an eagle for the handful of weeks he idlely worked on it, coveting it secretly to myself. I was curious of its final form while he worked it over, wondering how nasty a piece of work it would turn out to be. Then one day the obsidiansmith came to my father’s shop and mounted the blade into the handle, ever since I envied it with my every free thought. I made a habit of routinely checking the general wares store to see if it had sold yet, now with more iron than I could count, it was the first of my many purchases.
We went to the tailor’s shop next. I bought Carus a gorgeous dress that complimented her new earrings so well it was as if they had been crafted to be with each other. At the tailor’s, I also picked up a cloak that made my fifteen year old mind believe I could be a hero, the kind of hero that sneaks through the shadows and captures the vagrant or the murderer, the kind of hero that slays revenants as if he were threshing grain. It made me feel like I was just like the jugars, just like my hero, Eron. I felt like the type of man that people would have to give a nickname to, a name that intimidated the criminals and made them fear justice. Just like the people had changed Eron’s name to Asiron. The cloak made me feel like the invincible hero of legends, I had to have it.
The scorching sun was still high over head. Lunch and two stores later I had yet to make a mark on my surplus of iron. Carus and I continued down the streets of Northern, stopping in any and nearly every store we saw. A few stores later, I paid a younger boy some iron to take our things back to our homes; we were growing weary from carrying them and had no room in our arms and sacks to place the new items we were purchasing.
As we finished our round of Northern’s stores and shops, my attempts to become a hero warrior were now aided by the procurement of a long fighting staff, a belt that held my obsidian knife, some brand new travelling boots, a travel sack, and a thick wooden club. The Iron Eret Code mandated that bladed weapons could not be any longer than one’s forearm, so that really only left the bludgeoning type of weapon to complete my arsenal since I had already acquired my obsidian knife. Carus continued on her pursuit of elegance and glamour. For her I bought two dresses, blue and green, another set of earrings, three pairs of shoes, bracelets, necklaces, and a new winter’s coat, none of which matched her beauty.
We had spent the perfect day together. We were care free; both of us had finished our ten years of classroom work and had our entire lives ahead of us. We had more money then we knew how to spend, my iron pouch felt just as heavy as it did that morning. Between purchases we flirted endlessly, Carus was amazing. She was all I could have ever wanted from a girl. Yet, the setting sun mandated our separation. Our fathers knew we were together, neither would be flex in the time that we arrived home, we had to part or receive swift punishment for our tardiness.
I returned to my father’s house outside Northern just as the sky was turning a purple hue from the setting sun, I would receive no punishment tonight. My father was asleep already when I entered so I went straight to my room. There I found that the boy I had hired earlier had fulfilled his obligation; all the items I attained today were there. I added the items I carried to the collection.
I threw my iron pouch on the stand in my room and collapsed onto my bed. I lay on my back staring at the ceiling, my eyes began to well tears. The fine details of my room began to blur through a thin layer of water in my eyes. The tears continued to collect. The ceiling now was indistinguishable from the wall or window. My tears were endlessly pooling. I was in want of nothing; money, the girl, and my whole life were ahead of me. Today was as perfect a day as I could have ever wished for, yet I was empty. The house was quiet, just me and my sleeping father. The house was hot, it was the longest day of the year after all, but it was not warm. My mother warmed the house, her love filled it. My newly acquired things surrounded me, they could not keep me warm, they could not comfort me, and they could not love me in return.
I had tried vainly today to fill my mother’s now vacant role. I could hold nothing against Carus, she was perfect. Yet I expected too much of her, I placed expectations on her that were unrealistic. It was unfair. The things I bought were useless, I was just a boy. What did I need these weapons and toys for? They were nothing but the start of a collection of interesting pieces that would never satisfy. The iron had changed nothing, it did not fill me. If anything the surplus of iron I had only highlighted the emptiness I tried to fill. I felt more incomplete that night then I had that morning.
How could I ever recover? What would fill this void my mother’s death created, this void that Ezra created with his rebellious slander? It is no secret what happens when someone rebels against Tsor, death. Ezra was a fool, leading others to his own demise, my mother the chief. Ezra was as persuasive and manipulative a rebel as Eret had ever seen. Who knows how many would have followed if Ezra had been granted more time. How many more mothers would have died? Thank Tsor for Eron, he captured and executed Ezra with swift justice. Eron was a hero. I was convinced the void in me may never be filled, but perhaps I could save other families from this loss. As Eron was savior to countless other families, perhaps I could be the savior to just as many. Perhaps the items I had procured today were not vain or purposeless. Maybe they were directing me to my purpose.