The Sinner sat in his hut, a chest before him. It was a large chest for the People. It was open, and he had laid out a few of the mementos on a clothe before him. He knew each one intimately. The name of the one who owned it. Their face. The judgment that had ended them. The method of execution. Each fact was etched into his mind, reinforced every time he reflected on the objects. He was not allowed to forget. That was the Sinner's burden.

This rope, a fine woven piece made with skill and care, was the rope of a trapper. He had been selling furs to Humans. That alone was not enough for judgment to be meted out. For his sins to weigh heavily enough to threaten the survival of the People, he had to do more. He did. The man had taken money to lead Humans to their hunting lands. The man was a fool. He had not thought it through. The Sinner of that time had. He had rendered judgment. He had told the headman, and the headman had told all. All because he had not realized the Humans wanted their hunting lands in order to hunt Elves.

The fool had fled, which was good. It proved he was not a complete fool. In the end, he had died from a throwing ax. It had been a shoddy thing, from the early days, when they only had stone and stolen iron, and did not know the utility of bone. Even now, steel was rare. The ax had stopped the man. Then, the ax was used to kill him. A brutal thing, with an ax that was more like a club. The body was left for his Human friends, so they would know their plot was revealed. To make them wary. To give the People time to move on. He did not remember those parts. That was not his task. He only remembered the judgment, the death, and the thoughts of the Sinner of that time.

He moved on to the next item he had taken out for recollection. It was a flute, now damaged with age. He would have to clean and reapply lacquer to it soon. It would not do to lose a memento. The memories would always be there, waiting, but without the objects they were hard to remember. Remembering was important. The memories included not just the judgments, the successes, but also the cost of failure. They remembered when a judgment, founded on the memories of past Sinners, was not taken. He put it aside, to be cleaned and fixed.

He took another memento into his hands. The steel dagger that was kept as a memento, rather than being used as one of the few good tools in the village. This one was a memento of a man who was not judged and killed until after it was too late. A failure of the Sinner of the time. He was an arrogant and selfish man. He wished to be the headman one day, and he thought to gain approval by valorous deeds. He got his friends together to form a band, and as warriors they went into the Human villages and slew them. Adults and children. He violated the women before he killed them, or gave them to his band as a reward. When they were done with their ravages, he fouled the wells, burned and ravaged the fields, and slaughtered and left dead the animals they did not feast on or harvest for the village. What iron he could find, he took back to the village to be made into tools.

The Sinner then, he knew the man had done a terrible thing. The Humans would discover his excesses, and they would call their soldiers and Knights to fall upon the Elves. But the villagers congratulated the man on his victories, and the People lifted him upon their shoulders to carry him in his triumph to a feast in his honor. The women treated him well, and the men asked to join his band. The Sinner knew what should be done. He knew why it must be done. The Sinner then had the memories, just like he did now. In the end, though, he judged the village small and forgotten. The people unremarkable, and their lands of no value beyond the village. It was not judgment, not truly. It was hope, and he failed as a Sinner for having hope instead of the resolve of his station. So, he let the matter go, only urging caution to the headman.

The youth, emboldened by his success and the veneration of the People, challenged the headman in a contest. The headman refused a contest of strength, for the youth had that and it need not be tested. Instead, he chose a game to test wisdom. They traded riddles. As was the habit of his tribe, it began with the standards, the ones all of them knew. In the end, the youth won. The elders heard his riddle, and its answer when the headman failed to find it, and they judged him the winner. If he won fairly or if the elders saw glory and prosperity through the youth, the Sinner of then did not know. He was not wise enough to ask those questions.

The youth led the People to war. They attacked another village, the youth wishing to bolster his reputation, and the village was the only other one near the Elves. Destroying it would offer them greater security he argued, and the elders agreed. When they were done, they had good food, weapons and tools, and the safety of knowing that no Humans lived near them now.

A Human Order came for them. They surrounded the village, and they came in. The People back then had Awakened, but they are not trained as well as Knights. The People fought the Order, but the Order was superior in weapons, skill, and the power of their techniques. Those who could fled. Most could not, and they were slain indiscriminately. No slaves were taken. That was good. They were broken and miserable things, and some were driven to serve their Human masters as traitors. You could never tell if one of the People was of the People, a Human, or a slave instructed to infiltrate the People, so the wise did the only thing they could. Strangers were slain if they discovered the village, whether they claimed to be an Elf or not.

The Sinner, fortunately, was one of the few who made it out of the village. All his possessions were left behind. Those things were important, but he could go back for them. He had hid it in the earth, and he or a successor could dig it up later. A few of the warriors made it. Very few women survived, mostly the younger ones who were too young to have borne children. No children arrived, not even with their mothers or older siblings. No elders made it. The new headman had made it. The Sinner took no pleasure in cutting out his throat, executing the man mercilessly before he spat out the judgment. He did not have to tell them the judgment, but he would make sure they would not forget the arrogance of attacking Humans. Even small, unimportant villages.

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It was two generations of Sinner before the mementos were recovered. Some of them were past repair, but a few were remade or replaced successfully. Sometimes the Sinner's hands would squirm, desiring to try and find a missing memory by creating a memento for it. Sometimes it worked, but often the urge was without enough direction to succeed.

The Sinner of the present, the Sinner working through his mementos of the judgments of the past, put the items back except for the flute. Outside his hut, he could hear music and festivity. A feast was being thrown for a child today. It would be over soon.

He took in a breath, and let it out slowly. Leaving his hut, he stepped into sunshine. Sadness filled him as he looked at the party, his lips turned down. It looked like a party, but the gaiety on the faces of the adults was strained and false.

One woman, a mother, looked upon him with naked hatred. She did not stop him from approaching the girl with her. The girl was small for her age, the size of a four year old, even though she was eight. Her limbs were too thin, and her skin too pale. She had a cough that had troubled her all her life. He had been merciful, but he knew from old memories that sickness like this was not contagious. It was an infirmity of the body one was born with. Sometimes these things fixed themselves with age, but she had not been so fortunate.

He knelt down, and presented the girl with a special treat. It was not the gentle poison that made it special. It was made with honey and the leaves of a spicy herb that tasted delightful when sweetened. It was a favorite of the children, a kind of rare cake.

One child reached out to steal it, his face full of mischief, but his father went pale as he pulled him away. He forced a jovial smile his son didn't quite believe as he told the boy that the cake was a special treat for the girl. Just for today, and he would have one of his own soon.

The girl hugged a wooden doll, carved in the shape of a rabbit. It was a small thing, but it looked huge in her tiny arms.

"Here, a cake, just for you," the Sinner said. The girl shouldn't take the cake. It was something everyone in the village knew: you did not take any gift the Sinner offered. The girl, her eyes lighting up on this happy day, took and ate the cake.

The music came to an end as she finished it. She looked at him with happy eyes, and thanked him for the rare treat. Even as she smiled and spoke, her eyes started to droop. She was sleepy, she said, and she wanted to go to bed now. The musicians packed their instruments. Parents collected their children, and took them to their huts. Soon the village was empty, and far too quiet. Only a single pair, the mother and the father, remained to watch as the Sinner pocketed the rabbit doll. It would go into the chest. He picked up the child.

He took the child away, and when he returned it was without her. He had said the rites, praying that she would find a fine Heaven.

The woman stood alone when he returned. He gave her a sad, tired smile. "I do not recommend this."

"I loved her. She was all I had," the mother responded.

"Your husband?"

"Has already found someone else."

"Ah. You will remember—"

"That's what I want! She shouldn't be forgotten. I'll remember her, won't I? The faces never fade?"

"Yes, that is true. You will remember her thanking you for the special treat at her special feast. In the memory, it will be as if you are doing it. Can you bear that weight?"

"If I must," she said grimly.

"I see. This knife is not the Sinner's. It is mine. I have used it much." He gave her his personal knife. The woman accepted it, inspecting the blade and the grip. Satisfied, she drove the knife through his chest and into his heart. It was painful. Of course it was. As he died, he remembered when he became the Sinner. It was an odd memory, for he both remembered killing the Sinner, and being killed by himself. His mind began to fade, the world becoming hazy and the pain slackening. Death came, and he saw for the first time what came after.

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The mother, now the Sinner, remembered the old Sinner dying at her hands. She looked at the blood on the knife before taking a cloth to clean it carefully. Remembering the memento she had had on her, she pulled it out of the former Sinner's pocket. She thumbed it fondly, remembering the way her daughter cuddled the little thing. It would join the knife in the chest, but she would look at it often. Holding the rabbit in her hand, she took a moment to remember. Unlike what the previous Sinner had feared, she felt only joy at her daughter's smile as she accepted the last gift of her life from her hands. Feeling the Sinner of the time's emotions, she felt for him. He had done what was necessary. She would do what was necessary, too, until someone could not abide her decision and killed her. Thus the mantle passed from Sinner to Sinner. Theirs was the duty of judging those who were dangerous or a hindrance to the People. Their ends were the retribution of the unforgiving living, only to be doomed to take their place.

Her daughter had needed resources, and would never, no longer how long she lived, offer the village anything in return. If she came of age, she would likely die during childbirth, taking the child with her. She would never be able to fight. She could gather, but would be a burden being helped to the place to gather and back. The person who helped her would not be able to carry as much, and she would not make up the difference, let alone add more.

The Sinner went into her tent. She put the new mementos into the chest with care. First the rabbit, in oiled rags to help preserve the wood. She cleaned the knife again, taking care as it was both her first time cleaning a good knife, and a time beyond counting.

Seeing the flute, she remembered it needed repair. Closing the chest, she went to get lacquer so she could take care of it.