Chapter Ninety-Six

The Echoes

It took less time to tie a noose than Oliver would’ve imagined. Francis did it right there in front of him, like some kind of final penance. The sun was still below the horizon.

An executioner stood with a hand on the drop-lever behind him, wearing a burlap sack to hide their face. Her name was Mal. It was short for Malory. She was older than him by about two spells, and they’d only ever spoken in passing. She was kind to him in those short moments, and because of them, he recognised her voice, though part of him wished he didn’t.

The crowd had largely gathered in the forum, standing stiff and quiet as Mal settled the noose around his neck. The anger which so many of them had held before was long gone, and in its place sat a deep hollow quiet, like they were attending the ceremony of someone already long dead.

At the back of the crowd by one of the dining tables, Archie sat alone, looking gently at Oliver. He was the only person seated in the entire courtyard.

Oliver twisted and turned, hoping to see Michael or Sarah, but no one was there. The rangers too were gone. Even Jack.

Oliver looked down to the bruised and mangled state of his wrists and realised he couldn’t feel the pain of them any longer. He wondered if he was in shock, or if it was some strange side effect of being so close to death.

Mal tightened the noose around Oliver’s neck and he felt it press against his throat as he swallowed, gently surprised that the rope was warm around him, like a frayed scarf for the morning chill.

Oliver looked over the faces of the crowd, sorting through them like cards in a hand, scanning them with a gentle interest, though knowing the ones he cared to find weren’t there. He could hear Amekot’s voice idly somewhere behind him, but he paid little mind to it. He knew what the man was saying, and it didn’t matter.

“Oliver Jacobs. On my order, you will hang by the neck until dead as punishment for the crimes you have committed against this stronghold. Have you any final words?” Amekot announced, though far more directed to the stiff crowd than him.

The Fortmaster waited for a long moment and his smugness grew visible as Oliver stayed silent, and he said, “Executioner, step up.”

Oliver could feel Mal step behind him as the floorboards creaked, feeling his heart ease slightly out of its numbness. The faces became much clearer, but they were all so unfamiliar somehow. His head drifted to the side and he saw Mal’s hand rest on the pale wooden leaver.

“Actually...” Oliver began, looking Amekot sharply in the eye.

Amekot’s face with numb with shock.

Oliver savoured that look for as long as it took Amekot to recover.

“He speaks! What lies do you have for us, Mister Jacobs? What final pleas?”

Oliver listened to the sound of his voice and knew beyond doubt it was the same once which had chanted those dark words in his mind. He huffed as he shook his head, muttering, “Nothing that you’re worthy of hearing.” He then turned to face the masses and continued, “But you. All of you...”

Oliver tried to look at each of their tortured faces and felt the words clog in his throat. “I... need you to know that it wasn’t... I didn’t...”

They all locked eyes with him forlornly, praying he’d find some substance in his words.

Amekot shook his head bitterly, and ordered, “Executioner, I’m tired of this.” He waved his hand at the lever.

Mal, under her burlap hood, reached slowly for the crank as the crowd began to cast small words of hesitance to the stage.

Sidney moved to the front of the crowd and yelled, “Amekot, maybe we should hold a retrial, now that he’s okay to speak.”

Amekot looked at her like she spat on the stage. “No.”

Karmine the blacksmith, called, “I agree, after all what’s the harm?”

Others began to raise their contestations and Amekot stepped forward and barked, “Enough! He is guilty! We have a siege to prepare for and shall waste no more damn time on this peasant! I have had enough!”

Amekot shoved Mal out the way.

Oliver felt his heart flitter in his chest and the world go quiet around him, even as the calls of the crowd grew louder. His gaze became unfocused and dissociated with reality until his eyes fell on Archie, who wasn’t so much as looking. Oliver blinked in confusion and a tear flicked down his cheek.

Amekot wrenched the lever and Oliver closed his eyes as the entire platform clicked.

And nothing happened.

Oliver looked down at his feet and the platform was still firmly in place.

Someone snorted, and in the sudden quiet of the moment, Oliver looked up and saw it was Archie, covering his mouth.

They locked eyes for a long moment, and Oliver frowned. You? he mouthed.

Archie wiped away his tears and idly thumbed a small, serrated tool in his hands.

Oliver let out a long sweet laugh and more tears ran from his face as he breathed deep in his belly. He heard Amekot screaming curses and shouting for mechanics.

Avery walked stiffly up to the platform to investigate the broken device, and Oliver’s bright smile faded.

Avery took about two minutes to take the lever off and replace the broken gear, by which time the sun had begun to glow beneath the horizon.

Oliver watched the hills shade themselves red and nearly found himself reaching out toward the light. It was so close, when Avery uttered quietly, “That should do it, Hillborn.”

Flinn stepped forward through the muck and shouted, “Come on, Amekot, we need to re-think this, clearly,”

The crowd all called out in agreement, even many of those who’d been so rage-filled the night before.

Amekot’s eyes glistened with anger as he stepped up to the front of the platform and simply said, “No,” stunning the entire courtyard into silence as they cast dark looks at one another.

Amekot placed his hand on the lever, looking at it with every grim intent in his eyes, when a voice echoed out in the distance, coming from the direction of the library. He looked over and for the second time that morning, was too stunned to speak. When he finally found his voice, he could only utter, “I don’t believe it...t

Michael, hung between Rose and Sarah’s arms, blood-soaked and pale as chalk, shouted once more, “Hillborn!” with so much anger that the words frothed in his teeth.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

Amekot twisted to throw down the lever, only to find Nichole, Aroha, and James up on the stage, spear in-hand and arrows nocked, as the crowd exploded with shouts of confusion.

Amekot looked to them in complete astonishment. “What is this?”

Nichole shrugged. “Not sure. But I get the feeling Oliver should be around to see it.”

The Fortmaster’s face was petrified and shook his head, completely mute, backing away to the other side of the platform, only to smack square into Jack and watch as the Javen pulled on his helmet.

Amekot tried to speak but the cold ring of the Javen’s mace being drawn silenced him. The Fortmaster looked from the shocked audience to the hobbling archer and the women helping him. Amekot opened and closed his mouth twice before finally managing to get back into his performative worry. “What happened?”

Michael snickered darkly and carefully pulled himself out of Rose and Sarah’s grip, slowly making his way up the steps. His foot hit each creaking step and echoed off into the paling dawn. He made his way to the top platform and walked up to Amekot with the note scrunched in his hand.

The young archer, sunken in his eyes along with a shard of wood protruding from his shoulder, turned stiffly to the crowd and weakly said, “This was a letter addressed to Klaryah. It’s an assignment to have me murdered. She was cursed by Dark Tongue Arcancy to carry it out.”

Nichole and Aroha looked at him in panic as the crowd stirred with shock. The blood had completely drained from James’ face as he stared at Michael across the way.

Michael listened grimly to their stirrings and turned to Amekot. “He wrote it, compelling Klaryah to try and kill me.”

The crowd fell into such a thick silence that Amekot could’ve be heard huffing from the battlements. He gave a simple dismissive wave and scoffed, “Compelled Klaryah? How dare you! I was the one who ensured she wasn’t here on business-”

“Of course you were. After all, how else would you have made sure we weren’t suspicious of her very presence? Or of your intentions? You did well to cover your ass, I’ll give you that, you fuckin’ rat!”

Michael’s growl echoed into the silence and Amekot couldn’t decide which poisonous expression to choose.

The crowd’s eyes all fell on him as he fumbled an excuse and Jack took a hard step toward Oliver and loosened the rope gently from his neck.

Amekot grabbed Jack by his arm and the dark maceman turned on him, erupting red from every vein as his black, mangled eye flared with crimson light. “I dare you to try and stop me. I dare you! Touch me again and I will paint this stage with the inside of your skull!”

Amekot let his hand fall away and he looked to Michael with a shallow fury. “What do you think you’re implying? I hope you have proof for it, because all this looks like to me is nothing more than a scrap of parchment and some barbaric acts of intimidation to spare your rotten friend!”

Michael let out a smug breath and steadied himself on James as he unfolded the note and held it between his fingers. “Sarah, could you go into the Fortmaster’s office and bring me anything that he’s written on.”

Sarah smiled grimly at the pale-faced aristocrat and said, “I’ll do you one better.” She put her hand in her back pocket and pulled out a crumbled scroll. “Whilst ensuring Michael’s safety earlier, I found this; one of the three-hundred or more documents noting every detail our lives. From Backgrounds to Safeguards.”

Sidney pushed through the crowd. “What the fuck is a safeguard?”

“So glad you asked, Sid. Weakness. Things he can do to undermine us. Pressure points regarding our families. Anything he knows about us that he can use in case he needs to. I believe yours listed the fact that you sleep with your shade down, by the way.”

The crowd rose with shouts and curses as Amekot tried waving them into silence, and Karmine stood up and shouted angrily, “All of us?”

“Every single one,” Sarah spat, handing Michael the note.

Michael held the pieces of paper side by side and gave a vicious, quiet laugh as Amekot scrambled, yelling to the crowd about security measures and last resorts and old policy holdovers from other fortmasters.

Michael shook his head darkly, holding them up to the light. “Look at that. The same paper stock. That elegant, thick parchment which doesn’t bleed. The kind only pompous fucking aristocrats spend money on. The kind that litters your office. And look, the exact same, midnight black ink. Honestly, why not just sign your name?”

Sidney reached up to Michael. “Let me see those.”

He handed down the documents, nearly blacking out as he bent over but Nichole steadied him.

Nichole looked them over closely. For a tense moment she then brought it to her nose and her face turned dark. “Even smells like Crek Dark. What, you couldn’t bring yourself to be traitor without a few drinks in you?”

Oliver had stood frozen with eyes closed since Jack pulled the rope from his neck. He finally opened them again to see Sarah stepping in front of him, touching his hands softly as she said to Jack, “Could we take these shackles off him now?”

Amekot was stuck, watching the events unfold around him as Jack nodded and took the key from Francis while she numbly stepped away from the Fortmaster.

As Jack pushed the key into the manacles, he looked to Oliver but spoke to the crowd. “This young man was mind coaxed by Dark Tongue and forced to commit crimes against our stronghold. He’s one of the many victims on this platform.”

There were no gasps or breaths of disbelief. Only a resounding echo of silence emanating from the mob as the chains fell away. Oliver stared at the bruised, bloodied mess at the base of his hands. The numbness left him, and despite the aching pain, he and looked up to Sarah with tears of relief in his eyes. “Had me going there, gorgeous.”

She placed her hands softly on his chest and said, “Give me one second.”

Oliver blinked and chuckled in confusion. “Sure.”

Sarah then turned to Amekot and punched him so hard in the centre of his face that the Fortmaster went slamming into the hanging post.

Blood spilled through his fingers as he cupped his nose and looked up in rage to Sarah, but before he could take a step, Michael pulled the knife from his waistband and lunged at the Fortmaster. Amekot took a slash across the arm but before Michael could dive the knife into his chest, Nichole and Aroha grabbed him.

“Michael!” Jack called, holding the shackles in his hand as he sheathed his mace. “That aint right, kid. Despite what the asshole says, we are not barbarians.”

Michael didn’t move, wondering what had gotten into Jack as his breaths continued to seethe. “This rat tried to kill my friend. There’s no two ways about it.”

“All I mean is that we have a hanging station for a reason,” Jack said with an unkind smile.

“That’s true,” Michael said without hesitation, forcing Amekot toward the rope.

Jack grabbed the Fortmaster by the back of the neck and shoved him toward into the rope as he begged.

Sarah drew her sword and lightly touched the blade to the man’s neck.

“Stand nice and still,” she said, like a doctor addressing a patient as Jack snagged the noose around his neck and pulled it tight.

Oliver rushed between the lot of them, shouting, “Guys, wait!”

Jack shackled Amekot’s wrists as the Fortmaster cried, “Please listen to reason! I was afraid! You don’t have to do this!”

Jack looked at him coldly and said, “Life’s full of regrets, isn’t it? Funny thing, though, I suspect this won’t be one of mine.”

Amekot locked eyes with the man and his Arcancy glowered at the edge of his mouth as he muttered, “Why don’t you take that boy’s blade and drive it into your own heart, you worthless fuckin’ rebel.”

Jack’s dark, misshapen eye swirled inside his head as the other Legacies grabbed Amekot and the crowd flooded toward the stage, shouting in rage and storming up the steps.

Jack stumbled forward and grabbed Michael harshly by the wrist, trying to muscle the blade out of his hand. Michael fought to resist him, punching and shouldering at his armoured plate but the man was practically a shaved bear. “Jack stop! Listen to me, stop!”

“Michael, clear the way!” Rose shouted.

Michael let go of the knife. Jack turned it on himself, and in one monstrous tackle, Rose slammed her towering brother off the platform, sending them both slamming into the ground below. The knife skittered from his hand, disappearing in the mud.

They sprawled on the grass as Jack clawed at the mud.

Rose stood up, shouting, “Amekot, undo it or I bury you, I swear to the gods!”

Amekot wrestled against the arms of James, Nichole, and Sarah, and his Arcancy flared again. “Why don’t you all go-”

Aroha cracked him in the teeth, swearing as she shook out her wrist before grabbing the executioner’s hood. She balled it up and jammed it in Amekot’s mouth. “Oliver, what do we do?”

Oliver looked down to the crowd and shouted, “Sid, ring his bell! Do it now!”

Jack scrapped away the right patch of mud and snatched up the dirty knife. He raised it above his heart.

Sidney launched out, quarterstaff in hand and clattered it across his armoured head, sending out a clang that rivalled most church services.

Jack teetered for a moment, knife still raised, then collapsed, unconscious in the mud.

Oliver let out a breath and mumbled, “Sorry, old boy.” Rose mouthed a thank you and pulled off the helmet, cradling his head.

By the time Oliver turned around on the platform, he saw James and Sarah ruthlessly beating the commander as Flinn and Aroha failed to hold them back.

Chaos flooded the camp as the horde of Legacies shouted and Nichole screamed, “We need a medic!” as she cradled Michael, unconscious in her arms.