Kastor's Execution
Once, twice, five times more. Once, twice, five times more. Once is a mistake. Twice begins a pattern. Seven is tradition. The light slipped through Harold Wallers’s grimy fingers and the man standing over him caught it like swiping breath on a cold day. The dagger plunged again, completing the rhythm. Harold’s heart pounded seven times in its rib cage before he died.
Seven bells before the Glasskeeper’s execution, a tall, well-armored girl rode through the silver gates of Kastor with a small gray cloaked shadow gliding behind her. Rain fell like splotches of ink staining the cobblestone streets. Stabs of lightning pierced the gloom of afternoon clouds. All the noise covered the quiet clopping of the girl’s horse.
The gray shadow which followed behind the rider disappeared, vanishing unnoticed into the rush of umbrella-cladded pedestrians. The rider surveyed with a grim expression the procession sent to greet her. Six members of the Kastor Guard and their Captain, all dressed in appropriate crimson flair, saluted then fell at ease. The rider did not repeat the gesture.
“Hail, Sentinel Seras,” the Captain said. “Your prompt arrival is appreciated, but I regret to say we have wasted your time.”
Ignoring the man, Seras dismounted from her weary horse and snapped her fingers twice, then whispered in its ear. With no further signal, it began a slow lope toward the Kastor stables. A guard took a tentative step forward, but the Captain merely shook his head and waved him off.
“What would it take to get the Sentinels to train our horses?” he joked.
Seras’s face remained impassive. Her eyes looked over the head of every man in front of her. None of them recognized her, though she knew each of their names by heart.
“It’s been a long time since we’ve had a Sentinel inside these walls,” the Captain continued, undaunted by her silence.
“I did not ride ten days straight from Avinon to idly talk or to be told to turn around, Captain Alax.”
“Of course not,” Captain Alax said. “After the execution you will be an honored guest at the Baron’s banquet.”
“That’s wonderful,” Seras said dryly. “Take me to the Glasskeeper now, Captain.”
***
The Kastor city prison was no more than the humble brick building that housed the Guard. Crimson banners flew proudly at the entrance, emblazoned with the silver insignia of a wolf and fox. The pelting rain made the animals look alive, like they were hunting. Seras had seen these banners many times before, but never as a Sentinel. She crossed her arms and followed Captain Alax inside.
A short, stone staircase was the only separation between the executioners and the condemned. Their steps echoed in the dank as the Captain led Seras down. His dim lantern provided the only light in the underground prison. The wall lamps remained unlit, evidence that the guard cared little for the prison’s single inhabitant. Seras recalled that Kastor prided itself on a simple policy: extradite or execute.
“We caught him leering over the body of a local blacksmith,” the Captain held the lantern up to the bars, illuminating the interior contents.
Seras nodded, frowning at the huddled up lump cowering in the corner of the cell. Faint murmuring breathed against her ears, but she dismissed it, turning to the Captain instead.
“That was the sixth victim, you said?”
“Sixth and final,” Captain Alax replied with pride.
Seras heard the whisper again, intruding her thoughts. Her mind felt chilled, filled with a feverish, empty-worded chanting. Something was wrong.
“Six murders in six weeks?” she asked. “With different methods?”
“That is the timeline, and yes.”
The whispering murmur reached a crescendo, becoming a long drawn out sigh. Once, twice, five times more. Abruptly, Seras slammed her hand against the iron bars, causing Captain Alax to curse and drop the lantern, extinguishing it. The dank prison corridor plunged into pale darkness.
“You’re no Glasskeeper,” Seras whispered, squeezing her eyes shut.
“No, Sentinel Seras Verity,” the lump replied, “I am worse.”
Flashes of light twisted inside the black cell, squirming like salted worms. Six silhouetted apparitions poured out of the imprisoned man like laughter escaping a bottomless cavern. One by one, they pressed against the iron bars, staring at Seras and Captain Alax as if searching for the fateful abyss, moaning for mercy from the Crimson God.
“Requiem!” Captain Alax cried, falling backwards.
Seras drew her slim, glowing rapier and slashed the lamenting spirits into fine mist, whispering prayers as each soul dissipated into bleak nothingness. Then there was icy silence. It endured for seven miserable heartbeats, before the false-Glasskeeper broke it. His pale face replaced the dispelled apparitions, smiling wildly with throbbing white eyes.
“Young Sentinel,” he said. His voice was not raspy, rather it was closer to a melancholic hum. “We do not cheat death in this realm. You know that better than I.”
“If the flesh be paper, may the soul be silver.”
“Yes,” the pale man laughed. “Yes, I know the Sentinel’s oaths. They are older than everything.”
“Then you know,” Seras said, “That Crimson could care less about people like you.”
“Maybe,” he cocked his head. “But there is so much more beyond the confines of life, after all.”
“We’re done here,” Seras sheathed her rapier, returning the prison to darkness. She grabbed the catatonic Captain Alax by the arm, dragging him to the staircase. The pale man smiled wider, revealing six snarling white teeth. Above, the clock tower began to ring, drowning out the cracks of thunder and beating rain. Six bells left before the execution.
“Goodbye, little Sentinel,” the melancholic voice echoed down the corridor, louder than it should have. “Can your light and shadow save Kastor from what is coming?”