Epilogue: A Message Arrives; a Band Departs

The morning sun shimmered off Hand Alton’s robes as he exited the temple of Charity. His handkerchief, a holy symbol, fluttered in the wind along with his beard. He stroked both as he looked out into the city streets at the hustle and bustle surrounding him. People walked in every direction, carrying baskets and leading horse-drawn carriages; everything was the same as any other city, except for the birds. As he made his way to a bench shaded by the outlying trees, pigeons, sparrows, and finches all gathered. They clustered so densely on the tree and bench, making its branches grey and white with feathers rather than green with leaves. The birds cooed and chirped as Hand Alton approached, making only enough space for his thin frame to sit on the bench. The birds became more and more energetic as he pulled out a small sack from his priestly robes. Eager for the breadcrumbs he’d gathered after cleaning from the morning meal. The birds flocked to the ground as he scattered the crumbs. The trees, drained of their gray hue, regained their green. Every bird went to the ground except for one small finch, which remained perched on his shoulder.

“The crumbs are down there, little one,” Hand Alton said, moving his hand to lower the bird to the ground. As he looked, he noticed the bird's eyes were unusually cloudy, as if covered in a smoky lens. To make no motion of fear even as his hand approached, only hopping closer to his ear. Just as his hand closed around the bird, its beak opened and it spoke. The words were clear and the voice was familiar, one he’s known all her life. One he hadn't heard since finishing her initiation and beginning her apprenticeship at a temple on the frontier. Her voice was ragged and desperate, slicing to the pit of Hand Alton’s heart like death’s icy cold grip.

“Goblins have attacked New Tio. More are wounded than not. Hand Ericson is among the slain. Please send help immediately. Praise be to the Seven”

Breadcrumbs scattered as Hand Alton dropped the sack and rushed back into the temple. “Let Me Through!” he commanded, shouting at the crowd making their way up and down the temple. As soon as the crowd saw his clerical robes, they split down the middle. Hand Alton never slowed as he rushed through the main sanctuary of the temple and towards the back offices. “Make Way!” he shouted, startling acolytes and laity alike. Buckles spilled, and wooden dishes clattered on the floor. Despite being soaked, he entered the main office, throwing open the door with such force that he sent parchments and scrolls fluttering in the breeze and startling the man inside.

“By the Gods, Alton, where’s the fire?” called the middle-aged man, standing at his desk with a new black ink stain upon his brown beard. As the ink dripped down his beard, he held it out, desperate to keep his robes and, most importantly, the hand with a hole in it, proudly displayed upon them in pristine condition.

“Easer Luca!” Hand Alton called, voice filled with desperation. “New Tio has been attacked; we must send aid immediately.” Easer Luca looked at his companion, his eyes squinted, and his head tilted.

“New Tio?” He asked, as if that was the confusing part.

“The new settlement where Shoulder Nala was sent to.”

“Your sister?” Easer Luca asks, a hint of worry dripping from his lips. Hand Alton’s hands clenched like a steel trap, though they were hidden under the desk; his lips were far more visible. He took in a sharp half breath before he continued speaking.

“Do not make it out to be some kind of nepotism. I severed our familial bonds upon my initiation. Still, she is fully initiated as a clergywoman of my Lord of Compassion, and as her senior, I can and must assist her by any means available.” Without realizing it, he began clenching the handkerchief around his neck—the symbol of his god, Kindness, the Lord of Compassion.

“I won’t dare,” assured Easer Luca, raising his right hand and revealing a circular hole big enough to place a marble through. Though despite Easer Luca’s best efforts, he saw right through his companion and long-time friend’s words. His face was a painting, one that displayed far more worry than a senior owed to a junior. “I know you far too well for that. Never could I imagine you going back on your vow to Kindness, let alone speak it.” He came around the desk, standing by his friend and throwing an arm around his shoulder. Easer Luca had seen his companion perform this move on many a grieving child, spouse, and parent. It always seemed to keep to ease the grief of losing a loved one, but the tension he felt in Hand Alton’s shoulder spoke to Easer Luca’s imperviousness.

“Standing here will not help; I must head there immediately.”

“Must you?” Easer Luca asked, fearing his companion may be truly forgetting his vows. “As I recall, she would still be under apprenticeship, so her teacher would—”

“Hand Ericson was slain in the raid,” Hand Alton interrupted, his voice was on the edge of anger and sternness, threatening to tip at any moment.

“What?” Easer Luca asked, releasing Hand Alton and stepping back. “That is outrageous, even if shedding blood over territorial disputes is common in the frontier, but to not just involve a temple of the Seven but to slay its clergy! What could those elves be thinking?”

“It wasn’t elves, it was goblins.”

“Goblins? This far North and in this season? Who told you this?”

“Nala herself, sending a bird as messenger.”

“She used the scroll?” Easer Luca’s voice turned to a shriek. The second-circled scroll was a desperate lifeline. One that allowed the caster to send a message via an animal to a pre-described recipient. Easer Luca’s stomach filled with butterflies, knowing that if Shoulder Nala had used it, then the situation must’ve been utterly desperate.

“Alton, what is the meaning of this?” cried a new voice from the doorway. In the threshold stood a woman with her hand on her hips and her eyes fixed in a scowl. She looked like an agitated mother. “First, you came crashing through the temple like a giant through a field. Now all this yelling while I clean up your—”

“Petal Veronica,” Hand Alton interrupted, stepping away from Easer Luca and towards the woman. She wore ornate robes similar to those of the two men in dignity, but far different in design. While the men’s robes were simple and dyed, hers were ornate and white, resembling a wedding gown more than clerical robes. On her chest, she bore her holy symbol, a thorned rose with the petals dyed in an ornate pink that drew the eyes and calmed the soul.

“What are you doing?” Petal Veronica asked, her posture remaining stiff and unyielding as Hand Alton strided towards her. “Don’t think your usual smooth talk will get you out of this one. You’re going to go clean up your mess, or—”

“By the gods, please tell me there is a Thorn in the city? We must organize a relief party at once.” His words stunned the stone-faced woman; her hand dropped from her hips, but her face remained stone-faced.

“I’ll begin preparations while you fill her in,” Easer Luca said, squeezing by the pair. They took seats in the office as Easer Luca explained what had happened. Though Petal Veronica’s face remained still as stone, her fingers interlaced and fidgeted.

“So please, tell me you have a Thorn we can take with us. The people will be frightened, and I can think of none better than the grandest warriors the Virtues have to ease their fears,” Hand Alton said, finishing his story. For the first time, Petal Veronica’s face shifted. Her lips curled into a frown as she broke eye contact and looked down at her hands.

“There is one…” she said, her words slow and drawn out, as if dragging them from the very depth of her soul. “But—”

“There is no time for hesitation or delay,” Hand Alton said, interrupting her. “If there is a thorn in the city, then I must go to them, begging for aid if I must. Now who and where are they?” His words were impassioned, flowing like soft, soothing honey. He’d spent a lifetime perfecting the art of speech to soothe the woes of the grieving. He’d brought smiles to widows and laughter to children, yet this petal remained unmoved as the ancient oak in the storm. “Please!” Hand Alton begged, lowering himself to his knees as a last-ditch effort to sway Flower even a millimeter.

“Fine,” Petal Veronica said, finally yielding. “But don't say I didn't warn you.”

“May I renounce my vow to Kindness before I place blame upon you,” Hand Alton says, rising to his feet. As soon as Petal Veronica told him the location, he flew out the door like a loosed arrow. Petal Veronica was left alone in the room. She sighed, already regretting her words to Alton. He walked to the window and plucked a petal from the flower that sat upon the windowsill.

“Oh my goddess Chastity, the Pure Maiden,” she began, closing her eyes in prayer. “Watch over your servant, give him strength and bite, like a rose's thorns. Use him to cleanse the unclean and remove the rot, yet also keep him far from bloodlust, lest he fall into the hands of Wrath. Keep us, your servant, who remain pure in a defiled world; and may glory be to the Seven forever.” She finished her prayer by blowing the petals from her hand. It flew out the window and was caught by the wind. It fluttered and billowed through the city, flying through feet and cart wheels. Even as the wind remained still around the people, the petal moved, as if flying to a destination.

Meanwhile, Hand Alton had reached his destination but was stuck at the door, arguing with two men blocking his entrance to the courthouse. Though they stood outside the public courthouse, they weren't city guards. Upon their armored chests, they bore a flower stem riddled with thorns, demarking them as members of the Thorn’s band.

“Let me through,” Hand Alton demanded, fists clenched and teeth gritted as he spoke.

“No can do, Kind-One,” the guards said, his tone respectful yet firm. Their spears crossed in an X, blocking Hand Alton’s path. “The condemned were found during a raid on a brothel. We know your god has dominion over funeral rites, but charges of prostitution and organizing a brothel bar them from any such kindness. As such, we cannot let you through.”

“I’m not here for the execution. I must see the Thorn. Please, it’s a matter of life and death.”

“Executions are always a matter of life and death,” said the guards, spears remaining crossed.

“That’s besides the point. I need to get past so—” he pointed towards the door, hand extended, just as a gust of wind blew by. Alton’s hands and eyes closed on instinct, but in his hand, he felt something small and dainty. He opened his hand to reveal a flower petal, and he smiled. “See a sign from the Pure Maiden herself!” he declared, showing the flower petal. “You must let me through.” The guard's eyes nearly burst from their helmets. They looked at the petals and then at each other before pulling back their spears in a single motion.

“Our most humble apologies to you, Kind-One,” a guard said, falling to their knees.

“We were only following the Thorn’s orders. Please forgive us any transgressions we’ve caused.” Hand Alton gives no resistance; he’s already flung open the doors and is racing down the corridor to the central plaza. As he approaches, the echoes of cheers can be heard. As he reached the central courtyard, the echoes grew to cheers and whistles as the sun blinded him.

“Cut The Rot! Cut The Rot!” Cheered the crowd from the elevated stands, giving them the best view of the stage. Upon the stage were several people, most of whom were dressed in similar attire to the two guards outside. They held spears and swords. Standing stonefaced at attention around a line of four women in chains. One man stood out from the rest. Despite being the shortest on stage by far, his presence stood head and shoulders above the rest. His robes were gray and spotless, a sharp contrast to the dark red stage upon which he stood. Upon his chest was a line of throwing knives, positioned like thorns up and down his chest. Before him was a chopping block and an ax nearly double his size. He placed down a bucket, bit his already bloody thumb, and spat the blood into the bucket. As the spit landed, two guards dragged a chained woman to the block, despite her struggles and screams. They dragged her to her knees and forced her head into the depression.

“Please no! It’s not my fault,” she pleaded, pointing to a man’s body that was already missing its head. “That man kidnapped me; he forced me to do it. I never wanted to, I never enjoyed it, I never—” She grew silent as the short man placed a bare hand on her straight brown hair. It was still, and the crowd grew silent. Leaving only the sounds of the city that seeped in. Then the short man spoke.

“She claims innocence!” he said in a voice that boomed despite being a whisper. “Should her words be true, I beseech my Lady, the Pure Maiden. Let her guilt be known to us. Should she be truly innocent, let the ax head shatter upon her neck, let her blood be upon the hands that deliver her sentence, and let her take my place at your table.” With that, he raised the ax, pausing a moment at the top to steady his footing before beginning to swing the ax down.

*CHAK*

The ax head strikes wood and fixes in place on the block

*Plop*

The head rolled into the prepared bucket. Despite blood splattering all around the executioner, not a drop fell upon his robes. A clear and divine sight as any could ever hope to see. He released the ax and held his hands up to the crowd. “Not a Drop!” he declared to the souring applause of the crowd. As the executioner showed his hands, the guards took away the bucket. They fill it halfway with oil, place it with the woman's now headless body, in a pile with the dozen others.

Hand Alton nearly gagged at the display, thankful he’d shared his breakfast with Easer Luca, who’d given his away. His mortician duties forced him to work with the deceased daily, yet the sight of execution and the sheer number of people made his blood boil.

“Thorn!” Hand Alton called, striding up to the stage. The whole courtyard turned and looked, eyes burned holes in him, but Hand Alton made no attempt to stope. “I would have words with thee.” The Thorn is closed-handed and strides to the edge of the stage.

“Kind-One,” he called, the stage making his eyes level with Hand Alton’s. “I suspect there must be a matter of grave importance for you to interrupt our procession.”

“Indeed, there is,” Hand Alton said, refusing to break eye contact. “I have come to seek aid of you and your band, and though it may be imprudent and shameless, I’d first ask you to release the remaining women from their bonds and set them free.” The crowd bellowed in an uproar. Jeers barreled down from the stands like an avalanche, never ceasing as the Thorn spoke, but Hand Alton couldn't hear him over the jeers. The Jeers turned to insults, and finally, a metal mug flew up from the crowd and arched straight for Hand Alton.

*Ting*

A metallic clash rang out, silencing the crowd. The mug landed beside Hand Alton, a single throwing knife piercing its side. Hand Alton looked up towards the Thorn, his arm outstretched and a single slot now missing a knife. “As imprudent and shameless as his actions may be, harm to the clergy of any Virtue shall not be tolerated.” His words were harsh and definitive. He returns to a straight posture and glares into the crowd. “Let whoever threw that turn themselves into my band. Face your punishment with repentance, or you shall be hunted down like the rat you are.” The crowd remained silent, save for the sound of one man swallowing that seemed to echo throughout. “Now, as for your request,” The Thorn said, turning back to Hand Alton. “I know not what brings you here, but they,” he says, turning back to the three women standing in chains. “They’ve already been found guilty. To show mercy now would be at the cost of justice. A decision you, nor I, cannot make without being in danger of greater transgression. As such—” The wind blows again, ruffling the hair and hats of all present. All eyes flash closed save for the Thorn. The flower petal Hand Alton had clung to flew from his grasp. It shoots to the Thorn like a bolt. The Thorn reaches up a hand, watching as the petal slips through his fingers and towards the woman in chains. It weaves between them, brushing each of their cheeks before flying off into the open sky, taking the wind with it.

“I see,” The Thorn says, as Hand Alton opens his eyes. Before he can do anything, the Thorn is striding towards the women with his sword drawn.

*Ting*

*Ting*

*Ting*

The Thron strikes faster than Alton can see. By the time his mouth can open to shout “Stop!” The chains have fallen to the ground. The three woman look down at their trembling, unchained hands. The Thorn sheaths his blade and turns to the crowd. “The Pure Maiden has cast her judgment!” he declares. “These three have been found unblotted and thus are undeserving of the punishment they've been given. Should the city of Tio still wish to pursue its sentence of execution, then it shall not be carried out by my Lady’s clergy.” With those words, he strides to a touch stand and grasps the burning stick. The crowd murmurs among itself, questioning what is to become of the three women, but the Thorn pays them no mind. “As for the rest,” he calls, holding up the torch. “Let the rot be burned away!”

“Burn the Rot! Burn the Rot!” The crowd begins to cheer as the Thorn tosses the torch into the circle of buckets. The headless bodies are engulfed in flames to the cheers of the crowd. Hand Alton remains in shock, feeling his eyebrows singe by the intense flames before him. The Thorn’s band stands by with buckets and shovels, wordlessly working to contain the flames and ensure the bodies are burned to ash.

“Now, please tell me of your initial request,” says the Thorn, startling Hand Alton, who flinches at the short man's sudden appearance at his side. “It must be a matter of great importance if my Lady sent her petal to aid you.”

“Yes, well,” Hand Alton says, gathering his thoughts as he tries ignoring the putrid smell of burning flesh. “How soon could you and your band be ready to ride?”

“Immediately, once only ashes remain,” The Thorn says, a smile creeping upon his face as his eyes reflect the raging fire he’d started. True to his word, horses were saddled and carts loaded with supplies and volunteers. Hand Alton rode in front alongside the Thorn. Banners bearing the Handkerchief of Kindness and the Rose of Chastity flying proud and high, leading the band straight to the settlement of the New Tio.