Capital Punishment

0

A girl sat atop the shoulder of a huge suit of armor. Hundreds of stars shone in the clear night sky.

“It feels good to be out! I’m not sure if I’ve aged a day. If anything, I feel younger.” she wiggled her toes and looked briefly below her. “I’ve lost count of how many days I’ve been gone. I’m sure she’s dead.” the girl giggled to herself. “Now I have my own room. Ha ha ha!”

A bright white flame appeared in the palm of her tiny hand. The stars in the sky seemed dull in comparison. It spread across their bodies and engulfed them, and they vanished, leaving not a trace of their presence.

1

North of the capital, many dirt roads merged into one. Trees spreading their branches over the road cast thin shadows over the passerby.

“I’m so tired.” the captain groaned. Her face was red with sweat and she tugged at a rope over her shoulder. She ceaselessly tugged at the loop in the wagon’s front panel.

Maria walked beside her. She held another end of rope in her hand. Her half-hearted tugs did little to inch the wagon along.

“I’m sorry captain. I would make a rider, but…” Anastasia said regretfully. She wanted to help, but her dainty body wouldn’t budge the heavy wooden wagon, which weighed over a hundred kilograms. Her ribbons were not usable due to the damage they took in the prior battle.

“Don’t worry about it. I’d have wanted you to lay low in any case.” the captain said between strained breaths. The limestone arch at the city limits came into view, its smoothly polished bricks and yellow tint distinct from the rest of the wall. “So they patched up the hole. Heh.”

The group filed through the unguarded gate in a line. As the three slowly pushed their way through the entrance, the edges of the wagon scraped along the sides of the gate, grinding off tiny sections of stone.

“That’s…weird. No one’s on duty today. It makes me uneasy.”the captain said.

“What do you mean?” A familiar face poked his head around the corner. It was Canary. His youthful face drooped with lack of sleep. Dark bags sagged from under his eyes, and prickly bits of black hair poked out from under his chin. He wore a haggard smile.

“By the gods, Canary. You look awful,” the captain backed up in surprise. “How long have you been here?”

“Thirteen, fourteen…” he lazily held up his own fingers. “Twenty-seven days. You all took much longer to get here than I’d thought.”

“We took a normal route with a detour. How did you arrive so quickly?”

“Someone gave me a ride. In any case, the great old bastard won’t let me stay with him until I find Pomarev’s daughter.” He looked at Anastasia, standing behind the captain with her hands held close to her chest. “Pleased to make your acquaintance. I’m Canary, an associate of the captain’s.” He bowed. Maria raised her hand to cut him down where he stood, but the captain grabbed her arm and pulled it back down before she could act.

Canary took hold of a section of rope. He yanked and pulled, his whole body straining with effort. Together with the captain, he pulled the cart forward to make their way through the city. They stood shoulder to shoulder, each looping the thick rope around their bodies to use their full body weight. The expression on the captain’s face lightened.

The sights of the capital gave off an air of nervous excitement. Rows of shops and two-story homes of clay rooves, wooden supports, and stone foundations lined the winding streets. Miniature gardens lined the outsides of second-floor windows. Many held yellow flowers in full bloom.

“Mister Canary,” Anastasia caught up to Canary and walked beside him. Her well-worn traveling boots clacked against the stone floor tiles.

“What is it, dear?”

“Where are we going?”

“Councilor Reshevsky’s home and workshop, where you’ll be provided safe haven.”

“Is that so? I’m excited to meet him.” Anastasia replied. What little she knew about the man was taken from brief exchanges overhead from her father’s guests: he was a skilled physician who resided over the Ministry of Health.

“Canary.” Maria dryly called for his attention. He pretended not to hear her and continued pulling the cart. “What’s been happening there?” She pointed in the direction of the emperor’s palace. It sat on a gradually sloping hill, and the tops of its great towers could even be seen from the outskirts of the capital.

“Please, answer her. It’s something we’ve all wanted to know.” the captain pleaded with him.

He grumbled to himself and said, “Plenty of things. Anything in particular?”

“It smells of smoke, and the few people we’ve seen run about in a hurry.” She pointed behind her. A passerby dashed into his home and slammed the door, carrying an armful of porcelain plates and utensils.

“There’s a new emperor. At his coronation, I heard he slaughtered the whole lower house with a pack of giant dogs. I’m not sure how much of the rumors are true, but I’d watch out for him. Many of the citizens jumped at the chance to loot and burn the now-empty estates of the lower house.”

Anastasia’s face went white with fear. “My father…”

“Do not worry, dear. Your father wasn’t at the coronation. I know that much.” Canary reassured her.

The winding stone streets converged into a gate leading back outside the city. Unlike the first, it was aged stone; the walls were cracked and looked ready to collapse. It sprinkled pebbles and shards of rock onto Anastasia’s exposed hair as she walked past. She violently shook her head to clear the debris.

2

Reshevsky’s home stood above the rocky dirt path leaving the capital. Two towers jutted far into the air on either side. A stone sculpture of a swallow in flight adorned the top of each tower. Sunlight brightly reflected off of the chapel’s bright white roof. Cut grey stone composed the main body of the cathedral. Each chiseled column lining its walls depicted a person or an animal. They were mostly unrecognizable to Anastasia. Careful chipping of the stone created the illusion of light and dark in each engraving.

Canary raised his fist against the wooden double doors and banged loudly three times.

“Reshevsky! I’m back!” Canary declared in a proud tone. After a pause, a low rumble came from beneath his feet and the door opened. The interior revealed rows of wooden benches facing a great portrait of a woman. Dressed in a pure white vestment leaving only her neck and hands exposed, her face was obscured by a wide pointed hat. She sat upon a wooden bench, much like the ones placed before her.

“Canary, who’s that?” the captain prodded.

“I don’t know. Reshevsky lives in the west tower, ask him if you’d like to know.” Canary motioned for them to leave behind the wagon and enter. When the four had safely passed into the chapel, another low rumble closed the doors tightly behind them.

“Will we be able to get out?” Anastasia asked worriedly. She ran her fingertips along the tarnished brass hinges of the door.

“He’s got a lever in his study.” Canary pointed at a long metal tube stretching along the floor and to the left. “And that device allows him to hear visitors.”

“This Reshevsky, he seems quite the inventor.” Maria offhandedly remarked. She gazed thoughtfully at the woman in the portrait. The portrait stretched to the ceiling of the chapel, which sat at least two stories tall. The woman’s clothes vaguely reminded her of Academy outfits, but simpler and made of finer cloth. Her uniform had been cheaply tailored, and tight fabric around various parts of her body had caused her no small discomfort.

“Go up whenever you’re ready. He’s in the uppermost room, the fifth floor. If you don’t mind, I’m taking a bath.” Canary strolled off to the right and disappeared up a staircase winding down the eastern tower.

The three entered the western tower. A single doorway awaited them on each floor of the winding staircase, ending at the fifth floor. Cold air wafting in through the open-air windows streaked past their cheeks as they walked upwards. Anastasia hurriedly pushed the door open.

3

“I’m sorry.”

Only those words could escape from Reshevsky’s parched mouth as he stood over the corpse of Anastasia’s father. The skin on his hands was tinged gold beneath layers of dried blood. Strewn across the floor were scalpels, clamps, needles, and clumps of discarded string. A cloth covered most of the body, but the hands and feet poked out from the sides.

Anastasia’s knees lost their strength and she collapsed to the floor. She could not believe her eyes. Her fists clenched a strand of hair in each hand and tried to pull her head away. Her body would not allow it. Her eyelids peeled as far back as they could go, she stared at her dead father with wide open eyes, a mixture of shock and despair freezing every muscle in her body. The sour taste of vomit welled up within her throat and she puked on the floor.

She screamed. Tears filled her eyes and her body finally went limp.

“Maria, get her out of here. Reshevsky, does she have a room?” the captain desperately commanded.

“It’s on the third floor.” He swept his assortment of tools beneath the table. He threw his glass vials into a glass cabinet behind him, with no regard for the sharp cracking sounds of fragile glass behind him.

Maria stuck her arms beneath Anastasia’s and hoisted her up by the shoulders. Her body was soft like a stuffed toy and lacking in any strength, but she violently shook her head as hot tears flowed down her cheeks. Her screams grew louder as she struggled, but Maria squeezed her with all of her power and carried her out of the room. She was far away, but from two floors above, her cries echoed from below.

“Reshevsky, what’s the meaning of this?” the captain angrily shouted from across the room. She grabbed the edge of the plain wooden door and slammed it against its hinges. Reshevsky had no time to react before she rushed forward and yanked him forward by the front of his robe.

“Wait, wait!” Reshevsky wildly waved his hands in front of his face. “I don’t believe we’ve met. Would you please tell me your name?”

“I’m a captain. Now, explain.”

“First, I didn’t know you were coming. I heard a bit of noise coming from the third floor, but by then it was too late. When I saw the girl, I knew she would not take it well.”

“But Canary said-”

“Oh, him.” Reshevsky uttered a sigh of disappointment. “He said I could open the door from my study?”

“He did.”

“That’s a lie. It opens by itself.”

“Is there anything else we should know?”

“That child is a liar and you’d be a fool to believe the things that come out of his mouth.”

“Noted. Now, explain to us who that is, and what you’re doing. Why did Anastasia break down seeing him? I have some idea, but I’m not certain.”

“This man…” he pointed back to the corpse lying upon a wooden table. “Is the girl’s father. I tried to breathe life back into his body, but I failed. Now he’s little more than a living piece of flesh, held together by threads.”

“Why were you trying to revive him?”

“It was a request by a superior.”

“A superior to a High Councilor?”

“There are such ranks. Not many reside within them.”

She flipped up the sheet and exposed the man’s body. “He was clearly beheaded. Why would someone working at the heart of the empire ask you to undo the execution of a criminal?”

“Not just beheaded. He was cut in half at the waist, and his arms and legs were removed.” Reshevsky pulled the sheet farther back. Similar to the neck, faint golden threads pulsed with life at the corpse’s shoulders. “The lady discovered his services were needed, in spite of his deeds. He was executed for those deeds. As ironic as it may be, it does not matter now. His eyes will never again open, and that girl will never again speak to her father.”

“And? What do you need his daughter for?” the captain impatiently asked. She loosened her grip on Reshevsky’s clothing.

“Thank you. The sins of the father are the sins of the children. She will bring his chapter to a close.”

“You never told us what those sins were.”

“Just one. A great crime for which blood has already been spilled, and more will be. When Mikhail Pomarev cast the spirit from his body, he used it to tear a hole in an ancient relic. That relic is a fickle, volatile thing. Anastasia is the only one who can appease its wrath. If anyone can, it should be this man’s daughter.”

4

The captain stood at the doorway of Anastasia’s guest room. An unlit vase-shaped oil lamp sat beside the bed.

“No.” Anastasia laid in her bed, staring at the ceiling.

“No?” the captain asked, exasperated. “Only you can do this, you know. Not me, not Maria, not-”

“I said no!” she screamed. She curled herself up in the blanket to cover her tear-streaked face.

“Anastasia!” the captain pulled at the covers with her hands. Anastasia responded by gripping the blankets more tightly. She sealed herself beneath a thick cocoon of fabric, proving futile the captain’s efforts.

Maria stood in the corner watching their exchange. Her statue-like stillness led the captain to forget she was even there.

“She said no. Captain, this isn’t going anywhere.” Maria broke her silence.

“Why don’t you help me? You’re a lot stronger than I am.”

“Anastasia isn’t going to relent just because I help you pull her out of bed. It’d be a waste of effort. Why don’t you try convincing her?” Maria suggested. She held out her exposed hand. Her stony expression concealed her thoughts. Anastasia’s tantrums amused her, even now. It was unclear whether a breakdown as a result of seeing a dead parent was still a tantrum. If no one was looking, Maria might have smiled.

The captain shut the door and approached her. “Maria. What did you have in mind?” She whispered in as low of a voice as she could muster.

Maria put her hand on the captain’s shoulder. “Captain, did you have a planting festival in your hometown?”
“No. Planting festivals? I’ve never heard of it. We had a harvest celebration. Everyone would come to our house and we’d have dinner.”

Maria sighed. “Have you had a post in any cities in spring?”

The captain shook her head.

“If you did, you might have had the chance to go to a planting festival. To give a blessing to the year’s crops, we have a celebration. Anastasia’s always been excited in the days leading up to the one at our village. I’m sure she’ll jump at the chance to see the capital’s.”

The captain nodded. It was a solid plan. Winning over Anastasia’s grieving heart was easier than expected. She grabbed the bundle of blankets with both hands and gently shook.

“What?”

“There’s a planting festival happening in a few days. Do you want to come?” The captain’s caring gaze was completely different from her furrowed brow and frustrated scowl.

Anastasia didn’t respond for a long time. When she finally did, she briefly opened her mouth but only a choked breath escaped her lips.

“...I’ll go.”

5

Overlooking a plaza of lush vines and flower gardens, the young emperor sat upon a simple wooden throne. Creations of living wood tended to the plants, releasing streams of water with their left hands, and carefully tending to the overgrowth with shears in their right.

Friedrich approached the emperor with a tray of tea and a fresh handkerchief.

“How are you feeling, sir.” he said. Asking how he felt had become a habit since the emperor’s return from the front.

Kirill held a sip of tea to his lips and set the cup back down. “Unwell. Thanks to that magician’s aid, the curse amounts to little more than a shade of fatigue.” He grasped the handkerchief and wiped the blood from his mouth. He chose not to mention that nothing extended from his fingertips when he willed it, nor would any of his dogs heed his call. He was powerless.

“Yet, the rebellion is no more. You splendidly ended the conflict in the blink of an eye, as you said you would.” Friedrich retorted.

“I have no need for your compliments. It’s as you say. In celebration, let us have some great festivities for this year’s Planter’s Day.”

“Of course. What are you thinking of, sir?”

“Not long ago, many children of noble birth lost their parents. We’ll have something to cheer them up.”

“Pardon my insolence, but I believe there is little one can do to cheer a child up from the loss of a parent. And was it not you that caused that loss?”

“You’re right. But I’ve made up my mind. It surely won’t worsen their mood.”

Friedrich briefly closed his eyes and stifled a sigh. “Understood. Will you be in attendance, sir?”

“I will. I’ll be there to see to it that they enjoy the arrangements.”

“Very well. I will prepare the guard to escort you on that day.”

“That won’t be needed. It could ruin the mood.”

“Sir, your safety is of great concern.”

“I’ll bring the mage woman. She should be plenty.”

“I will send word to Lady Emily about the plans. Will your body permit you to walk about unaided?”

Kirill stood up and spread his arms. Wind from above the plaza gently blew through the balcony. The curse, like a nagging sickness, left him a bit light-headed and dizzy. His throat was sore and it was unpleasant to swallow. Otherwise, he felt the same as he would any other day. “If it doesn’t, I’ll throw her into the ocean somewhere.”

“...”

Friedrich nodded his head without responding and walked away as quickly as his aged hips would allow.

6

The evening sun dyed the festival grounds red. Stalls of wood and stitched sheets corralled streams of roaming children and their guardians. Anastasia pranced from stall to stall, excitedly surveying each item offered free of charge.

Each child was given a dozen tokens to spend on stalls of their choice. Anastasia excitedly clutched her tokens in her left hand, nearly handing them to the servers she was interested in, but pulling her hand back at the last instant.

Maria stayed far behind, watching her from a distance. She’d spent three tokens on a large cup of sweet cider, which let off faint wisps of steam in her hand. Quietly waiting for the drink to cool, she played with the nine remaining tokens in her pocket, clinking them together with her fingers.

“Maria, which one should I get?” Anastasia excitedly shouted over the noise of the crowd. She pointed at a row of neatly arranged braided loaves. Their golden exterior glistened against the red sky.

“They’re all the same. Here.” Maria came up beside her and grabbed a loaf. She threw a handful of tokens at the worker and pulled Anastasia away.

The two carefully made their way through the dense crowd of visitors, weaving through groups busy eating and laughing.

“Maria, the bread has custard inside. Would you like some?” Anastasia tore off a chunk and held it out. Maria placed it in her mouth, slowly chewing and swallowing. The creamy texture of custard coating a spongy, cake-like bread made her mouth water for more. Maria glanced back at the stall with the loaves. The tray was empty, and the stall worker was hard at work kneading dough for a new batch. It was disappointing.

Cheering and excited shouts overtook the crowd. The pace and noise of the people grew gradually faster, as onlookers tailed a parade of costumed performers. Together they formed lions, wolves, and dragons, each person donning a section of the body. As Anastasia lost herself in their rampage through the grounds, she imagined a pack of wild animals crossing through a canyon, kicking up a cloud of dust.

“Maria, are you seeing this?” Anastasia shouted in delight. Nothing but an imposing roar of excited strangers’ voices responded. When she turned around, Maria was nowhere in sight. Only the faces of those she didn’t recognize gave her a passing glance, and continued onwards. Men with scraggly facial hair that breathed loudly through their mouths, women in heavy makeup with disapproving looks, and boys with mouths covered in grease and residue strode past, brushing against her.

She turned around one more time, desperately pushing her palms against the unmoving cascade in search of her friend. The festival atmosphere which had been warm and welcoming moments earlier stifled her breath. She held herself tightly, curling into a ball on the ground. White-hot tears welled up from her tightly closed eyes. She was alone, a single island in the hostile sea.

“What are you doing? Get up.” A male voice said. Anastasia turned upwards.

His head was tilted downwards, glaring at her. It was a man young enough that age had yet to fully dominate his boyish looks. Behind his condescending gaze laid an fierce but almost pitiful expression. He covered himself with a brown cloak, but bits of a black military outfit, adorned with golden tassels and buttons with a sparrow emblem, peeked out from beneath it. His hair was black as night.

“Take this and wipe your tears with it. You wouldn’t want anyone to see you cry.” he said, handing her a white handkerchief embroidered with gold thread. Anastasia carefully held it in both hands, taking care to wipe her eyes and fix her hair.

The man looked around him and let out a low breath. “Where’d that magician run off to? If you want to, take my hand. Are you here with your parents?”

Anastasia shook her head. “My…my friend was here just a moment ago. Have you seen her, mister?”

“Call me…I’ll think of a name later. What does she look like?”

“Light hair, her mouth is covered in a muffler, and she’s holding a cup of sweet cider.”

He sighed and shook his head. “For now, I’ll take you somewhere she can find you. Did I not just tell you to take my hand?”

“R-right…” Anastasia gingerly placed her hand inside his palm. The warmth of his hand could be felt through his glove. With his free arm, he forcefully paved a path for them through the crowd. An empty spot between two trees came into view as the crowd thinned. The sun had set, and the darkness of the night was an ample mask to cover the pair’s faces.

“Anastasia!” Maria called out from the side. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

“Thank you Maria. It’s alright now. This man…” she turned behind her, but there was no one in the space between the trees. Anastasia covered her face with the crumpled handkerchief. Shrouded in darkness, Maria would surely still notice her flushed red cheeks.