Diomedes

Eleanor stood quietly in front of the stake, blood dripping from her crown of wounds. Vicious bruises covered her face, her chapped lips tattooed with dark scabs. A coarse, pitch-soaked garment draped her burnt shoulders. It hid the long, open scars crisscrossing her back. Her long blonde hair hung braided over her left shoulder. It was now completely covered in tar, soon to be lit as the wick of a human candle. A single iron chain bound her left wrist to a ring buried into the top of the stake, which made it impossible to leave the pyre of rotting, pitch-soaked firewood beneath her feet. She took a step forward to regain her footing only to lift her foot away in pain. The old wood was full of splinters, an added curse to those already despised by the magic-hating people of the Gideonite Empire.

The man who arrested her and the magistrate who condemned her-I vowed that both men would die by my hand someday. It was an empty vow, for I, too, was condemned to burn alongside my friend today. But a promise had to be made, even if I could not fulfill it, for all Eleanor had suffered at their hands.

Thick gray clouds and a crimson sky loomed over the city square like the curtain of a cursed carnival. Smoke and ash proliferated the streets like fresh snow, remnants of the two others who have already been tested by fire and failed to prove their innocence. I could taste the miasmic scent of their burnt flesh mingled with the musky bite of burnt wood on the back of my tongue. It took all my effort not to gag from the stench. A truly hellish scent.

Yet within this hellscape, hundreds gathered willingly to witness the burning of two jae-ins, two sinners caught for the worst of crimes-magic. Not the kind used to consult demons, but the kind used to alter the world around us as with tools of science. Magic used to cook a meal, to build roads, to light a dark cave, to douse a forest flame. Magic that made the world a better place. But to the people of Gideon, magic was a thing to be feared, a thing deserving of death. To them, those who partook of this forbidden craft needed to be purged, even if they were but children.

Eleanor and I had drawn straws to see who would be burned first. She drew short. I tried to volunteer to be burned first, but when the time came to speak up, no words came out of my mouth. I only watched as they dragged her away from me, the girl who had sacrificed much to keep my friends and I alive.

It won’t make much of a difference, I told myself over and over again. We’re both going to die anyway.

Our executioner stood a safe distance away from the platform. He was a tall, sallow man who had never been told that hurting people was wrong. His brutish face was now covered an ashen hood with two, gaping holes for his soulless eyes. In his hands was a seven-foot-long scythe, dripping with the blood of his previous victims. A dull fire burned within its magic-laced blade, giving it a ghostly hue. It was a Remnant, a tool forged by a mage, likely stolen from its original owner since this executioner was no mage. Despite Gideon’s official hatred of magic, they sure loved using our precious relics as tools for their work.

This is your fault, that quiet, familiar voice inside my head whispered in a calm, icy snarl.

Go away, I said half-heartedly.

Go away? You let this happen. You're the reason Eleanor is going to die.

I did not respond, because this was my fault.

My fault we were captured when we were on the brink of escaping this mad city.

My fault they had tortured her the night before for hours on end.

My fault our luck had finally run out.

The cathedral bell rang abruptly, like the first thunderclap of an approaching storm.

Noon had arrived.

I swallowed.

This was it, the end of our journey.

The executioner raised his hand. A solemn silence fell over the crowd. When the executioner was certain he had the crowd’s attention, he spoke.

“Four hundred years ago,” he said, “magic brought ruin to our people. It created the unnatural monsters that now roam our lands. It forged tyrants of absolute power with no means of opposition. It divided our very families and turned us against our own sons and daughters. Many of you have lost loved ones to this accursed way of life.”

The crowd began to murmur in agreement.

The magistrate shot a sideways glance at me.

I bared my teeth.

He looked away, a smug smile creeping out of the mouth hole of his hood.

“Our brave Night Hunters, our fearless Paladins, and yes, even our beloved Dragon Hunter brethren were called to address this problem,” he continued. “They answered the call, and they became masters of hunting magickind. To this day, they diligently patrol our streets to stamp out the sin that is magecraft.”

He raised his scythe and held its blade up to my friend’s throat.

If my arms and legs were not bound with iron, I would have lunged at the man before I could stop myself.

Eleanor gazed back at him calmly, nervously.

“While it brings me no joy to sentence you to death, Eleanor of Tekara," the executioner said, "our laws must be upheld, lest evil run rampant in this land.”

He glared at Eleanor, his eyes filled with pride over his shallow victory. When Eleanor did not respond, he sneered and moved away from her.

“As per custom,” he said, “ the prisoner will be given a chance to repent, for even now, salvation is not beyond her.”

Many in the crowd nodded in approval. The executioner returned with newfound energy toward Eleanor, waving his scythe menacingly in front of her.

“Do you, Eleanor of Tekara, repent of your magic, now and forever?” he asked.

“I have used my magic only for the good of your people,” she replied. “There is nothing to repent of.”

Cries of disapproval broke in the crowd. Several shook their fists at her. Those that had brought rocks and rotten fruit chose this moment to throw them at the prisoner. While several of them found their mark much to my anger, a few hit the magistrate square in the eyes instead, blinding him.

The executioner tore the hood off in a rage and threw it onto the ground, revealing his face for all to see. He was a tall, handsome man well into his mid-forties, clean-shaven and well-groomed. His blue eyes and his short, blonde hair was typical of the citizens of the empire.

His eyes were wild like an angry animal and searched as he might, he could not determine who had hit him with the fruit. For a moment, he looked like he was ready to jump in to the crowd and turn against them, but at the last moment, he turned to face Eleanor, as if he just remembered there was an execution he had to carry out.

“Then, I, Magistrate Jephthah of the Golden City of Jankara, condemn you to an eternity in hellfire!” he said. “Let this be a warning to all who wish to practice magic within our beloved city!”

A cheer rang out in the crowd. At that very moment, I felt my bindings fall loose. Someone had loosened my bindings.

Now was my chance to save her.

I ran toward Eleanor with all my might. I ran and I ran, but the harder I tried, the slower I seemed to move. I had hardly moved an inch by the time the executioner’s fire-laced scythe touched the base of the pyre.

The platform immediately caught ablaze.

And I could hear her screaming again, terrible screeches more animal than human.

All of this seemed familiar, yet I couldn't put my finger as to why.

As I looked ahead to make my way through the crowd, I noticed that the crowd seemed many times larger than I remembered it.

Where did all these people come from? I thought in alarm.

I shoved my way through the wall of people, but the crowd only seemed to grow in size the harder I fought. They surrounded me like ocean waves in the heart of the ocean. They did not want to let me through.

"Get out of the way!" I cried, shoving past whoever stood in front of me regardless of who they were.

Eventually, I broke through. I stumbled toward the burning platform with no one left in my way.

The screams abruptly stopped, like a vase being shattered.

I looked up, afraid of what I would find.

Eleanor was gone, hidden behind an impassable curtain of purple flames. And the smell. The stench of burnt flesh, sweet and pungent, filled the air like a poisonous bog once again. I fell onto my hands and knees, gagging from the nightmarish incense. It took all my effort to keep my stomach down.

“Eleanor!” I coughed. “I’ll be right there! I promise! Eleanor!”

The crowd began to stir around me. They began to bump me as they passed me by. When someone nearly tripped over me, I sprung to my feet and lashed out at the offender. But the moment my fist made contact with his jaw, the person vanished.

"What?" I said, more surprised than angry.

One by one, the crowd vanished into the smoke, slowly at first, but faster every time someone disappeared. It wasn’t long before I was standing alone before the silent crackling of the burning pyre.

Then I remembered why all of this seemed so familiar.

This wasn't my first time here, nor would it be my last.

I placed my hands on my forehead and began to weep.

“Eleanor,” I whispered. "I'm so sorry."

Someone grabbed the back of my shoulder. I instinctively threw a punch back at the assailant with all of my might. I had just been freed from my bonds. I was not going back to prison today.

There was a scream of surprise followed by the sound of shattering glass. A sharp, electrical shock enveloped my entire body. I screamed as the shock paralyzed me, making it difficult to think, move, or even breathe.

The smoke and the ash and the sounds of the crowd began to fade away, like an already forgotten dream.

“Eleanor!” I cried. “I’m sorry! Eleanor!”