The Executioner's Guild

278 23 8
By elontries

The Guild was hard to find, on purpose. It was built to blend into the forest, forged of oak and repurposed metal. It was about a two-hour walk from his town, and even further for other executioners desperately seeking a spot to be themselves without judgment. The last time he had come was about a month ago, with Lily, and they'd had so much fun that they couldn't remember what happened- and neither could anyone else. But that was what the Guild was all about. The men and women who came there were the bringers, or spouses, or offspring of death in their respective cities. Although Alois was the Royal Executioner, hand-picked by the king himself for those who had personally offended the king with treason, they all experienced the same things regardless of the towns, nobles, and lords they were assigned to. They were shunned and outcasted at home for their dirty, necessary work. So they came to drink away their guilt or compare the crimes of the guilty. They were the only people on God's green earth who knew how it felt to dread emptiness and quiet- that's why the Guild was always so loud. He could hear the festive songs and smashing glass just over the hill, and soon saw the soft glint of light nestled in the trees and shadows dancing between them. Alois always considered them his only real friends. Now, they were his only hope.

He'd left about three hours ago- his injuries had slowed him. The evening had already darkened into night. His aching feet were begging for rest, but he pushed forward to the heavy oak door and threw himself against it, exhausted. He gave the obligatory knock- one, two, three, and the door opened gracefully, blinding him with the light of a thousand burning lanterns.

"Alois!" The crowd cheered, and their mugs lifted to toast him. That was the tradition- to cheer the names of those who came, since they were never cheered at home. But the mugs lowered, and a few smiles faded as the fellow executioners took in their friend. He stumbled inside, eyes wide and lost-looking, brushing past the men and women asking him what was wrong, and why wasn't he reaching for a drink. A full-figured, red-haired woman danced a jig on a table as a crowd clapped around her. A crew of men and women slapped cards on the table and yelled triumphant winnings. A quiet, skinny man wept in the corner as he nursed a litter of beer mugs. And a large, burly man, sat surrounded by wide-eyed onlookers as he told some remarkable story. Finally, Alois found what he was looking for.

Ivan, or Brooding Ivan to his victims and witnesses, nearly cracked a table in half as he slammed his fist against it, cackling after delivering the last line of a joke. They called him Brooding Ivan because of his massive height and bulk- the way he stood on the scaffold with his sword, awaiting his next client, gave him the respectable, fearful look of a brooding vulture. Lily had told Alois once that she thought he was tall- until she met Ivan. Ivan redefined tall, and reinforced the idea of a large, quiet, unnegotiable death. But that was just his work persona. Now, as he heartily slapped one man on the back and screamed a friendly insult at another, he became the Guild's local comedian once again.

Ivan's wide smile flickered like a mirage as soon as he caught Alois' face. He motioned for Alois to come closer, but his eyes shifted as he approached, as if he were already looking for a way out.

"Ivan," he started, his voice as dry and desperate as a man begging for water.

"Your Majesty," Ivan grinned. "Get this man a drink on me. Two drinks- he looks like hell."

Someone slid a heavy drink Alois' way, and then another, but he ignored them.

"Ivan, you have to help me. Lily-"

"Take a seat, friend," Ivan continued, waving for Alois to sit, as if this were a business meeting.

Alois sat, finally taking the time to catch his breath. A town's worth of hands clapped on his shoulders, welcoming him to the table. Someone shoved a hand of cards to him, another offered him a cigarette. Alois pushed them both away, trying again to focus on Ivan, who was busying himself with a fresh mug of beer. He noticed Alois' pleading gaze and barked almost irritably.

"Why aren't you drinking?"

"Lily's been taken by the king. He forced me to divorce her. He's marrying her tomorrow."

The other men at the table lost a bit of their mirth, bringing their mugs to their lips to hide their cringing grins of sympathy. Ivan lifted his beer.

"Never a better reason, my friend. Help yourself, please."

"Or we'll help you!" someone added, and a sharp round of laughter returned to the table. It completely missed Alois, who gritted his teeth.

Ivan caught Alois' tightened, pale face and offered, "We know, Alois. We heard."

Alois' eyes lifted with hope. "Then you must help me. We have to get her out of there."

"Right now?" Ivan asked incredulously, as if he were incredibly busy.

"As soon as possible. I don't know what he has planned for her. We have to head back to the castle and-"

"Slow down, my friend," Ivan said slowly. Heat rose in Alois' cheeks, and his fists clenched. "We can't all of us go down there."

"We have to. Before it's too late."

"And what would you suggest we do then? All of us march in and ask nicely?"

"We just need to show up." Alois started. "He can't kill all of us."

The entire Guild shook with laughter at the funniest joke any of them had ever heard. Alois nearly fell as playful punches landed on his arms and back. He steadied himself on the table, where Ivan gave him a truly sad look. It was enough to push him over the edge.

"My wife is in trouble!" Alois' voice rang loud above the incessant chuckling, stunning it to silence. "That bastard can do anything he wants to her now, and you fools are sitting here laughing! What the hell is wrong with you?"

He demanded his answer and received none. The silence revealed the tinkling sounds of beer being poured and shoes scuffling against the floor. All Alois could hear was the hard, fast race of his heart as he began to beg. "Please. I thought you were our friends."

An odd blanket of guilt fell over the room. The lost mood and warming beer awoke something in Ivan, who stood from his chair to tower over Alois' head. The larger man stalked around the table to stand directly in front of Alois, and the air thinned with the fragile tension of a piano wire.

"We feel for you, Alois. We really do." Ivan muttered. "But it could be a lot worse. Hell, Brody had to execute his own wife."

He gestured a large arm toward Brody, the bald fellow huddled in his usual booth towards the back. He was a former beast of a man who'd been reduced to a wisp with haunted eyes. Now, Brody was always drunk, and always scratching at himself, as if he could still feel his wife's blood on his skin. The poor man was so far gone that he didn't notice when the entire crowd turned to look at him wistfully.

"And Magda! Do you know how many friends Magda had to skin for her lord?"

The buff, red-haired woman on the table, who had stopped dancing a few minutes ago, gripped her skirts tightly.

Alois met her green eyes. He had seen her and Lily cracking up over drinks more than once, laughing about John's oversized sword compensating for his intelligence or some foul joke Lily remembered from her homeland. Magda was Lily's friend. Wasn't she?

He walked up to her like a humble man approaching a goddess, pleading, "Magda! Magda, you'll help me, won't you?"

Magda bit her lip and turned away. Alois' shoulders fell.

"She's going to become queen, right?" Otis, wide and dumb as a cow, offered. "Maybe she'll do more good from there."

The crowd muttered agreeably. Alois shook his head.

"Alois, my friend," Ivan started. "Whatever he's planning to do with Lily, I suggest you leave it at that. Before it gets worse."

The brooding man placed a hand on Alois' back. He tensed.

"Look, Alois. That's just the way things are. Let's get some drink in you, okay?"

Alois pulled away from him, ready to say that Lily would have pledged herself to save any one of them if they were in the same situation. But as he looked at their waiting, sorry faces, the truth became bitter, even as he attempted to sugarcoat it. He remembered the last time he had seen her, the way she had thrown herself between his neck and the guard's sword. He knew she wouldn't do that for anyone else. He knew that if she had to choose between the members of the Guild and Alois, regardless of how much fun they had- she would choose Alois every time. And he would have done the same for her. It was obvious that his fellow craftsmen felt similarly. The kindest thing to happen to a rebellious executioner was to lose their job and be blacklisted from all other careers forever. None of them were willing to risk their necks, let alone their jobs, for each other. They could be there for each other at night, to drink away their sorrows and laugh away their pain. But they would never save each other in the morning.

He glared at the other executioners bitterly, but he knew he could not be angry with them. He knew this, but it did not rescue his reason from his rage. His fist launched towards Ivan's face, colliding with the man's solid cheek. Within a second, he was rocked backward and off-balance, a hard sting crushing his nose as he fell to the floor. A roar lifted in the Guild, and people scrambled to pull Alois' scratching, reaching, raging hands away from Ivan's still, quiet form who watched on with pity.

He was dropped outside on his hands and knees, fingers clutching cold dirt and pebbles. Someone, he could not see who, was kind enough to hand him a towel for his bleeding nose. Alois stumbled to his feet, holding the towel to his face, to meet the sorry gaze of the many who refused to help him. Ivan parted through them gently to meet Alois' eyes one last time.

"Sorry about that. Reflex." Ivan apologized, genuinely. "Go home, Alois. Clean yourself up and... try to get used to things. You're always welcome here."

The others nodded in agreement.

Alois felt nothing. Without another word, he turned and left the Guild for the long walk home.

He heard the festivities resuming behind his back, although at a more muted volume. He sniffed, tasting salty blood and mucus at the back of his throat, shivering as the cold night crept its fingers under his jacket. He wanted to think about Lily, but he didn't want to think about what she might be going through, or what would happen to her if he could not find a way to save her. So he thought about something else.

What had he done when he heard about Brody?

He and Lily had arrived one night to see Brody wailing in the booth that would soon become infamously his as a gaggle of peers stood awkwardly around him. Ivan told them the story. Brody's beloved wife Idina had been accused of stealing some noble's purse and sentenced to death earlier that day. Of course, Brody was the noble's pick to complete the task. Brody had protested it, even tried to quit. Because of his insubordination, he was forced to carry out the sentence that very afternoon, or watch her be dispatched by a less experienced, and possibly drunk, executioner to arrive the next day. Remorseful witnesses said Idina had cried, but Brody had cried harder.

What had he done when he heard about Brody? Alois wondered. The memory surfaced finally, and he cringed as he recalled it.

He'd bought him a drink. 

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