The White Shadow

22. Who Gets to Live-PT.2

"Why haven't you come to see me?" Reina asked.

"I needed to figure something out, Reina. Figure us out. Those children—"

"What children?" Reina seemed confused.

"No, I can't play that game right now. Reina, you killed several children a few days ago. And so many other innocent lives suffer."

He glanced at her to see her reaction. She just looked concerned.

"What are you saying, Firmin?" She reached out and took his hands.

Firmin fought the temptation that came over him, though he instantly felt enlightened. He took a deep breath. "We're going to get through this, like with everything else. But like with everything else, we have to figure it out."

"What, Firmin?"

"Reina, from now on—I know this sounds crazy—I will decide which life you take." The burden that fell upon him after speaking those words nearly stopped him from breathing for a second.

"I'm not sure I understand," she said, shaking her head.

"I know you see no difference, and who am I to be the one to say who gets to live, but you kill people that simply don't deserve it." Then again, who did? He was so confused and didn't feel better as he spoke, but he didn't know what else to do. "I know you need life to survive. I will not fight that. But those children . . ."

"What would you have me do?" Her grasp on his hands tightened. Desperate.

"Not you. Me. I will be the control of the lives, of when, and how many." He closed his eyes. He felt sick, heat rising in his stomach. "Which ones," he rasped.

"Firmin, no." She shook her head. "You cannot do this. Death is not selective. Death does not favor. Life is no gift. It is taken, in exchange for death. And nobody is in control over whose."

"You are."

"No," she said. "I don't look at the rich. The poor. The young, the old. The bad or good. I don't pick. I just take. It's fair that way."

"No," said Firmin, standing up and letting go of her hands. "This we do my way. These people I have decided upon are all to be hanged. The duke has decided upon it." With some convincing. "And at dawn in two days, you shall take them."

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He thought he could guide her. That together they could make a team. He thought there was a way. There was none.

Firmin stopped writing. Why did he have to be that he? He looked out the window, reliving the morning's mishap . . .

The woman had been crying, her face red and swollen. "I am innocent. My son is innocent!"

"Quiet," Firmin had hissed. It was early, and he had not wanted to get any attention to the ceremony. For when Reina would come, he wanted no other life lost. This sacrifice was enough.

"Please," she'd whimpered.

"Just spare me one more day," the bandit had pled. "My wife and son were to see me tomorrow, to say goodbye. I would like to say one more thing to my son, see my wife's beautiful eyes."

At least the local thief had nothing to say.

Firmin remembered watching the brightening sky. It would have to be done before the sun rose.

The three victims had stepped up the platform. Only one other guard had come along.

As the nooses were set, Firmin had looked around. Any moment now . . .

The woman's weeping was most unnerving. Firmin had to fight his every instinct to go and comfort her, to release her, release them all. But there was no going back.

"Reina," he'd whispered through gritted teeth.

"Upon your signal, commander." And the lives would be taken.

He'd nodded, trying to find an excuse to delay. Without going completely insane first.

The shadows had moved since last he had checked them. But there was no light among them.

Doors started opening. People came from their houses, out of taverns, and from the roads.

"Commander—"

"Wait!" Firmin had silenced the guard. He saw something white—there, around the house's corner. But it was a woman's clothing, that in the next second she hung up.

"It is time," the guard prodded, as the first beams of light had begun to glint on his armor.

Firmin couldn't wait any longer. He scanned their surroundings once again. The duke had demanded he see him, and already now he knew he was late.

There were too many people now. Reina would not come. He raised his hand, dooming the lives to the fate he had chosen for them. He'd even lied to the duke to make them appear guiltier, beyond mercy or forgiveness.

"No stop," he rasped.

"Commander?" questioned the executioner. Glances were exchanged. Firmin felt heat rising to his face.

If he stopped now, then the duke would never again give him charge over these matters. He closed his eyes, not willing to give up on this potential way to end crime and keep the innocent safe. Feeling the eyes of the waiting guard and executioner, as well as the pleading stares of the accused, he released a deep, shaky breath.

"Now."

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Firmin walked in the quiet woods. The afternoon sun filtered through the leaves in golden hues. It was a beautiful day but Firmin mourned for those not to experience it.

He needed Reina. He wanted to deny it to himself, but he wanted to see, to feel her, to give in to his selfish needs. Life held a bitter taste this past week.

He found her, sitting in the grass. A bird perched upon her finger. When Firmin took another step closer, the bird chirped and flew away.

Reina turned and looked up at Firmin. She was smiling, her sight a breath of fresh air.

Firmin refused to breathe it in. "You didn't come," he said, his throat constricted.

The smile faded.

Firmin stepped no closer. He pursed his lips. "I told you, I told you to come. Now, three lives were meaninglessly killed. Hanged, this morning. Giving you no life and—"

"You cannot control me, Firmin," she spoke. "You are not in charge of life. You cannot give it to others, you shouldn't take it either."

Firmin felt guilt but wouldn't accept judgement, not from her.

"So you just what, randomly pick some life, no matter if I have offered you another? Can we not work as a team?"

"A team," she said, looking down. "That's not what this was. I would like to give it a try. However, life has its own mind. I am its slave."

Firmin narrowed his eyebrows. "Wha . . ."

"It has no pattern. No plan. No right, no wrong."

"We can make it what we want, together," said Firmin. "I will help, but I need you to work with me too."

"Life cannot be forced," she said. "Firmin, stop trying to change me. Accept this, let it be. Whatever this means to you that I do—evil, vile, horrible—stop trying to fight it. Accept it. You have to."

"I have," said Firmin, feeling like he'd lost grip on anything sane in this world, and the last part that was good in his life was slipping away now too. "You kill so you live. I have accepted that. I am not trying to stop you. Adapting, maybe. So let me help you, Reina. Let me."

Her eyes flickered. He needed her to trust him.

"I can't promise," she said. "I might let you down. I'm afraid that this goes against the nature of the curse I have been put in. But . . . I can promise to try."