All The Dark Places

43. Finale

The courtyard of the castle teemed with nervous people, all of them shuffling around trying to make sense of what was happening. They watched as Rosalind drew the circle and star again, the chalk of the last one being dusty and partially blown away. She laid down the salt and the candles. Deka and Hannah passed through the crowd, one on the left and one on the right with an empty path down the middle. They carried with them a clipboard with lined sheets of paper. Hannah had written NAME, VERDICT and SENTENCE on the lines, her bubbly handwriting making it seem even more surreal. People signed up, promising to vote when each trial was finished. Ramona stood at the side of the platform where six randomly chosen jurors sat. They had been chosen by a lottery. Ramona stepped up to the platform and announced,

"The first is Paul Hepkina. Guards, please bring him to the circle."

Two guardsmen who had hastily uniformed themselves in dark green tee shirts and black pants brought forth a struggling man of about thirty-five who wrenched himself away from their grasp once he was in the circle. His hands were tied behind his back.

"Paul Hepkina, you've been charged with the murder of Jack Ling and his wife, Shelly Ling. You are also charged with arson, vandalism, and assault of four other persons. We have received written testimony from witnesses that claim they saw you kill the Lings and then light their house on fire." She lifted the candle and let it melt over her hand. "Did you kill Jack Ling?"

He shook his head and said,

"I didn't kill anybody!" His nose began to bleed, not a trickle but a gushing downpour.

"Did you kill Shelly Ling?"

"I told you; I didn't kill anybody! Why won't you believe me!" Both nostrils bled and now a steady trickle from his ear. He was panicked, struggling to wrench his wrists free and try to touch his face, but she continued.

"Were you forced to kill the Lings?"

"Fuck you! I didn't kill anyone. Winston did everything, and now he's dead so get me out of this rope...!"

"Did you kill the Lings?"

"OK, look... I did, but it was an accident!" Blood soaked his shoulders and chest, and he looked faint.

"Liar! Liar!" The crowd began to chant in a steady but fierce rhythm that sounded like a war drum.

"I think that is enough," Rosalind said. "Guards, take him to wait under the tree while people vote.

It was horrible. It was a nightmare and yet; it was happening. Justice? It was too simple, too dirty and unreliable, but the magic was there, and he bled. People saw him murder the Lings, and he had unwittingly confessed. They could not let a murderer go in the streets and what else could they do. She tried to make the awful dilemma seem lighter somehow, but nothing could make that happen. Deka and Hannah instructed people to stand in line in front of two small tables they had set out with the rosters on them and an ink pen. Each person signed their name and gave their verdict and vote for punishment.

Pardon

Residency with hard labor

Banishment (those who return will be killed on sight)

Death

They all stared at that last word, the weight of it sticking them in the gut as it should. One after another, they signed their names, and when they were done, Scott, Ramona, Rosalind and Arnav all checked the numbers to make sure they were correct. The public would vote on guilty or not guilty, and the jury would decide on the sentence though everyone would vote, possibly swaying the jury. The jury foreman stood up and announced with a breaking voice.

"We the jury and the public are in agreement that Paul Hepkina is guilty of the murder of Jack and Shelly Ling and that an appropriate sentence is... death."

A startling silence fell over the crowd. Rosalind looked at the doomed man and then shook it off, trying to stay focused.

"Stephen Han, come to the circle." Song Han's husband was lead to the circle, and he obliged willingly, with grace and dignity. "Stephen Han, you are accused of assaulting various people and of aiding Winston Abrams in his attack upon this village. There are many witnesses. How do you plead?"

He raised his head. A handsome man of Chinese ancestry, he had black hair that was neatly cropped even now, and he had an aura of sophistication that made everyone listen.

"I am guilty of those things. However, I was made to do those things, for several men held my wife hostage with guns, and I worried they would kill her if I did not comply."

There was no blood.

"Did you truly believe they would kill her?"

"Yes, I did. I am sick with myself that I did those things, hurt those people, but they are alive and she is alive and for that, I am grateful."

"That is simple enough; I think. You can step down. Let's put this to a vote."

Again, people lined up and signed their names. The verdict came back; pardoned. She smiled as she watched the guards untie Stephen Han, and he rushed to embrace his wife.

It went on for too long. Men and women stood in a circle. Most lied, even when they figured out that lying made them bleed. All of them thought they could trick the magic into not working, the same way criminals thought they could beat lie detector tests. Only two of them were cold blooded killers, and when they testified, she felt chills race through her. They placed no value on human life. Others were people who went along with who they thought was the leader, doing anything Winston Abrams said because they believed he would come out on top. They pillaged; they burned, and they beat people down to a pulp. In the end, they were given sentences of banishment. They would be lead out of the village and past Athelgate to the main highway the next day and if they were seen in the village or near it in the future, it was understood that they would be killed on sight. Rosalind knew they were lucky to be alive at all. A few were decent people who got caught up in a mess that was far over their heads. For them, the punishment was hard labor, for which they would apprentice craftsmen and work long hours for weeks, sometimes months. The jury decided the length of time. When the day was over, two men and one woman stood on a long table, under a sturdy tree limb, their hands tied behind them and burlap sacks covering their faces. Around each neck was a noose.

It might have been a picture out of the horrific days of the American hangings, when no one bothered much with ceremony, and painless euthanasia had not been considered. One struggled, and the others accepted their fate. Half of the crowd turned their heads, and the other half looked on morbidly fascinated. Rosalind saw Scott staring at her, his eyes full of shame. 'I'm sorry.' She mouthed silently. He shook his head in disgust. It didn't matter. There was nothing she could do to stop this from happening, and if she was honest with herself, she didn't want it to. When she put down her vote, she wrote GUILTY and DEATH. She might lose Scott's love, and it would crush her, but she would not be responsible for allowing these people to harm others.

They were offered last words, and they had none. Vicar John Melcott said a prayer for them and Rosalind did not hear it; her mind clouded with confusion and dark, brewing sadness. It was sadness that it had to lead to this at all. It could have been something beautiful, this village in the forest; it's beauty perhaps unsurpassed in her experience. It was something beautiful when she came here.

Toby Bracks kicked the table out from under them, and they hung there, struggling, necks broken until they calmed and went still. The crowd was silent.

"It could be something beautiful again," she said, and she felt compelled to make it truth.