Whispers of Nowhere

Chapter Twelve: Part Two

What had started out as a grey blur had transformed into Paisley's town square. The dirt road stretched out on either side of the gallows, the wooden platform materializing at the very centre. Each one of the thick ropes hanging from its beams swayed ominously in the evening breeze.

Just as it had been with the first memory, the square was filled to bursting with people. Women, men, even children—all gathered together, their expressions sinister in the light of the flickering oil lamps lining the street. Gwen shivered, drawing closer to Forneus when one of the phantoms passed through her, goosebumps breaking out across her skin even after the villager had stumbled away to join with the rest of the mob.

As she looked at each one of their angry, leering faces, there was no doubt in her mind that that was exactly what they were: an angry mob about to exact their misguided version of justice on some poor, unwitting soul. Casting her gaze around, she noticed that the buildings bordering the square had been boarded up, some of their roofs caved in while others were missing them, entirely. Rotten lumber and bits of glass were strewn across the ground, doors and windows smashed in as though a riot had taken place.

"How long has it been since the last one?" Gwen asked.

"The last memory?" Forneus furrowed his brow in thought. "Eight years. Give or take," he amended, eyes briefly meeting hers before he resumed scanning the crowd. "Do you remember me saying the Witch Trials had been going strong around this time?"

Gwen nodded but said nothing, unease prickling beneath her skin.

"By the time Phenex got here, the trials had calmed considerably. But then, for reasons those of us in the Regulations Force don't understand even to this day, they picked up again. As a result, and in spite of our best efforts, hundreds of mortal lives were lost—as well as many of our own."

"I'm so sorry," Gwen whispered. She couldn't imagine anything more painful than losing the people she loved, especially to something as terrible as the witch hunts. People killing one another in blind hatred and fear, in the name of religious dogma...

Gwen had been fortunate, for the most part. Her grandfather had died when she was nine, her grandmother following a few years later—but both had gone peacefully. She still missed them terribly at times, but it had become nothing more than a dull ache, no longer the sharp pain that had followed for weeks afterward; and no doubt less painful still, than if she'd lost them to violence.

Violence, like what she felt down to the marrow of her bones, was about to occur here.

When the crowd suddenly broke into a frenzy, shouting and heckling at the top of their lungs, Gwen instinctively drew closer to Forneus. A sense of security came over her, feeling his arms tighten protectively around her shoulders; as if he meant to shield her from whatever horrors were in store. Seeing that most of the phantom villagers were looking to their left, she followed their gaze, but could see nothing. The tanner's building, with its broken sign dangling from a single chain, was blocking her view.

The crowd grew louder, too many voices shouting all at once for her to pick out more than the odd word here or there. From the few snippets she caught, it was clear why the villagers had gathered in the town square, just as they had before.

Her earlier suspicions had been correct. There was to be an execution.

Dread crept over her, an icy chill starting at the base of her spine and shooting upward, prickling at the back of her scalp until the skin was drawn taut.

Phenex's last memory. The night his second life ended. The Witch Trials!

Gwen sucked in a breath, the gravity of what she was about to see hitting her full force. As if on cue, all of the villagers fell silent, as though holding their breath in preparation for something she couldn't see. After a moment's deliberation, a small group of people came into view. She recognized some of them from Phenex's first memory. They were the guards he'd fought before finally convincing them to let his future companions go free. The rest of them appeared to be ordinary citizens, and the figure in the very centre—