Drips of wax, like scalding tears, were beginning to slide down the sides of the candle. They pooled in its iron base, and the flame seemed to burn brighter because of them. A moth fluttered close by; it had probably crept in through the air-hole in the top left corner of the farthest wall.
What to do?
Her name had been Abinel once; it had been many years since she had been able to remember. Astin was not a name—it meant "last." She had been the last child of the seven chosen from her area, and the last to be deemed worthy. How strange that something which was supposed to be honorable meant a lifetime of training, then constant suspense, and then inevitable failure.
Every conscience knew that failure meant death. This knowledge had not stopped three of Conscience Astin's peers from twisting Justice for power or money. The other three had merely been unfortunate enough to have been given impossible decisions. No matter the cause, they had all been equally condemned, and all had been committed to the eternal fire in the pit, Ghora Nox.
Now, whether honorably or not, Conscience Astin would be the last to fall.
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Mercy (Short Story)
FantasyConscience Astin was unaccustomed to staring Justice in the face. She had worked alongside it all her life, sent helpless souls into its unforgiving hands-but she had never faced it as she now did. She had been taught to expect that this day would...
