Chapter 6: The Walking Dead

I enter the gaol, tentatively. “I’m here to see Jen,” I say, with the intonation of a question. The gaoler nods, picks up a band of keys and leads me down a corridor. It is dark, lamp-lit, and has a very heavy presence to it. There are scores of metal doors, numbered, solid. The key goes into the keyhole with a metallic clatter, grating on my ears. And the door swings open, screeching. I look in, and sitting in the sad, small cell is Jen. 

Her cheeks are tear-stained, reddened. Her eyes full of remorse and loss. Her usually groomed bob haircut is dishevelled. “Maj!” she sobs, running at me and throwing her arms around me. “Oh Maj!” The gaoler leaves us. We can’t get out without passing him and escape was never on the cards anyway. We sit down on Jen’s bed. “What are they saying out there?”

“They’re calling you a witch.”

Jen’s head falls into her hands. “But I didn’t know that the crown was enchanted!”

“I did warn you not to wear it.”

“I know! And I wasn’t going to anyway because it’s a ghastly looking thing! So I put it away, and I didn’t think that Rosa would -” Jen breaks off into a whimper. “Poor Rosa.” I decide not to say anything. “What will they do to me? I mean, not much worse can happen! Sister dead, shunned from society, my own family disowns me, thrown into gaol, accused of witchcraft. This is getting beyond ridiculous, Maj.”

I take a deep intake of breath and speak. “You’re to be hanged. This afternoon. Publicly for all to see.” 

“Well, what do you know; I was wrong,” she eventually says with heavy sarcasm. I can hardly blame her though. “Is there nothing we can do?”

I dislike my inclusion in her statement, but let it lie. “No.”

“You won’t help to bust me out of here?”

“Why are you dragging me into this?”

“Because you gave me the stupid thing!”

“You took it from me. I was given no choice!”

“You should have stood up for yourself! Grow some balls, Maj!”

“You should have taken better care. You knew that Rosa went through your stuff! You should have put it out of harm’s way!”

“I didn’t know that it was harmful!”

“I warned you!”

“You were mental!” she yells at me. We hold each other’s eye contact for quite a while. “The whole town thought that finding Angus’ body had driven you insane.”  I look away. “I know you’re not now though,” she says, as if it redeems her. It doesn’t. I want to reply. I want to shout at her until she understands. Instead, I get up and leave. I walk out of the cell and down the corridor, past the gaoler and outside. 

And now that I have a chance to think, now that my rage has subsided, I see that my walking out probably made her feel worse than all the words I could have shouted put together.

I walk to the blacksmith’s. Work will distract. I hope it will. Nigel is there, hammering away at the anvil. And so is Maud, sharpening her axe. Her steel-grey hair has been pulled back tightly into a bun. Her wrinkled face constantly frowning. She nods at me. My blood grows cold, but I nod back respectfully. Sparks fly as she sharpens it and my heart wrenches. Not because I love Jen, because I don’t. She’s too cruel to be loved by me. My heart wrenched because we grew up together and I feel I owe her some form of friendship, even though I have not received much in return. I owe her nothing. The presence of Maud chills me. I leave and stand in the street, hearing the metallic grinding of the axe being sharpened. The stage is before me, the final constructs being erected. Jen’s death is ever-creeping forward.

I decide that I can’t let Jen die. She is innocent. It is not in the name of friendship that I want her life to be spared. It is in the name of justice. If she dies, then all that I believe in will be false and disproved. Jen deserves life for her innocence in the matter at hand, not for her social skills. I am prepared. And I am going to rescue her. The damned damsel in distress. 

__________

The gaoler walks down the corridor. I can hear his footsteps approaching. He stands in the doorway and looks at me. “You are granted a final request,” he announces emotionlessly.

I’ve been thinking about this for a while now. “I would like to visit my sister’s grave please,” I say, in little more than a whisper. “It would mean a lot to me.”

“I shall see if it is possible.”

I wear a black cloak to hide my identity to everyone. I am guided out of the gaol and down the backstreets towards the graveyard. We arrive and the miniature wooden gate is held open for me. I enter the cemetery and walk solemnly through the arrangements of gravestones and tombs. Statues of angels and innocent children haunt my steps, the names on the headstones leaping out at me. And I am all too aware that soon I will join them. A tear creeps out from my eye, but I remove it quickly. I must remain strong. For the sake of my dignity, I must.

And suddenly before me is the new grave. It is covered in flowers: daffodils and snowdrops, pansies and daisies. It’s beautiful, delicate. The headstone is small and quaint and like the flowers, clean and fresh. The name reads: Rosa Pole, Aged 6. May You Be Crowned Eternally In The Afterlife. The epitaph stings my heart. As if they hadn’t made me feel bad enough as it is. I kneel beside the grave and stroke the top of the headstone. “Oh Rosa,” I say fondly. “You little bitch.” I stand again. “I will join you soon, it seems. I bet you can’t wait to see me so you can get your own back.” I put the grave behind me and walk back confidently to my escort, muttering “The little cow” under my breath.

________

Bridgeside is a very lovely town. And everyone is very friendly, accommodating. Although the presence of tragedy is still resonant. The townsfolk hold back, just a little bit, but noticeably. But what I have learned is that the older sister, whose name is Jennifer, is to be hanged this afternoon. What a mistake! I feel that it is my duty to save her, but I don’t know how. You read stories, don’t you, of all these people doing heroic things and you dream that if that day should come you would step up and be that heroic person. But I am clueless! This Jennifer girl needs saving, and it seems that I am the one that it falls upon to do so. Great.

I’ve already seen some Crowners of the Light around the town. We have exchanged nods of respect and acknowledgement. I don’t know how they intend to get the Crown. I don’t even know how I am going to get the Crown! But these things generally unfold by themselves, don’t they. It’s just a matter of recognising and taking the opportunity as and when it comes. I do hope that I don’t miss it when the time comes.

The town square was all a-buzz, you know. I found it rather morbid! All these people gathering to celebrate death. If the issue wasn’t so important to me, I would lock myself in my house and shut the curtains. And I would keep my children indoors too! My goodness, the number of children running around! It was an absolute farce. I think I have been away from society for too long. 

There was a shout. “Oy!”. I, with everyone else, turned around. There was a large, tall man, clad in white overalls. I think he must have been a butcher, but that is beside the point really. He was pointing, his whole arm outstretched. Almost in sync, the crowd followed his finger. Down one of the streets off the town square was a teenage boy and girl sneaking across the road. I assumed that she was the accused and he was a boy who had taken the matter of injustice into his own hands because all of a sudden there was such a furore that I thought I heard the wooden platform creak from the vibrations of the angry shouts. The girl was seized and dragged up onto the wooden stage of death (I think that phrase is a little melodramatic but I shall leave it as it is - I rather like it!). The boy was held in an armlock by the butcher, and could not escape despite his feeble efforts. The three men who were holding the girl shouted out to everyone: “The witch has cast a spell on the boy and tried to escape. She must be killed now!” The crowd cheered, and the girl, Jennifer, was thrown to her knees. It was only now that I noticed how brave her face was, but I could see her holding back the tears. 

Somebody from the crowd threw a woodcutter’s axe up to one of the men, who kicked Jennifer’s head down and raised the axe above his head. My heart felt like it had stopped. I froze. My desire to save the girl had been immobilized by the speed of the turning events. 

And then an arrow struck the man with the axe and he fell down dead, dropping the axe behind him. Everyone turned to see who had shot the arrow. There was silence, deathly silence. There were five men, dressed in brown, hooded habits - their faces were obscured by shadow. They were all armed with highly visible scimitars. The crowd parted for them as they slowly stepped forward and onto the stage in a V formation. Like geese. But not funny like geese. The other two men climbed down and rejoined the crowd, afraid and intimidated by the hooded men’s control. The man at the front of the V took his hood down - I recognised him from the Crowners of the Light and I tried to blend subtly into the crowd. “My name is ReNay. I am a Man of Justice.” (The way he spoke seemed to suggest capitalization). “This Girl has Violated your Laws. She must be Punished!” The crowd were silent. “My Brothers and I believe in sentences that reflect the Crime. She murdered her Sister with the Crown, now she must Suffer the Crown also.” The townsfolk were still quiet. I don’t think they totally understood what was going on. “Make the Witch wear the Crown. That is a Death Sentence in itself. Bring forth the Crown!” he called with punctuation. 

“No! Please, no!” Jen cried out.

The crowd enjoyed Jen’s torment. I watched her scared face look up to ReNay in disbelief and fear. Who was this man to take control over her life, well, her death? ReNay never looked at her. Maybe he couldn’t stand to. Maybe he’s done this thing so many times he knows how best to save his conscience. But he was cold. One of the Crowners - he was at the back of the V-formation -  brought the Crown forward. I don’t know how they got hold of it, or where it came from. But he stepped up and handed the Crown to ReNay.

“Stop! Please! I beg of you! I implore you! Don’t do this!” Jen was screaming.

“Silence!” ReNay screamed, with a stroke of mania. Jen stopped, but her sobbing, her whimpering continued in short, stifled bursts. “I Punish you to Walk the Land Alone Forever. You shall Wear this Crown. This is your Death Sentence.” Jen choked on her breath.

ReNay stood behind Jen and started to lower the Crown. I could see him muttering something to her, but I couldn’t hear. “What is going on here?” a voice suddenly demanded. Nobody had noticed, but the Mayor and a grey-haired woman with an axe had just ascended onto the stage. He was a portly chap, I imagined him quite jolly when his authority was not under siege by total strangers. Both ReNay and Jen looked over. Jen’s face showed a sense of hope, of safety. But then ReNay crowned her, and her face fell. Jen started to scream and cry! She pulled away from ReNay screaming, the Crown securely on her head. “No-o-o!” she bawled, tottering about the wooden stage. My heart doubled its speed, and dropped to the pit of my stomach. I had failed Jen. I had not picked up the courage to save her. Her life was over. She was the walking dead.