The Light Here is Brighter | Execution
There were ten wooden steps leading up to the platform where they would hang him. They were shoddy, unassuming things erected right in the middle of Neren Square, while the gallows themselves were decidedly more sturdy-looking. The two guards who had been at Calat's sides since they had dragged him out of his cell, hands on his shoulders and expressions filled with grim satisfaction, pushed him towards the bottom step hard enough that he stumbled and almost fell. It was only the hangman stepping up beside him and roughly grabbing at his neck to drag him upright that spared Calat the further embarrassment.
Together, Calat in front, the other man right behind him, they started to ascend. Calat resisted the urge to look around, not wanting to see--anyone. All those he had betrayed, all those he would leave behind, had chosen to leave behind. All those who would now see him reap the fruits of his efforts. He bit down hard on his lip, hard enough to draw blood -- he wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing him cry. No no no no, he'd bear this and, in any case, it would be over soon enough anyway.
Halfway up the stairs, the midday sun shining its rays down through the cold winter air. The shadows cast by it were dark, and stark, and deep, the best kind to use for shadow-walking. The rope wrapped around his wrists did absolutely nothing to hamper his magic, either. But there were guards everywhere, and Mancers, and Calat was so so very terribly tired and he just wanted this to be over with, and so he did not even try to call upon the shadows.
Now, almost at the top of the stairs, Calat could look over the crowd that had gathered. Of course there would be spectators; they were, after all, looking to make an example of him. He only hoped that Simone wasn't there, that she wouldn't have to see--see--but, no. She would be there, and just as he hoped that she would stay as far away as possible, Calat also desperately wanted to see her this last time.
The rope settled around his neck, comfortably loose at first. With a rough yank the hangman pulled it tight, then, after a final tug to ensure that it was sitting snugly and, most importantly, with no room at all to weasel out of, he stepped back.
Calat took a deep breath. Stared out over the crowd one last time, willing himself to find Simone, to be able to see her before he died -- but the crowd was large, and the only people he could properly see were those standing at the very front, and Simone, as far as he could tell, was not one of them. It wouldn't matter to her, of course; even if she didn't see him she would still be able to read his thoughts, and of course it was better if they weren't seen actually looking at one another, not after he had accidentally let slip about her to Misha.
And so, focusing as hard as he could to make his thoughts clear-cut and easy to read, Calat started to fiercely think Simone, I-- and then he shook his head, smiled sadly, and amended, I wish we could have had more time, and, more tentatively, Be safe.
And then he drew his shoulders back, and stood up straight, and waited.
(The I love you had gone unsaid, unthought, but Simone would not need her mind reader magic to know it.)











