Prologue

“Condemned we stand before you,

Grim we steel our face.

Our souls were seen, the verdict passed,

The judge has sealed our fate.

No hangman’s noose awaits us,

For us a different place.

So say your prayers and your goodbyes,

Before stepping through the Black Gate.”

– Ancient Sil poem, author unknown. 

    Darkness. That was all I had seen for weeks, darkness. Darkness in my cell, darkness in the court where I was convicted, and now darkness in the hood on my head before facing my sentence. I never understood why they put a hood over the head of those who are condemned, we are about to see eternal darkness if not worse, why not allow us some light before then?

    At least I would get a moment of light first, in the few seconds before I die. I wondered what it would be. The guillotine would be quicker, but I don’t want to be remembered in a spray of blood. The noose would be painful if the rope wasn’t measured right, but at least my mother would be able to look at me as she buried me.

    My idle musings were interrupted as the carriage came to a stop. We must be at the square. As I was pulled roughly into the outside world, I stumbled and fell to my hands and knees, a hot pain going through my palms and a red stain left behind as I was yanked to my feet. Jeers and screams of all sorts of foul names came from the crowd around me. Did any of them even know why I was sentenced to die? I doubted it, I was rather unknown, a small merchant killed during some thieving gone wrong would only matter to those he knew.

    As I came to a stop and the hood was pulled from my head, the flash of light was quickly interrupted as a slop of mud and shit hit me in the face. I attempted to shake it off as best as I could, but the foul smell and taste persisted. As I blinked my sight into being, attempting to adjust to the unfamiliar light, I took in my surroundings.

    Where am I? This isn’t the square near where I was arrested, and normally they keep executions local to scare people who knew the criminal. I looked around, and saw the massive crowd, too big for a small time criminal. I saw the dozens of people to the sides and back of me, a small crowd in front of the larger one, all haggle and emaciated, with scars and sores covering their half naked bodies. And slowly it dawned on me.

    “No! No, you can’t do this, I don’t deserve this.” Who was that screaming? At least face your fate with some dignity, I thought. And then I realized the voice was my own. “Please, hang me, chop my head off, feed me to the dogs. Not this, don’t do this.”

    The only response I got was a bloodied nose from the handle of the executioners axe. I relegated myself to sob quietly, as the people directly next to me quietly mocked my tears. The man to my left kicked my shin hard enough to shock me straight up, and hissed “Pull yourself together. Remember the words. Condemned we stand before you, say the next line.”

    Quietly I recited the poem we all learned from birth to myself. Despite myself, it somehow worked. I straightened up, cleared my tears, and accepted this was happening. I only hoped I didn’t survive the fall.

    “And so, on this glorious day, we maintain the proud tradition that has kept our city and nation so strong.” I hadn’t even realized someone was talking, but the justice tasked with carrying out our execution was giving the end of his speech. He was a tall, skinny man, with too much gold worn in a way that suggested he wore them to send a message rather than because he liked how they looked. As he concluded his words, the priests went through the crowd, saying their prayers in an attempt to save our souls.

    As the priests finished their rites, a hush fell over the crowd, and without even being told those of us sentenced to die turned around. Looking up, the black iron gate that had stood over us for centuries loomed as an inescapable shadow. Ornately decorated with symbols of justice and fire, it was a constant reminder of our duty, used to make an example of those who betrayed our society with destructive behavior. And now, slowly, a deafening echoing grinding came from the gate as it was forced open.

    As though they were the wings of the angel of the death itself, the doors of the Black Gate splayed out over the valley, a symbol both to us and to those below us. As the doors were finished opening, there was a pause, a moment which lasted an hour where words escaped us and we all were in a trance.

    “Forward!” One of the executioners barked, breaking the trance. In unison the surrounding soldiers lowered their spears, ensuring those of us who didn’t march were swiftly encouraged to. I marched towards the gate, step after step, feeling the solid ground beneath me.

    As the gate grew closer, the noise of the crowd felt as distant as the sea, a background noise in comparison to the roar I felt coming from the expanse between those two doors. There was only a handful of people beside me, and our time together was coming to an end as quickly as it had began when we were placed side by side for our respective crimes.

    “So say your prayers and your goodbyes” I said under my breath, taking another step and witnessing the cliff before me. “Before stepping through the Black Gate.” And then nothing was beneath me but air.