To The GallOWS

Chapter One

It was a shame that Eldric Lorecaster must die. Though he was a crook and a thief, his greatest crime was getting caught.

As a cleric of Ostara, Lorali could never voice approval for the way he and his compatriots took it upon themselves to redistribute the wealth within the city. His death would be a message to them all. But she couldn’t help but wonder if this was justice or punishment—a part of her aching for the hungry mouths that looked to her, the tiniest hands praying for help outside the Order’s doors day in and day out.

She waited, duty bound, at the foot of the wooden construct for the outlaw with prayer beads clutched tight in her fair, freckled palms. Though she could not change his fate, she could give his soul a last prayer before he was sent to Ostara’s awaiting embrace. The square was quiet, only the echoing sound of his shackles reverberating off the dirt aisle and the sound of rustling wings as corvids perched along the rooftops. For all those he had ever helped, not one person cried out or moved to intervene. They watched with a mourner’s stare, lamenting his death before it happened.

Her stomach twisted in knots, an unusual nausea washing over her as Eldric was marched down the aisle. She closed her eyes, taking measured breaths to calm her racing heart, reaching for the two rings laced on a necklace that lay just beneath her robes for comfort. This was not the first time she had met prisoners at the foot of the gallows to offer a last prayer, but as each step echoed across the quiet square, Lorali was filled with a sinking feeling she couldn’t quite shake.

A throat cleared, and her eyes flew open to find the standard issue cotton shirt worn by all of those she met here. It hung loose across his shoulders, a deep cut revealing the winter-paled skin of his chest. She had to tilt her head back to meet his clover green eyes.

“Which god do you wish to invoke for your last rite, Sir Eldric?” Lorali’s voice did not falter. It carried firm and sure, unwavering in the face of its duties to be performed. The corner of his lip quirked up into a wry smile.

“I am no sir, just Eldric will do.”

“Eldric,” Lorali amended. “Who do you wish to invoke for your last rite?”

“Dealer’s choice,” he said with an air of casual ease that earned a not so gentle shove from the unfamiliar guardsman. With his hands bound behind him, he could not catch himself and stumbled forward into her space. Lorali couldn’t help the way her lips tilted downward as she reached out a hand to steady him. She was familiar with most of the guardsmen who brought prisoners to the gallows, but she didn’t recognize this one's pointed nose and gangly limbs.

“Stop stalling, Lorecaster. You’re wasting the acolyte’s time. Choose or forfeit your rite,” the guard growled, the sound of twisting chains accompanying pain that creased Eldric’s face.

“That’s enough—” Lorali started.

“Athanasios,” Eldric gasped. “I wish to beseech Athanasios for my last rite.”

Lorali blinked as a susurrus passed through the crows at the old god’s name. The crowd went still and even Sylvene’s winds seemed to wait with bated breath to see what would unfold. The god of destruction and chaos wasn't one the people of Athera often prayed to any more. Most did not dare to speak his name in anything above a whisper for fear of inviting him into their space. He was known for his wrath and ire. Many believed that to call upon him in one’s last moments was to damn themselves to an eternity within his never-ending chaos.

“Athanasios.” Her lips and teeth and tongue formed around the name. It left a sour taste in her mouth as the man before her nodded and she steeled herself to commune with his chosen god.

“Unbind him,” Lorali said, unsheathing the dagger she kept tucked within the folds of her robes before holding her own palm skyward. “I’ll need his hand.”

“I’m sorry, miss, I can’t allow an acolyte—”

“That would be High Cleric Wynmar to you.” Lorali raised her voice, cutting the guard off as her gaze snapped to his, eyes narrowing. He froze, finally noticing her steel bracers inscribed with runes and inlaid with several small stones. A large stellanium jewel rested in the center, glimmering like starlight, as it denoted her station within the Order of Ostara. “And you would be?”

His jaw tensed, as if it took everything within him to bite his tongue. “Fulke, member of the Atheran guard.”

“Fulke,” Lorali’s smile did not reach her eyes, lips pressed together as she continued. “You may not be aware, but in order for me to commune with Athanasios there must be an offering of blood. By law, it is Eldric’s right to be given a last prayer to a god of his choosing. Who are you to stand in the way?”

Her chin tilted up, brow raised as she waited. They stood like that for several breaths, a battle of wills, until the guard gave a reluctant nod and a word of warning as he freed one of the prisoner’s hands. Eldric rubbed his wrist, reddened by the saw of metal against it. The man rolled his shoulders, as if his arms had been bound behind him for far too long, before placing his calloused hand in her palm. Lorali sent a small prayer to Ostara that she would remember Athanasios’ rite she had learned all those years ago, earning the smaller jewels that decorated her bracers.

Ruby blood bloomed as her sharpened dagger bit into their skin. It flowed freely as she pressed their palms together, until it welled onto the ground in soft plops while she began her invocation.

Ice crept through her veins, so unlike the warmth and light she was accustomed to when she connected with her own goddess. It had been seven years since she felt this shivering cold. She had communed with Athanasios for the first and only time when she had branched into connecting with other divinities to better serve the people of the city, earning the smaller jewels that decorated her bracers. No one had asked her to call upon him since.

Lorali’s eyes became unseeing as darkness swarmed her vision, ancient words dripping from her lips in whispered prayer. Taking root within her heart as she called his presence forth. The only thing tethering her soul to the soil beneath her feet was the blood offering that continued to trickle to the ground, the warmth of Eldric’s hand within her own—a comforting connection to life. She breathed steady and true as a man bathed in the deepest shadows came forth within her mind, his presence alone threatening to dim the very light of her soul.

Lord of shadows, bringer of chaos, ruler of the void –

There is no need for such platitudes, Child of the Star. A voice, cool as night, curled through her mind, making every hair stand on edge.  I know what you seek, and I shall not grant it.

It was as if his very words had frozen her breath, her heart. Any bit of warmth was sapped in an instant. Her voice trembled as she tried again.

I come on behalf of your devoted— The god wreathed in shadows tilted his head, a chuckle echoing off the corners of her mind.

That boy is no believer of mine. I shall not grant him passage.

Each heartbeat felt like eternity. She opened her mouth, lost at what to say in the face of the god’s answer. In all her years, she had never been denied by one of the divine when beseeching them for a blessing for passage into the stars above. She didn’t dare let panicked words slip her tongue, lest her own soul be damned.

Not yet, at least, he amended. Though she could not see his features, she could hear the trace of a smile within his voice. It is not his time. You must guide him, little star, until it is. He will be lost without your light.

Lorali did her best not to gape at the shadowed figure as her connection flickered once, twice, then dissipated like smoke on the wind without a chance at another word. She did not open her eyes, her body chilled to its core. Needing to collect herself as the god’s words replayed in her mind, knowing that the words of ancient beings often held twisted meanings that left more to be discovered.

It is not his time.

Eldric’s hand twitched within her own, as if to remind her he was halfway to freedom. That the manacles that suppressed his magic would only work if both wrists were bound to complete the connection. All he had to do was overpower the guard and he would be off once more.

That boy is no believer of mine.

Lorali suppressed an impressed smile. Asking to petition the only god who needed an offering of blood, which required his hands to be freed. Clever boy. She opened her eyes, containing her excitement for whatever was to come. A daring escape by the rogue, eluding the clutches of death once more. Continuing his illegal, though admirable, brand of justice.

It seemed as if the god had approved as well, or else he would not have made Lorali aware of his plans. Her mind raced through the possibilities as she did the god’s bidding, leaving events to unfold themselves. She would be protected by the Order should the guard try to blame the escape on her.

“Lord Athanasios has heard your plea, Eldric Lorecaster.”

She squeezed his hand tight, fresh blood mingling between their god-chilled palms. Eldric nodded, solemn, and released her hand. The scene unfolded rapidly before Lorali’s eyes as Eldric was shackled once more and swiftly escorted up the scaffold, leaving her blinking in stunned silence. He did not fight as he stepped atop the box placed before him, head held high as the canvas sack covered his dark curls, cropped close at the sides. A shiver ran down her spine, and she knew it wasn’t residual chills from her petition.

It is not his time.

Athanasios’ words lingered along her skin as the guard pronounced Eldric’s crimes, from tax evasion to robbery.

It is not his time. You must guide him, little star, until it is.

The necklace of rope draping over him tightened into a knot at the base of his throat. Her hopes withered as realization of what the old god had meant crashed over her in waves.

Eldric Lorecaster didn’t have a plan. And neither did she. Instead of silently watching as the thief escaped, the ancient god had entrusted her with the responsibility of keeping him alive. And she was about to fail spectacularly.

“Wait!” she cried, palm outstretched and heart pounding as the guard’s hand rested upon the exposed column of Eldric’s throat. She hadn’t realized she had bolted forward, one foot already on the stairs to the gallows.

“You will release this man at once.”

Her mouth spoke before her mind could think, chest trembling and words tumbling out in any attempt to divert Eldric’s fate. There was only one thing she could do.

“I, Lorali Wynmar, High Cleric of Ostara, invoke my right to a gallows marriage and claim this man as my husband.”