The Great and Terrible: No Monsters Like Hers

Men and women, young and old, pointed accusing fingers in my direction. Cries assaulted my ears.

“Crimen!”

“The storm still comes!”

“Seize her!”

“Let’s all calm down, okay?” Despite my injury, I raised both hands in a gesture of innocence. “There’s been a misunderstanding. Nothing a conversation can’t clear up.”

“Law breaker!”

“The price must be paid!”

Only Muscles remained unfazed. He hauled the headless body to the edge of the stage and tossed it inside an open cart, alongside two others. Streaked with blood, boots thumping, he strode to the other side, near Mr. Green, waiting at the top of the steps, gaze laser-locked on me. Not to stare me down but to look me over. Slowly.

He motioned me up with a crook of his finger.

Terror singed my throat. Several of my accusers reached out to grab me. I ducked and dodged, scrambling this way and that, but I was too weak and too many people blocked my path. It wasn’t long before a man latched onto my arm and a woman tangled her fingers in my hair, bringing me to a grinding halt. Someone forced my arms behind my back, wrenching a shriek of pain from my deepest depths. Black dots temporarily blinded me, and vomit barreled into my throat.

The next thing I knew, I was being hauled onto the stage. My captors kept their heads bowed as they presented me to Muscles.

“Release her.” Two simple words, uttered in a voice as hard as the man himself, and my captors let go as if I were toxic.

Streams of blood made the dais floor slippery, and I struggled to maintain my balance. As I wobbled, sucking air into my lungs, Muscles caught me by the waist. To my surprise, he was careful not to jostle me.

The heat of his hands singed. Though he eyed the crowd who eyed me, I sensed the intensity of his awareness remained focused squarely on me. The predator and his prey.

There was no stopping my shudder. Or my awe. He was even more beautiful up close. Thick, enviously long lashes framed irises the color of a sunset. Shades of gold glinted with hues of blue and lavender.

How did eyes reminiscent of summer possess only winter frost? And why did I experience an urge to burrow closer and heat him up?

Stupid concussion! It had stolen my wits.

Tone as sharp as his blood-soaked ax, he asked, “Do you have a substitute?”

“What does that even mean? What did I do wrong?” Besides steal the elixir. Oh, sweet goodness. Was that the reason for this?

He turned into me and canted his head ever so slightly, sliding his gaze over me a second time, absolutely decimating my nerves. “You stole something. What?”

Any hope of getting out of this unscathed plummeted. “Okay, so, yes, I took something without paying for it. That looks bad. Very bad. I get it. But I swear to you, I intended to return with silvers. This is a simple misunderstanding.”

“So you have no substitute?”

“Who are you?” I demanded, hoping to brazen my way out of this. “Who do you work for?”

He blinked, as if surprised. “I am Jasher, I answer only to the Guardian, and you will keep your gaze downcast, as my position demands.”

Murmurs of awe spread through the listening spectators. Apparently, this Guardian was greatly respected, I should be impressed, and I shouldn’t eye his soldiers. “Let’s call him. If I explain the situation, he’ll tell you to let me go.”

A crack of thunder and flash of lightning followed my words, rousing groans from the crowd.

“Kill her before it’s too late!” someone shouted.

I pressed my uninjured hand to my belly.

Muscles—Jasher—arched a thick black brow. Yes, I saw it happen with major side eye. “I asked you a question.”

So no calling the guardian? “Look. I don’t think I have a substitute. Unless I do. You haven’t bothered to explain what we’re discussing, so how can I know?” I sagged into myself, losing steam. “My name is Moriah Shaker, and I just want to go home. I’ll settle for calling an attorney.” Yes, I had committed a crime, technically speaking. But I didn’t deserve to die for it. Extenuating circumstances, Your Honor. “I’m even okay with lock up today and appearing before a judge tomorrow.”

Not bothering to issue a response, Jasher led me past Mr. Green, who no longer had a shadowy halo floating over his head. Or rather, I no longer hallucinated one. The older man perused me, as if inspecting a vase he might wish to purchase.

“This is a misunderstanding,” I repeated, hoping to galvanize someone into helping.

“The breaking of a law is never a misunderstanding. It’s always an absolute.” Jasher stopped at the scarlet splattered chopping block and moved behind me, as if he planned to do to me what he’d done to Rags.

A loud ring consumed my ears. Am I truly dying today?

“Context matters,” I rasped. “Both surgeons and murderers cut people open.”

“You have only proven my point. One is a crime, the other isn’t.”

He wasn’t wrong. But I lifted my chin, refusing to shrink back, and called, “A late payment isn’t worthy of a death sentence. You know that, right?”

My words did nothing to shame the spectators into action. Nothing to encourage their insistence that I live. If anything, I spurred their impatience.

“Kneel.” Jasher delivered the command behind me, as heartless as Dorothy’s Tinman.

I swallowed a humorless laugh. “I won’t help you behead me.”

“That’s all right. I don’t require your aid.” Giving no quarter, he settled a big, rough hand on my shoulder and pushed.

Locking my knees, I grated, “There’s got to be a better way to settle this.” If I could just change his mind. He was the linchpin. The crowd would follow his lead.

“There isn’t.” He increased the pressure. “The storm looms.”

I resisted with every ounce of my being. Soon, panting breaths turned into wheezes. At least the air smelled nice. A dreamy, dizzying combination of sandalwood and orchids. Problem was, all that goodness came from him. The man determined to murder me.

“What do my actions have to do with the storm?” I demanded.

“The crimen.” More pressure. Almost enough to break bones. “It draws the beasts.”

“You and our audience are the only beasts in the vicinity,” I snipped. “And I don’t even know what a crimen is.”

“Lack of knowledge doesn’t alter the truth or what must be done to safeguard the town.”

As my legs threatened to snap in half, the metallic odor of Rags’s blood reached my nostrils, overshadowing the intoxicating, earthy perfume. I gagged on a surge of bile. Strength draining…

“What did you take?” Jasher asked. He almost sounded curious.

“An elixir for my wrist. But I dropped it before drinking any,” I admitted, because why not? “Won’t you show me a shred of compassion?”

Jasher didn’t hesitate. “I will not.”

He proved his words, too, increasing the pressure. Still I fought. Fought so hard sweat dripped down my temples. But in my weakened— and weakening—condition, there was no outlasting him. It wasn’t long before I sank to my knees and rested my upper body upon the wet wood.

“I’ll make it quick, my aim true,” he vowed, both merciful and pitiless.

End of conversation—end of the line? No. No! Such a travesty of justice would be stopped.

Jasher’s clothing rustled, and I didn’t have to glance over my shoulder to know he readied his weapon. I opened my mouth to say something, anything.

“A law has been broken,” he called, and tears welled.

“I’ll pay for the elixir,” I babbled. “I just need time.”

“There must be payment in blood,” a woman cried, frenzied with worry as dozens of lightning bolts zigzagged above our heads. “Quickly!”

Murmurs of agreement blended into a terrible, grating song.

“Will anyone show mercy and take her place?” Jasher asked, a replay of Rags’s last minutes alive.

No one offered, same as before. A new clap of thunder shook the dais. The audience went still and quiet as my would-be executioner lifted his ax. I squeezed my lids shut.

This couldn’t be my last few seconds alive. I was supposed to return home, ensuring my dad didn’t spend the remainder of his days missing another woman he loved. Needed to enjoy one last lecture. Rye, he might say. You’ve never truly lived. Stop wasting precious time, get out there, and fall in love.

An invisible metal spike speared my chest. Would the death of his only child spur his?

Jasher shifted.

I braced.

The crowd held its collective breath, waiting with anticipation.

“I’ll pay her debt,” Mr. Green announced, and my lids popped open. He stepped toward us. “But in return for my extreme generosity, she must agree to muck my stable.”

Finally! Something was going my way. Clean a stable? Done.

“Do you accept, Moriah Shaker?” Jasher asked, a thread of warning in his voice.

Upset that he wouldn’t meet his beheadings quota? “Yes!” I scrambled to my knees, my feet. “I’ll work off those silvers, no problem.” Shouldn’t take more than a day, possibly two.

Mr. Green waved to a rotund, bald man, who stood beside a roofless cart with barred walls. A pole separated the cab from the caged wagon, with a gagged redhead tied to it, scarecrow style. She looked young, maybe sixteen years old. A slightly older brunette and two pale hair boys sat shackled nearby.

Baldman reached in and freed Brunette. A little too rough for my liking, he hefted her out. She wore a potato sack, and she didn’t fight him.

Prickles erupted over my nape. Did she carry Mr. Green’s wallet or something?

With a hand on my lower back, Jasher urged me forward. “Go.” His hard baritone welcomed no arguments. “Now.”

Legs shaking, I slowly made my way over. At the same time, Baldman gave the brunette a hard push. She stumbled onto the stage, holding her head high. Defiance glittered in her lovely blue eyes.

As we passed each other, she muttered, “Trust no one.”

At the steps, I paused to cast a worried glance over my shoulder. Just in time to watch as the other woman willingly knelt at the chopping block.

What the—No! “She’ll toss a few silvers on the stump then go on her merry way, right? She isn’t meant to die for me. Right?” The last word escaped as a screech. “I agreed to muck the stable!”

Looking annoyed, Baldman stomped up the steps to clasp my good wrist. “Mucking a stable means dying for your titleholder, you fool.”

I grappled for freedom, attempting to get to Brunette, but Baldman proved too strong and quickly wrangled me inside the roofless cage, using a metal cuff to shackle me in place. Hay provided a cushion, at least, but it stunk.

Realization set in. I’d become Mr. Green’s prisoner—in Brunette’s place. I fought my bonds. The boys reeked of sweat and fear. The teenager fought her bonds. For the time being, I ignored all three, choosing to press my face against the bars and peer out.

Jasher moved behind Brunette. The “substitute.” Provided by Mr. Green, the “titleholder.” The words made sense at last. I only wished they didn’t.

“A substitute has been selected and accepted.” Jasher raised the ax over his head.

“No,” I shouted. “Please, don’t do this.” I had not sent another human being to her death, to pay for a crime I myself had committed. Surely I hadn’t. Surely he wouldn’t.

The cart lurched forward as Jasher swung. I lost sight of the dais, but I heard the loud thunk. New cheers filled the air, and I knew. Like the old man, Brunette had lost her head.

My hand flew over my mouth as a spear of guilt pierced my heart. Golden sunlight filled the cart, leaving no trace of the storm. As the celebration grew louder, I ground my teeth. A coincidence, nothing more.

Gears cranked, the pole lowering, bringing the redhead into a seated position. A metal cover unfolded over us, extended the length of the bars and blocking out most of the light.

One of the boys tugged on my arm. When I met his gaze, he pointed to the redhead. I looked her over and realized I could free her arms from the pole. The links attaching my cuff to the cart stretched just far enough to allow me to undo her rope. Which I did.

She crumbled into herself, taking a moment to wheeze before lifting her hands to remove the gag. After huffing and puffing while massaging sore muscles, her pretty brown eyes cleared of discomfort.

She resettled against the hay and met my gaze. “You ain’t from around here, is you?”

“Where am I?” I croaked. “What is this awful place?”

“This be Emerald, a province in Hakeldama.”

I wracked my brain but couldn’t locate Hakeldama on my mental map. And Emerald? I laughed without humor. First I’d met the Tinman, then the Scarecrow. Now this. “What state are we in?” Couldn’t be Kansas. “Which country?”

“Country? No. In Hakeldama, there be six territories. West rules Emerald.”

“Name the other territories.” Surely I’d recognize one. “Please.”

“Sapphire, Ruby, Amethyst, Opal, and Diamond.” The girl rubbed two fingers over her chin, leaving a streak of dirt. “I’m Patch, by the way. Never Patricia,” she added with attitude. “Patch.”

“I’m Moriah.” Can’t process. Why name the “territories” after gemstones? The fact that I’d tornadoed into a place known as Emerald, where Dorothy Gale had journeyed, left a foul taste in my mouth.

I met the gaze of each young boy at Patch’s side. “And who are you?”

Both possessed mops of white curls and big black eyes. No doubt they were brothers. They looked at the girl, as if seeking permission to respond.

“This is Boo and Coo,” Patch said, speaking over squeaking wheels. “Their mom cut out their tongues so they’d fetch a higher price when she sold ‘em to Mr. West.”

How was any of that okay anywhere? “Mr. West is the man in the green suit, I take it.”

“Yep. He decided he liked you more than Tandi, I guess.”

Great. Another The Wonderful Wizard of Oz connection. If I was supposed to be Dorothy, and I wasn’t saying I was, even though I was currently dressed to play the part, I’d just stumbled upon my nemesis, and he had me at a huge disadvantage.

The cart hit a pothole, the first of many, and I winced, every bruise and injury protesting. “How did you end up with Mr. West? How long have you been a… stable mucker?”

“Too long, and through no fault of my own,” she said, giving me no real details. “I heard you tell the executioner you stole a healing elixir. Be glad you spilled it. Those elixirs heal the injured parts of the body only to ruin healthy ones. Here. This’ll make you feel better real quick with none of them nasty side effects.” She removed a leather cord from around her neck. A small, clear vial dangled from the center, half empty with something red. She uncorked the top, shook a grain-like substance into her palm and offered it to me.

Did she tell the truth? Or was this meant to hurt me further? Payback for Brunette’s miserable end? Trust no one.

I didn’t know what to think anymore, but I was desperate enough to take a chance. “How much do I owe you?” I asked, accepting.

“Nothin’. Consider it a gift from one substitute to another.”

Substitute. Those who weren’t saved from death but allowed to live only a little longer. “Thank you, Patch.” Down the hatch. The bitter taste made me grimace. I waited seconds, a full minute, but nothing changed. No easing of my pain. But no increasing of it either, so, guess I’d consider it a win. “I’m so sorry about your friend. I had no idea what would transpire when I… I didn’t mean…I’m so sorry,” I repeated.

“She weren’t my friend.” Patch hiked her shoulders in a shrug, then re-hooked the leather strap to her neck, hiding the vial under the collar of her potato sack. “Substitutes don’t usually last long. Especially when their titleholders can commit a crime every day and still keep a stable overflowing with men, women and children forced to die in their place.”

“This occurs daily?” Shock must have addled my brain, because I couldn’t align what I heard and what I’d witnessed with an ingrained sense of justice. “We are payment for crimes committed by Mr. West?”

“O’ course. If someone don’t die, the storms come,” Patch explained.

“But that’s preposterous! And barbaric!”

Another shrug. “That’s the way of things.”

Well, it shouldn’t be. Not here, not anywhere. How were those like Mr. West getting away with it? “Beheading innocents is the worst crime of all. And how did everyone know I’d stolen the elixir?” No one had protested when I’d done it, which meant no one had seen it happen.

“That’s easy.” Patch used her index finger to draw a circle above her head. “The crimen appears after a crime is committed, then disappears once the offender or a substitute has been punished for the deed and harmony restored.”

Oooh. So I had seen a shadowy halo above West’s head. Obviously, he’d broken a law. And the same ring had appeared over my head, as well. But how was a crimen even possible? Something like that shouldn’t happen outside of books and movies.

When the cart hit another bump, I tensed, expecting a fresh burst of pain. Except, I felt good. Oddly good. Eyes going wide, I lifted my broken wrist. No way! The bones and tendons appeared perfectly restored. I wiggled my fingers, experiencing not even a flicker of pain. Wagged my hand back and forth. Nope. Nothing.

The bone had healed in a matter of minutes. Completely. An impossibility. Modern medicine did not—could not—work such a miracle.

I froze. Could one of those grains heal my father?

Abuzz with hope, I pointed to Patch’s vial. “What are those? Where did you get them? Where can I get some?”

“They’re called serpens-rosa, and I bought them. Paid a high price for them, too.” She lifted her chin, going on the defensive, silently daring me to make a play for the prize. “The first dose is free. The next will cost ya’.”

Serpens-rosa was what Elixir Man had compared his product to. ‘Almost as good,’ he’d said. “How much? What do you want for a second dose?” Not that it mattered. I had nothing to give.

“I’ll let you know.” My companion waved to encompass the world outside the cart. “If you can survive the Governor’s Guild.”

“Oh, I’ll survive all right, but I won’t be sticking around. I’m going home.” Wait. Back up. “The man in the green suit. Mr. West. He’s a government official?”

“He surely is.”

Meaning he had security measures galore. Maybe I’d have a better chance escaping the cart?

I scrambled to press my face between the bars, peering out at a fading marketplace and an endless expanse of lime-colored flowers stretching for miles in the middle of nowhere.

Trepidation caught me up in a whirlwind of supposition. Let’s say I escaped the cart. Where would I even go? Not back to town, where a heartless executioner killed without remorse. I’d done some hunting and fishing with my dad as a kid, but I saw no trees, no animals. Besides that, I had no weapons. My stomach flip-flopped. Maybe I should visit the Governor’s Guild, after all. There, I could find a phone and call for help. And acquire serpens-rosa for Dad.

Except. The crimen. Daily decapitations. Titleholders. Provinces named after gemstones. I wasn’t in Kansas anymore.