The guard carried the struggling girl up the stairs and placed her on top of a barrel. Propping her up, the guard shoved her head through the noose and checked the rope was secure. She shivered in her thin rags, her heart beating loudly in her ears. The girl flinched as she pricked her feet on the nails sticking out of the barrel. She imagined someone had hammered them in purposely, just to cause her more torment. A row of soldiers, played snare drums to the left of her. A slow, ominous, dirge that rung in her ears. Thunder echoed the drum beats that rolled through the main square, as raindrops continued the rhythm.
The ten year old cried and attempted to escape from the iron shackles, that cut into her already battered arms. The guards ignored her sobs and tears and struck her over the head several times, jeering as she screamed with agony.
"Shut up, you whore."
She whimpered, turning away from him. But more abuse came from the people facing her, in the form of flying rotten fruit and taunts.
"Traitor!"
"Demon!"
She began to breathe heavily as panic overtook her. The girl's knees knocked, as she trembled with fear. Grim thoughts crept through her troubled mind. My neck is going to break. I'll be dead. Buried. Dug up by wolves. She felt she would go mad with fear.
The girl looked out onto the horizon, at the most prominent spectator, the Queen, who was draped in diamonds. She sat on a throne, being served wine by a servant. She remembered seeing the people cart the throne out for her, so the Queen would have a good view of the execution.
Suddenly the crowd hushed, as a stout man took his place on the gallows, hidden by a black cloak. Then, attempting to speak over the crowd, he pulled out a piece of tattered parchment.
“Ellima Neptunia Greenhold, you are charged with treason against Queen Sophia II and the murder of Fuschia Greenhold, for which the penalty is death by hanging.”
Ellima wriggled her shackled hands and wept. Her nose was running but she no longer cared.
“Please don’t kill me! I’m innocent.”
The executioner chuckled. “Sure, little one. They all say that. But there's no denying this charge."
He reached over to pull the lever.
“Wait!” She screamed. “D-don’t I get any last words?”
The executioner sighed. “Aye, it’s true. All criminals are permitted a last word. Written in the Tinsonata Constitution, it is.”
The crowd booed at this.
"Murderers don't deserve a last word!" Shrieked one woman.
Ellima cowered at the word 'murderer'.
"My dear Fuschia.." she whispered.
The executioner scratched his head through his hood.
“What tomfoolery is this? Say your line and be on with it!”
Ellima couldn't speak.
Meanwhile, the crowd began to grow restless and called out for them to hurry up. The executioner dismissed their demands and nodded again at Ellima.
“Is that all you have to say? No? You have one last chance and then… Aye, we will proceed with the sentence.”
Ellima remembered the song her sister used to sing to her, before it all happened. Several more tears fell. She could still hear Fuchsia’s sweet voice whispering the words as they huddled together.
“She’s sitting by the apple tree; she’s lying in the orchard,
She’s a little Autumn lady, dancing in the wind.
Golden branches, sunset leaves,
The little Autumn lady, watching over me.
But look out for the Darkest one,
Hiding in the shadows, she’s lurking in the night,
Waiting by the gallows,
She’ll wait until your dying day
To steal away your soul…”
The beautiful voice didn't’t belong to Fuchsia. It was a couple of seconds before Ellima realized that the song had come from her own lips. She wondered why she had never been able to sing like that before, but her thoughts were interrupted by the cold touch of wind on her skin.
The nooses that hung next to her swayed and she felt herself being blown sideways. The barrel beneath her shook violently.
The Queen stuck up her nose and demanded for them to carry on.
“It’s no good,” said the executioner, shaking his head at the Queen. “We can’t hang her in this weather; it won’t work right. We need a calm sky. The rain is muddling up the inner-workings, you see?"
“Are you refusing to follow my orders, Mr. Jenkins? You!” She called, pointing at another soldier. “Take him to the dungeons. No one is leaving until justice has been done!”
The soldiers dragged the executioner away, kicking and shouting, while the queen rose to her feet and addressed the crowd.
“She has cast a spell on the sky! The lullaby she sung was nothing but a curse, an enchantment. Witchcraft! She is a witch!”
The crowd muttered their approval.
“She’s right,” said one woman, “We ought to burn her at the stake.”
“Throw her in the river and see if she floats!” said another.
With a cheer from the crowds, Ellima was led off the platform. The guards pulled her in front of the procession of people and waited for the Queen to follow. Then they marched down the long road to The River June.
