16
BURNED
The time has come.
I am extracted from my cage and marched slowly down the dark corridor. No one speaks. Either out of respect for the soon-to-be dead, or because there’s nothing left to say.
I am led out of the prison, through the throng of people, and finally onto a platform that rises out of a mound of chopped wood and dead brush. Extra ropes are used to bind me to the towering beam in the center, crisscrossing my entire body.
The portly man who originally arrested me is back. He’s standing next to the platform in another richly decorated silk doublet, speaking passionately to the crowd about God and the devil and a never-ending war between the two. His crooked yellow teeth snapping each word in half, spitting angry accusations in my direction.
Finally the torch is extended and a firestorm alights beneath me.
I close my eyes and think of Zen, offering up a silent apology. Begging his forgiveness for my failure. I couldn’t help him. I couldn’t save him.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
Even though he’s gone now, I am hopeful that somehow my voice will travel through the strands of time, find a place where he still lives, and whisper it softly into his ear.
I open my eyes to the inferno that blazes below me.
The fire is hot and relentless, rising up from a thicket of smoldering ash. Lashing at my feet. Filling my eyes with smoky tears of defeat.
The flames hungrily stare me down. Like a wolf licking its lips at the sight of an injured animal. Savoring the promise of a feast. Taking its time before moving in for the kill.
The wood crackles beneath me. One by one, branches are crushed, incinerated to black dust in the path of the merciless blaze. I am its only target. The sole destination. Everything else is a mere stepping-stone along the way. A dispensable victim to demolish and cast aside as it fights its way to me.
I search my surroundings desperately for help. But there is none to be found. Silence answers my distress. Punctuated only by the mocking fizzle and crack of the flames.
They can’t let me die here. Their prized possession left to burn. To shrivel up. To turn to bitter ash. They won’t. I’m sure of it.
They will be here soon. They will stop it.
And for the first time in my shallow, abridged memory, I will welcome the sight of them.
The smoke billows up, cloaking everything in a sickly haze. My vision—normally flawless and acute—is gone. My throat swells and burns. I wrench my head to the side, coughing. Choking. Gagging.
One ambitious flame forges ahead of the others. Winning the race to the top. It claws at my bare feet with long, gnarled fingers. I curl my toes under and press hard against the wood at my back. I can already feel my skin start to blister. Bubble. Scream.
And then I fight. Oh, how I fight. Thrashing against my constraints. But it’s no use.
And that’s when I realize … no one is coming.
The fire will consume me. Melt the flesh right off my bones. Turn my entire manufactured existence into nothing but grimy dust to be carried off across the countryside with the slightest breeze.
The wind shifts and the smoke clears for long enough that I can just make out a tall, hooded figure standing alone on the other side of the river. Watching silently.
The fire finally catches my skin. The pain is excruciating. Like a thousand swords slicing through me at once. The scream boils up from somewhere deep within. A place I never knew about. My mouth stretches open on its own. My stomach contracts. And I release the piercing sound upon a city of deaf ears.
The man who arrested me is there. He steps up to the edge of the flames. “This is what happens when you welcome the devil into your soul!” he shouts. The spectators yell back their concurrence, raising their hands in the air.
All the while the flesh on my bare feet is rippling, turning black. The putrid smell gags me. I cry out in agony, feeling the fire devour my ankles next, travel up my shins.
When will it stop?
When will I black out?
Please let me faint.
“And this!” He draws a long silver chain out of his pocket. Through the clawing flames I can just manage to see my locket swinging from the end of it.
Not destroyed. Not broken.
“The symbol of her pact with Satan!” he’s saying, raising the necklace high over his head. “This will accompany the witch back to hell!” With one flick of his fingers the necklace is suddenly in the fire with me.
I attempt to peer down through the flames, the heat scalding my eyes, causing them to rain tears. I blink them away furiously until finally I see it. Lying next to my charred feet. Only inches away.
Determination returns to me. From somewhere I summon strength. I kick out my left foot, feeling the rope dig into my burned flesh, sending another searing bolt of agony through me.