Deleted Scene

The following scene was reluctantly deleted from Sky City: The Rise of an Orphan after careful consideration. I may recycle it in a future book. WARNING VIOLENT CONTENT:

Tension increases as we march through the crystalline village to the execution arena situated below the Sky Elevator. Rigidly, we descend into the crater where an atmosphere of mercilessness is engendered by the murmurs of bloodthirsty spectators sitting on steps.

As we take our seats and await the culmination of undue process, the sense of anticipation renders me mute. A dozen Samarian guards line a tunnel entrance as four traditionally iron-clad executioners lead out a shackled prisoner, naked except for a loin cloth and barbwire crown. An elite marches out in an undulating red cloak with chin held high. A gold and sapphire diadem generates a blinding aura and her serpentine staff almost seems to hiss in her hand. The elite stands on a platform lined by carved snakeheads and she addresses the crowd:

'Thomas Arkenhead was yesterday found guilty of blasphemy. The prisoner proclaimed that Samarianism was a compilation of outdated ethical philosophies and fanciful mythology. He said the Orientis was self-contradictory and he was baffled by the gullibility that allowed it to propagate. He rejected the reincarnation of Samaris...

There can only be one penalty for such profanity and that is execution, the manner of which can be decided by the crowd. But first a word on why such punishment is necessary. The love of the goddess Katona is found in all of us, although it is often suppressed by materialism, intolerance and egotism. The principle of revelation is to resurrect this understanding in our minds, but our tendencies corrupt this knowledge. This is why we need prophets to speak the mind of the goddess. Those who reject faith will be punished with appalling agony now and in the afterlife.

And now for the punishment. You can choose one of three options. The first, death by stoning... The second, death by burning... The third, death by quartering...'

The first two options drew unenthusiastic murmurs, but the third brings a blood-vessel bursting roar from the crowd and their unquenchable desire for suffering sends tremors through my bones.

'It's unanimous. Death by quartering it is.'

'But I'm a good man, this is wrong. Pl-ea-se!' Thomas Arkenhead screams and his words are met with howls of derision. Knees buckle to baton blows against his ribcage, adding to the bruises and scratch marks which cover his vulnerable torso.

'You are not a good man. Savour this moment while it lasts, for it is going to get a whole lot worse in the hereafter. Mount him,' the elite commands.

The rattle of chains is drowned by fervent blasts as once again the crowd roar. Broad-shouldered guards grip the prisoner's limbs which hopelessly resist being mounted to the gallows. 'Please, please!'

Thomas Arkenhead's gaze darts disbelievingly but there is no escape route, no straw to clutch, no saviour. As they suspend this fretful convict he already looks dead despite vigorous animation. He is not of this world, not worthy of life, it has been decided, pre-ordained. And I should feel pity for him, but hundreds of prisoners are executed every day; it would be a waste of tears.

'Nobody imagines when they start out in life, it'll end this way,' I mutter.

'He knew what the punishment was before he committed the crime,' Eyris hisses, correcting her posture.

'How can another human being can do such a thing?' Thomas Arkenhead screams, vomiting into his beard. The elite draws her ritual dagger and the curved blade gleams as she approaches the condemned man who leans away with a grimace of terror.

The blade tip is placed against Thomas Arkenhead's trembling groin and he screams but it is a gentler, more pitiful scream. A scream of resignation, of hoping for a swift end to the torment. A flood of red pours as the elite's hand crosses his abdomen and his bowels spill, dangling. Colour drains from his greying flesh and he squirms as gore taints the brilliant floor.

'I can't watch a man being cut to pieces! Tell me when it's over.' Mila turns away with face buried into palms and Eyris rubs her shoulder-blade.

Thomas Arkenhead's crown of barbwire falls as the gallows are tilted backwards to suspend his body with arms and legs at full stretch. Executioners stand at each limb and they unsheathe swords so visibly sharp they could slice through individual dust particles in the air.

'On the count of three... One... Two... Three!'

The deafening roar makes me sway in my seat as four swords simultaneously sever Thomas Arkenhead's limbs, causing his torso to slump to the ground. And the carving of human flesh seems not dissimilar to the butchery of a farm animal. This scene of ruthless injustice makes me feel ashamed for not being more horrified than I am.

'Sword.' A guard hands a sword to the elite. 'Hold him up.'

The same guard holds Thomas Arkenhead's limbless body by his crusted hair and as I wonder whether he remains conscious a swish of the elite's sword severs his neck. Once again his torso audibly thuds and a decapitated head stares into the crowd as the last modicum of life slips away with the dripping of blood.

'Prepare the pigs!'

The severed head is dropped, rolling along the plateau as the executioners stroll out of the arena without displaying a hint of unease. Warthogs are released, scurrying over to tear flesh and their ravenous, shaking faces are soaked by Thomas Arkenhead's vital fluids. A living, breathing person is reduced to animal feed and I cannot avert these awestruck eyes.