Dawn Will Come

The cathedral bell tolls, both solemn and authoritative. Its singular chime cuts through the nerves coursing through my body as I approach Jackson square, since renamed Heretic Square upon the new laws. The gray skies above cast gloom onto the scattered crowd, hurrying so they may not be next to meet their fate. I pull my cloak tighter around my face and hope to remain anonymous.

Our shoulders brush together as we are corralled in front of the stone wall. We crane our necks with every crack of the hammer into the long, iron nails holding our new laws. There, nestled between our eight o’clock curfew and the forbiddance to gather in groups more than three behind closed doors, sits a new command.

By order of the supreme ruler, those who speak ill of the government will be punished by death. The manner of death unique to their disobedience.

“Elodie.” My name snakes between Gwen’s chapped lips, gnawed from worry. “They have him. Today, his clock has run out as ours soon will.”

Turning to my longtime friend and comrade, my eyes widen. Our leader will face his punishment and they will not be kind to the likes of a rebel. My blood runs cold as I scan the crowd and find the battered face of Henry; his wrists in shackles and yanked into the square by guards like they are parading an exotic animal. To them, I suppose we are.

“We mustn’t wait. He wouldn’t want us to suspend our purpose in our grief of his absence,” I murmur to her, careful my voice doesn’t travel too far.

Chains rattle and drag across the wooden platform, giving voice to the dread curling in my stomach. Was he captured because I kept him too long at the meetinghouse? Had my insistence upon understanding every detail made him prey to guards searching every shadow for those who dare disobey? A stone sinks in my center as my eyes find the stack of large rocks to the side of the platform.

Governor Thorpe ascends the stairs one heel toe thud at a time with a sneer as cutting as the axe in his hand. He squares his shoulders, raises his chin, and says, “My loyal servants, how lovely it is to have you all gathered here today.”

I bite back the urge to scream; we did not have a choice in the matter.

He continues, “Henry will be brought to justice and our towns will be all the safer for it. No longer can he spread his falsities about imagined cruelty and corruption. No longer can he fill women and children’s heads with nonsense only found in the shadows without a Bible. For I, your humble governor, follow the Lord’s word and keep our community to his standard. He has spoken to me, given me ethereal knowledge the likes of you could not understand. I am blessed by his word and by his blood. Henry,” turning to our true leader, “seeks to destroy what the Lord has set into motion.”

The governor raises an expectant eyebrow to the crowd and small jeers scattered among the front row soon follow. He kicks a foot behind Henry’s knees and for the first time, I watch him fall. Guards lock his chains to four posts.

“The Lord does not bless him; he condemns the likes of Thorpe. For he twists and defiles every word of the liturgy he claims gives him divine right over the lesser,” I mutter between clenched teeth.

A large flat stone is placed on top of Henry’s body and air rushes from his lungs. The governor’s questions are nothing but a murmur in my ears as I mark every tick of pain twitching on our leader’s face. A knot builds in my throat with the guards reaching for a second weight. Death by pressing can only be described as barbaric.

“I cannot watch this, Elodie,” Gwen cries, pulling her cloak closer to hide her tears.

“I know, Gwennie.” I nudge closer to her, offering support without a display of our discomfort.

Her shoulders shake against mine in tandem with my heartbeat. Henry cries out as a fourth stone’s weight is added to his amassing pile. Thorpe leans into his face and whispers something we cannot hear, but his words tip Henry’s ears in crimson.

“I. Will. Not!” Henry rasps between labored breaths.

Turning to the crowd with a sinister smile, Thorpe says, “If any of his conspirators would like to step forward, you may spare him from death…and your own. For we will always find you lurking in the shadows between whispers of heresy.”

I will my feet into unmoving stone. As much as I want to save his life, it is the governor’s oldest trick. None of us will be spared at the end of his accusations. Courage, in this instance, is stupidity.

“Suit yourself,” Thorpe sneers and scrapes a whet stone over the axe’s blade.

Against all advice given at meetings, I grab Gwen’s hand and flee from the square. The tell-tale thud of metal into wood chases us. Guards stare at us as we run, surely noting our faces for future investigation into our lack of obedience. Safety relies on the ability to not only watch the horrors but support them with unwavering loyalty to the governor—something I cannot feign well.

Ripping the hood from my face, I cast a sideways glance at Gwen. Her ashen face stares blankly on the road ahead. There are no footsteps sounding behind us, only the dying sounds of the square and the governor’s voice.

“What are we going to do?” Gwen asks, her words but a murmur on her lips.

“What we always have—move forward.” I rub circles on her back the way a mother calms a scared child. “His death will not be in vain and we must continue our work to bring the governor to justice. We were never supposed to live this way under false creeds and hungry figureheads.”

I look over my shoulder, thankful for the lack of company, and lead Gwen into the woods. The forest trees sway their leaves in a song of battered hope. They have seen far more than we ever could and still stand strong among us. Perhaps, we can too. Wind whistles through the branches and caresses our faces in a loving touch.

We traverse through the wilderness, Gwen’s hand slowing its shaky rhythm bit by bit. The forest has a way of lending its strength to those who walk it. For every trepidation, it has an answer—not always a precise or lengthy guidance but one of understanding. Away from all of the death and malice held within stone walls, I can only find peace among nature. A place where no man has command over me.

A dilapidated cottage sits just up ahead and relief washes over me with the meetinghouse now in view. It is said it used to belong to the village witches but has been used ever since as a place for outcasts to meet without prying eyes. One day we will have to restore it. First, we must restore humanity. The spaces between the slatted wood offer little protection from the elements, save for our manmade ones.

The door, hanging halfway off its hinges, groans as it swings open. Dust plumes from the kitchen counter just inside. The others should be joining before too long. Gwen settles into a low backed chair and pulls her cloak around her against the setting chill.

“I don’t want to die, El,” Gwen says with tearful eyes. “Are you sure we can do this without him?”

“We have always believed our cause was never just one person but all of us fortified with our courage. That doesn’t change now,” I remind her.

The remainder of our waiting period passes in silence punctuated by our shifting cloaks.

“Christ!” Ambrose yelps. “A fire would have been nice.”

“Wasn’t on the top of mind,” I snap at him. “Light it yourself if your sensibilities are so disturbed by my lack of womanly skills.”

“You know that’s not what I meant,” he murmurs. “The others aren’t far behind.”

“And the guards? Were you unnoticed?” I ask.

A grimace lines Ambrose’s face. “We were, but you were not. You likely should avoid showing your face for a while until Thorpe’s hunt dies down.”

“We are not afforded the time!” I shout through clenched teeth. “I will not cower behind walls. People are dying every day, dragged out of their homes and made examples of his reach. Defenseless. Innocent of everything except the desire to live better.”

The rest of our coalition joins us before he can make a remark. They shuffle into the dimly lit space and shake the cold like a dog out of water. Anticipatory silence hangs in the air as we measure the grit of our devotion in each other’s faces. Forlorn as we are, we must persist.

“Enough pleasantries, I suppose,” I say with a sardonic smile. “We must act now. For many months, we have plotted, we have sowed discord within their ranks. If we topple the governor—bring him into the streets to face his own judgement—with the help of a few understanding guards, we can crumble their system in one fell swoop.”

A man I still haven’t learned the name of speaks up from the back, “I fear it will not be so easy ma’am.”

“Their power relies on appearing with a strength they do not truly have. Through careful means, we have learned that not all in his ranks agree with Thorpe.” I scan the group, waiting for tuts of disagreement. They do not come. “His men see the needle of his compass. Promises were made but not fulfilled. Lines were drawn but crossed soon after. We prey upon the cracks already formed.”

Ambrose nods in slow agreement sitting opposite to the pinch in his face. “He is not the only one leading the false crusade. If we take one, we must take them all. Guards will bend a knee to the highest bidder, but his mouthpieces must meet fate as well.”

“Good. It is decided then.” I stand, smoothing the lines of my woolen dress. “We will pen leaflets, announcing a mandatory presence in the square, and slip them into doors. Tonight.”

A groan rolls over the group, already anticipating cramped hands and bleary eyes. Change does not come with comfort. It never has. We sacrifice ourselves—time, energy, and breath—to do what is right. Shooing a few members away from the cupboards, I open them and retrieve parchment and quills. We sprawl across the floor without enough seats or tables for our work and begin.

With every shift of the sun in the winter sky, we turn ourselves for its best light afforded through the rotting wood. Little hums accompany the scratching of our quills as we work. My letters come out jagged the more my hand tenses under my demand.

“Do you not worry if we cut the head off the snake more will arrive?” Gwen asks with a shaking breath.

“I do. However, if we, the community, make it clear we will not tolerate their abuse, they will be forced back into their holes or they will join their counterparts,” I say with focused effort on the words I choose. “There is always one brave person or group before an entire brave society in every rebellion.” Gwen has always been more prone to fear but she is not any less courageous because of it. If anything, she’s better for it because not even terror can hold her sense of justice at bay.

Ambrose clears his throat, gathering his stack of flyers. “Alright we go out in twos and stick to the shadows. Once every door is papered, we meet in the woods.”

“Our ally guards will let two groups into the governors estate. There, we will capture the governor and any of his men on the premises by any means necessary,” I say, pushing my shoulders back. “The remainder of you will need to stay in the shadows and direct the crowd to the square.”

“What happens after we gather everyone and bring out Thorpe?” a woman from the back asks.

Ambrose and I share a grave look and I answer, “We try them with the community as the jury and put an end to this.”

I loop my arm through Gwen’s and we step into the setting sun. Streaks of red and orange stretch across the sky, both comforting and ominous for what is to come. We slink into the woods, racing against our approaching curfew. Our actions are decidedly dangerous but at least we are less suspicious in the legal hours. The coalition scatters among the trees with their partners as we step to the edge of the forest into town.

Gwen and I duck into the shadow looming over the eaves of the nearest housing collective. My breath hitches as a guard rounds the corner. His eyes narrow on us and he checks the time on his pocket watch with a grunt. My shoulders drop with a relieved sigh as he passes by without a word. From the corner of my eye, I watch him until he is out of sight.

“Hurry. Shove them under the doors,” I tell Gwen.

With every paper slid under the outside rooms, I sweep my eyes across the road. A knot winds itself into my stomach but I dare not acknowledge it. I open the door to the collective, barely hanging onto its hinges, and shove inside. Our steps are quiet but hurried as we visit each door to deliver the summons. Papers slide in and murmurs erupt behind closed doors.

A man opens the door, combing the shoddy hallway for danger and whispers, “What is the meaning of this?”

“This must end,” I say. “We all suffer, you live in squalor, under Thorpe’s rule. He has taken our taxes and filled his coffers without any given to those who need help. He deigns to call himself divinely chosen while going against every word of the book he uses as a weapon. It must end. Tonight.”

The man gives me a tight lipped nod with tears brimming his eyes and slinks back into his dwelling. It is not just for me that I must push forward, but for every man, woman, and child disenfranchised by those who are supposed to protect us. We are at their mercy and they expect we bow at their feet and kiss their rings. I will not bend. I will not waver.

The bells toll eight times. Curfew. Gwen’s wide eyes meet mine and I place a reassuring hand on her arm. It is time to be the bravest we have ever been, even if it is at a moment when it is hardest to choose. Our lives, for better or for worse, will never be the same when the sun rises. Gwen’s knuckles turn white against the strain on my arm.

Up ahead, the shadowy figures of my group members slide into the forest’s protection. My heart thrums against my ribs in a violent cadence. We crouch into the corner of the housing building, waiting to have a clear path, lest our mission end before the true test begins. Guards yell in the distance, soon followed by the sounds of a struggle and I take my opportunity. Gripping Gwen’s hand, I yank her towards the trees. Fear touches down to my feet, taking all warmth and feeling from my toes.

I stumble into the tree line, Ambrose’s arms catching me before I lose all balance. Here, in this swift exchange, I am reminded how precariously our mission balances on a blade’s edge. Clearing his throat, he steadies me and surveys the gathering group in the trees.

Ambrose checks his pocket watch and murmurs, “Time is up.”

In a hushed yet commanding voice, I order, “Get into your groups.” I stand with Ambrose, Gwen, and two other men while the remaining coalition sorts themselves. “Everyone has their objective—stick to it. Let’s go.”

Groups of five scatter in opposite directions as we head for our calling. I tilt my head to the stars and beg anything larger than myself to guide us tonight. We creep along the darkened forest towards the governor’s house, careful step by careful step. My too noisy breath crashes in my ears with my heartbeat. Shadows loom over us, brushing tendrils of disquiet against my mind.

Pristine stones come into view leading to the large iron gate marking our target. My uneasiness cools to a simmer as our ally guards stand watch instead of the cantankerous older men who normally sit in front. Their eyes flare when we step from the shadows. Opening the gate, they wince at the sharp groan cutting through the night.

As we step through, one guard catches my elbow. “Be careful. He has company—two men—and they are discussing new laws. They are not likely to go without a fight. Guards wait outside the office.”

The other guard cuts in, “Top of the stairs, second door to the right.”

I nod and continue forward with my comrades. The house towers over us, its stone spires cutting into the moonlight. With a deep breath, my trembling hand turns the brass doorknob with a click. Warm light pours into the darkness from the candles and chandeliers illuminating the way for their tyrannical master. We creep into the foyer and every sound echoes like a gunshot.

Gripping the banister, I crouch in my ascent. On the fifteenth stair, my eyes find the guards waiting outside the office. Ambrose taps my shoulder and motions for me to hide. He nods to the two men in our group and charges forward, clearing the last steps and rushing the guards. Clatters and grunts erupt into the hall as fists meet flesh.

“We have to get into the room,” I whisper and pull Gwen’s hand.

The ornate white door emblazoned with golden filigree cracks open and a gasp cuts through the men’s fighting. I shove forward and dodge hands reaching for purchase on my shoulders. I kick my boot between the threshold of the closing door. It hits my leg with a thud, but Thorpe’s eyes sear into me with a rolling fury.

Throwing all of my weight into my shoulder, the door flies out of Thorpe’s hand. Gwen flies into the room behind me. She runs to the large, mahogany desk, gathers the skewed papers, and throws them into the fireplace.

“Stop this instant! Guards!” Thorpe yells, but no one comes, already engaged in their own activities.

The other men in the room stumble backwards, surprised by our entrance and flagrant disregard. For a moment, silence hangs dead in the air. Gwen and I look to each other with wide eyes. Every fear inside my chest stills as I allow another to take its place—courage. I surge towards Governor Thorpe, seizing his arms. He struggles against me while the other men watch in horror. Spineless. All of them. Their power lies in collective fear, not true authority.  

A heavy thud sounds outside the door through grunts and struggle. Ambrose swears under his breath as he bursts through the door with wild eyes and shackles in his hands. The entire room lunges for Thorpe, his allies reaching for his safety, and us, demanding his capture. Figures appear at the door and a relieved breath leaves me with the other two men in our group stepping over the guards’ incapacitated feet. They rush Thorpe’s men.

“All of you will be held accountable for your treason in Heretic Square,” Thorpe screeches, shoving back against Ambrose’s grip around his wrists.

“That will be you, Governor,” Ambrose sneers as he clasps the shackles.

Thorpe’s accomplices cower against the hearth, cornered by the other two men in our group for detainment. For all the power and fear rolling through their presence to others, they are weak at the precipice of accountability. We make quick work of the remaining shackles and push our captives out into the hallway. Thorpe yells to servants and guards who will not answer. Loyal to the highest bidder.

The moonlight greets us with the brisk breeze, making way for justice. Up ahead, droves of people file into Heretic Square upon our summons. Our coalition guides them into their places. The community is organized into neat sections before the platform awaiting its guests. Thorpe and the men struggle against their restraints, but our men are stronger, locking hands around their wrists and pushing them onward.

“It’s time to face what you have done,” I say through clenched teeth.

Thorpe glares at me and spits on my boots. I expected nothing less. Unease coils along my spine, winding itself into every open space in my body. If the community is too scared to issue justice, my life is forfeit. Gwen’s life is forfeit. None of us will be spared. The community itself will not survive past tonight if we are unable to do what must be done. Our days have become sallow under the threat of death looming around every corner and in every strike of the hammer into the wall.

With firm hands on their arms, the five of us push Thorpe and his accomplices to the podium, nearly dragging him up the stairs. We will not sink to their level—there will be no unique deaths come morning. Ambrose looks to me with expectant eyes and dips his head to the crowd.

Stepping to the edge of the platform, I clear my throat. “Thank you all for being here on such short notice. Our community has shrunken and cowered under the rule of cruel men. No more. We do not deserve to live in fear by laws only benefitting those who make them.”

Nods and agreeing murmurs roll through the crowd, bolstering my confidence.

I continue, “Tonight, we must call on justice. We must dig into the deepest parts of ourselves that desire freedom for a life we do not live now. I ask you, here in this square where tragedy strikes, to let what is right guide your hand rather than the fear these men have cost our peace.”

Gwen steps to my side, her hands shaking but her voice firm. “We will try the Governor and his accomplices for treason against our community. I ask each and every one of you to protect our future. Their crimes?” She looks to Ambrose.

Holding firmly to Thorpe, Ambrose speaks up, “Treason, kidnapping, fraud, and tyranny. He has betrayed our written law and selfishly turned our community into his kingdom. Governor Thorpe has taken men, women, and children off the streets should we dare to criticize what he has done. Our neighbors disappear daily and nightly and we only see them again on this platform. He takes our money and funnels it into his own pockets while our houses fall apart.”

“Can you stand by any longer and allow what is inevitable?” I ask, scanning over the crowd’s faces. “If we do not act now, we give him the keys to our freedom, the likes of which we will not see again.”

“I am the best ruler that has come to these lands,” Thorpe begins.

“Enough of you,” Gwen snaps. My heart swells for my friend.

“If it is in your heart to do so, please approach with evidence of these crimes. We will allow the community to hear each story and at the end, we will decide whether these three men are guilty or innocent,” Ambrose says.

At first, the crowd remains still and one could believe they heard the collective pounding hearts in the silence of the night. Hopelessness claws its way through my throat, tightening every inch, and then a man steps forward. Slowly, people gather in line behind him.

One by one, members of our community face the crowd and tell their story. With every injustice, Thorpe’s interjections are silenced by the truth spoken louder. We stand for hours under the darkened sky and hope justice will come like the first rays of dawn. I cannot resign myself to believe otherwise. We should not be fearful in our own homes, having hushed conversations and looking over our shoulders.

The last woman gives her testimony. Though her voice shakes and her eyes remain on her hands, she speaks. Our coalition gathers to the platform and stands behind us in solidarity.

“It is time for our decision. If you find Thorpe and his accomplices guilty, say aye,” I tell the crowd. A resounding aye cracks into the night and warmth floods my body. “We, the coalition for justice and community, hereby sentence the three of you to life imprisonment. You will no longer haunt our community like spirits in the night.”

Cheers erupt, drowning out Thorpe’s protests. He struggles against us, but we are strong together. Our allied guards approach from behind the platform and climb the stairs. They take the men by their elbows and Ambrose follows. The once morose crowd transforms into effervescent relief as Thorpe disappears into the jail where he belongs.

I speak up once more, hushing the crowd. “The laws come off the wall and we return to our lives. I propose we hold a free and fair election, giving us, the people, the opportunity to choose who leads us. Someone kind, honest, and just.”

Rays of dawn trickle into the horizon. I look to the stone wall holding our oppression and fears. Sixty one. Sixty one new laws meant to take everything from us and scare us into complicity. Climbing from the platform, I take the ladder next to the wall in my hands. My feet shake on each wooden rung as I ascend higher.

I rip the first law, Governor Thorpe shall rule without dispute until his passing, from the wall. It flutters to the ground, twisting in the breeze. My heart thunders. People approach the wall and tear traitorous laws within reach from the stones. Girls shall not attend school. Governor Thorpe is the infallible figurehead of the church. Jackson square renamed to Heretic Square for justice against rebels and criminals. Each one tatters in hungry hands.

The following weeks are a blur as we rebuild our community. Trust and safety were taken and we must learn again. Thorpe’s men are found and one by one tried for their crimes. Supposed criminals, who were brave before the rest of us, are freed and returned to their families. Coin is reallocated to refurbish roads and housing collectives. Schools are opened to boys and girls alike. For the first time in a decade, we can breathe again.

Dawn arrives on voting day and my heart thrums with excitement. For the first time in my life, I am allowed to vote. Members of the community gathered together in fair and friendly competition—all are good choices for our next Governor. Ambrose, courageous and intelligent. John, humble and honest. Charles, hardworking and compassionate. Gwen and I hold hands as we approach the voting tents. A gleeful squeal crosses her lips as she smiles at our opportunity.

“Who are you going to choose?” she asks.

“All are suitable for different reasons and I will be proud of whichever outcome finds us,” I say, assessing the long line. “However, we could not have done this without Ambrose and I will be choosing him for all he has done.”

Her smile stretches wider. “I wholeheartedly agree.”

I duck into the tent, letting the fabric fall behind me. A tightness grasps my throat with the tears brimming my eyes. I never thought I would see this day. The quill trembles as I mark a check next to Ambrose’s name. Through years of being pushed down and told to stay in my place, I was unsure the light would ever return. Here, on this monumental day, the sun shines again.