In the darkness of the night, every sound seemed to be amplified.

Maeve’s uneven breathing echoed through the empty streets. The corpses swinging in the breeze made Maeve sick- the three women had been left to hang for almost four days now and it showed. The stench was overpowering and Maeve gagged at the smell of rotting flesh. Flies swarmed around them, and one of the women’s mouths had been left agape in a frozen scream and maggots crawled from her open mouth.

A rebel behind Maeve cupped his hands around his mouth to stifle a sob. “Ara velin.”

My love.

Maeve swallowed hard and forced herself to stare at them. The swaying feet still fully clothed reminded Maeve of her parents and their brutal end. This time she wouldn’t look away.

The man stepped up onto the stage, the knife in his hand, gleaming in the moonlight. Slowly and quietly he climbed the gallows and the small group of people gathered beneath one body. They worked silently, the man scaling the beams and working tirelessly at the robes. The group below outstretched their hands and Maeve planted her feet, waiting for the corpse to fall.

The rope snapped and the first women fell. The group grunted as her cold, slick body fell into their arms, one boy fell from the sudden weight. Maeve choked on the vile smell and another rebel vomited.

The woman was heavy in their arms and Maeve couldn’t help but think she felt more like a sack of wet grain, heavy and limp than a human. In unison, the group lowered her to the floor and placed her gently.

A fragile woman bent down, her shaking fingers grazing over the grey skin as she closed the corpse’s eyes. Then they moved to the next.

With a snap of another rope, the next victim fell. Then, finally the last. With a final thud, the last women collapsed into the rebels’ arms. Maeve’s body eased and her nerves drained from her tense limbs.

They had planned to use their corpses as propaganda- as a warning to everyone. These women deserved better. They knew the consequences if they’d been caught, murder on sight no doubt. But that had never stopped Maeve before.

The man knelt beside his love, tears sliding down his face. Through the darkness and in the deafening silence, he wept beside his wife. His grief raw and wordless as Maeve mourned with him. She knew what it felt like to lose someone to the noose. He shut her eye lids, whispering to himself an old Thalish love song.

“Lay your head, my darling, down.

No more pain to chase you now,

You sleep where roots and silence twine

I kiss the dirt, I kiss the stone,

Just to feel you breath once more.

Oh, my love.

Oh my love.”

The song came out shakily. Quiet as he struggled through the tears. No one moved from their spots. Every rebel stood on their feet, heads bowed as they listened to the sound of grief and love mixed into song.

Maeve remembered her mother singing that when she was a child. She was a terrible singer, off key and always forgetting lyrics, but still soft and sweet. Maeve would do anything to hear her mother sing again, even just one high pitched hum.

One by one, they carried the bodies onto wooden carts, and later that night they’d buried them. But Maeve knew this was not an ending for these women. They’d led the rebellion- risked everything for their cause. Maeve swore that one day it would be Ravian soldiers- enforcers hanging instead of being of her people.

Her people would not be forgotten.