Here’s a short story, originally posted on my writing blog Darkaria. I’ve shortened and polished a bit.
THE HERETIC DIES
The giant red sun began to rise over the Court of the Invisible Moon. In a short time, it would fill a quarter of the sky. But its glow was pleasant, not harsh at all as it banished the few stars that dared to shine above the place of execution.
Already the early mourners were there, professional weepers practicing their sad wails and moans. The Magister had decreed that the Heretic, hated though he may be, was not to die in loneliness unmourned. Since no villager would dare mourn him for fear of sharing in the suspicion of heresy, the Magister had hired out the mourners, and hired the best. He ruled for a State that tempered its harsh justice with uncommon mercy.
Presently, as the sky brightened, others began to gather – witnesses from the city and village, come to see confirmation that truth always wins out over lies, and liars and their heresies must, after being given a fair hearing in light of cold, unfeeling fact, be stamped out for the good of all, and for the good of truth.
