- Discord
- kyle.kyle
OOC Note: This is a series of posts comprising a single story arc. This is the sixth of seven posts. The start of the story arc is here.
Music: Lacuna Coil - End of Time
24 August 2012
11:10 am
Santonian consulate, Darrow
“No, not my son!” Hrafnborg wailed as she read the poster that Judith brought back home. “Not my Kjell!”
The Santonians gathered the Kvakkestads and Starrfelts into one of the offices in the Santonian consulate to break the news. The Santonians could only watch as the two families broke down in tears. Thibault could not bear to look at the families’ anguish.
“Why Kjell?” Matthildur thought out loud. “Why does it have to be him?” She last saw her boyfriend at the window, two days ago when Thibault caught them. She hadn’t even said a proper goodbye to him. She stared at Thibault as tears filled her eyes. Thibault Guyton was responsible for separating them. Yet she could not bring herself to be mad at the Santonian. He didn’t understand then how important Kjell was to her… and when he realised it, he became the bridge between the two. How could she be angry at the guy who also looked as much affected as she was?
“Mister Thibault…” Matthildur called out the diplomat’s name, and then pleaded softly, “Please save Kjell…”
Thibault turned to Matthildur. His glistening eyes hinted about his feelings. He inhaled deeply and steeled his resolve to fight for an innocent life. “I’ll try,” Thibault declared. “I’ll try.”
“Thibault and I will be going to the militia headquarters,” Corentin Chouinard told the families. The Santonian consul-general felt the need to apprise the families of the chances of success. They should not get their hopes so high. “We will petition the militia to release Kjell. But I can’t guarantee that they will,” Corentin laid a hand on Hrafnborg’s arm. “We’ll try to do the best that we can. But we have to be prepared for the worst.”
24 August 2012
03:17 pm
Syndicalist People’s Militia Headquarters, Darrow
Hugbert had heard rumours that the twenty prisoners were being held at the militia’s headquarters. It was an obvious choice. It was the Syndicalist People’s Militia that was instigating the reprisals.
The head of the Syndicalist People’s Militia in town, Captain Auðbjörn Arnöy, was not expecting the Santonians. But he entertained them just as well. He didn’t want them complaining to higher-ups in Býkonsviði.
After introducing each other and exchanging pleasantries, Corentin Chouinard and Thibault Guyton sat on the chair in front of Captain Arnöy’s desk.
“So, what can I do for you?’ Captain Arnöy asked.
Thibault resisted answering “release all prisoners”. But Thibault promised Corentin that he would let the more even-tempered consul handle the negotiations.
“Thank you for hearing us,” Corentin began. “We came here concerning one of your prisoners, Kjell Thor Starrfelt.”
Captain Arnöy leaned back on his cushioned chair. He knew where this was heading. “What about him?”
“He is an asylum-seeker in the Santonian consulate,” Corentin declared. Never mind that Nathalie still had not finished his papers. Never mind that they still had not transmitted the Starrfelts’ asylum application to Býkonsviði.
“Oh, that’s too bad,” Captain Arnöy said with mock sympathy. Captain Arnöy leant forward and smiled impishly. “But he’s ours now.”
Corentin mentally laid down his cards. They’re not much, but maybe they could score. “I understand that,” Corentin replied. “But maybe you could spare a child from execution? He is seventeen.”
Captain Arnöy chuckled sardonically. “He is no child, Consul Chouinard,” the captain declared. “If a boy’s old enough to carry arms, he’s not a kid anymore. I have militiamen younger than seventeen. They fight. They kill. If they can kill, they can be killed too.”
“But he’s technically under the protection of the Santonian consulate,” Corentin said emphatically.
“Is he a Santonian citizen? I can give him to you if he is,” Captain Arnöy toyed with a pencil on his desk. “But as far as I know, he is not.” The captain straightened back up. “I hope you know that Santonian protection only extends within your premises.”
“Protection that your men tried to breach two days ago,” Corentin reminded the captain. It was his backup trump card. “I already told Býkonsviði about it.” Corentin had already sent a report to the embassy a few hours after the invasion. Ambassador Lasmartres told Consul Chouinard that he can use that fact to the fullest… which Corentin intended to do. “We can make that issue die down,” Corentin whispered. “If you just let us have this one.”
Captain Arnöy sniggered. The Syndicalist government could do nothing about Leiftur’s militia. They could rampage over the breadth of Prydania and still get decorated and praised for their efforts.
“Do you seriously think the Syndicalist government will act against the Syndicalist People’s Militia?” Captain Arnöy told the Santonian consul. “You got your agreement because one of you got killed.” The captain was referring to the 2003 Buhl-Lasmartres Agreement that largely allowed Saintonge to operate consulates and safehouses for refugees and asylum-seekers. “We are not going to make that mistake again,” Captain Arnöy continued, “Why do you think I prevented my men from storming your consulate?”
“Thank you for your restraint, captain,” Corentin said, trying to ingratiate himself with the head of militia based in town.
“I’m not complaining even if he” – the captain pointed to Thibault – “shot at one of our militiamen. It doesn’t matter, I can blame it on Flaatten.”
Corentin nodded.
“I have no hesitations doing that because I know we were in the wrong,” Captain Arnöy told the consul. “I hope you also know the limitations of what you can do, Consul.”
Captain Arnöy stood up from his seat and started to pace around behind his desk. “We tolerate your presence here because that’s what the Prydanian Foreign Ministry and the government wants us to do. Some of the Syndicalist commanders despise the Santonians in their area of operations. I don’t.” Captain Arnöy stopped and turned towards the Santonians. “In fact I would like to thank you.”
Corentin gave the captain a quizzical look.
“You Santonians do a better job in imprisoning the backsliders than the Prydanian police do.” Captain Arnöy gave out a short sly laugh. “You house them in one building, you prevent them from coming out, you prevent them from communicating outside. You contain these undesirables and unreformables properly. Honestly, I would like to thank you for doing a service to Prydania – Saintonge saves us bullets by taking care of these unwanted people and getting them out of Prydania.”
Corentin interrupted the captain. “Why not save more bullets by giving Kjell to us?”
“Consul, I am hanging them tomorrow, not shooting them,” Captain Arnöy retorted wryly. “You know, if the civil authorities and police here in Darrow were as efficient as you Santonians in neutralising these backsliders… this wouldn’t have happened.”
“But is it right that innocent people are going to die because of the incompetence of the civil authorities?” Corentin challenged the captain.
“They’re not innocent,” Captain Arnöy said dismissively. “They tolerated the presence of backsliders in town. If they did not tolerate it, they would have tipped us off about the plot and done something about it.”
“Do you know it was them who knew about the plots and tolerated it?”
“Don’t be naïve, consul, nobody is going to admit they knew about it,” Captain Arnöy answered. “This is a lesson. This is a deterrent. This is a punishment.”
“Is it proportionate?”
“I think it is,” Captain Arnöy said confidently. “Look, if you have issues with this, bring it to your higher-ups.” The captain smirked. “I’m sure they also won’t be able to do anything.”
Corentin realised he was getting nowhere with the captain. But Captain Arnöy was not finished. “Also, let’s say we give the guy that you want. We’ll simply replace him with another one.” Captain Arnöy looked squarely at Corentin. “Can you handle that? Somebody else who wasn’t supposed to die… dying because of your request?”
Corentin fell silent. The captain had a point. If the Santonians saved Kjell, somebody else has to take his place.
“Then put me in his place,” Thibault offered doughtily. Corentin’s jaw fell. Even Captain Arnöy was surprised.
For a moment everyone did not know what to say next. Was Thibault Guyton really offering himself to take Kjell Thor Starrfelt’s place in the gallows? Could the Prydanians do that? What would Saintonge do?
Captain Arnöy took his seat again and smiled approvingly at Thibault. “I admire your courage, soldier,” the captain told Thibault. Inasmuch as the Santonians were a nuisance, he genuinely admired the guy. “I wish many of my men are as brave and as selfless as you are. Are you really ready to die for someone you don’t know?”
“I am ready to die for the innocent,” Thibault said curtly.
“Is there really anyone who is innocent?” Captain Arnöy wondered. “Innocence is subjective.”
“We believe Kjell Thor Starrfelt is innocent,” Corentin declared.
“And we think he is as guilty as all the people of Darrow,” Captain Arnöy replied. “Darrow is lucky we didn’t kill everyone. You see, every common man, woman, and child are natural Syndicalists,” Captain Arnöy continued. “Either they don’t know it, or they are rebelling against it. Kjell Thor Starrfelt is not with us. He is against us, and he is guilty of either ignorance or rebellion.”
The consul sighed. He wasn’t going anywhere. “I still hope you will consider our request – ”
“I considered it, and I rejected it,” Captain Arnöy said flatly.
“We will come back tomorrow,” Thibault said. “Think this decision over.”
“Also,” Corentin continued, “we would like to see Kjell Thor Starrfelt.”
“What for?”
“We would like to talk to him.”
“Now that,” Captain Arnöy said, “I can grant to you. Only because you are Santonians. The others… they won’t get to see anyone before they are hung.”
24 August 2012
04:05 pm
Syndicalist People’s Militia Headquarters, Darrow
The militia set aside one room where the Santonians could meet the condemned. Corentin and Thibault sat on one end of the table as they waited for Kjell to be brought in.
After a few minutes, a militiaman shoved a handcuffed Kjell into the room and closed the door with a loud bang.
Kjell Thor Starrfelt appeared wretched and miserable. He was wearing the same clothes that Thibault saw him in two days ago, only that they were now dirty and grimy. His unwashed face was creased with fear and apprehension. His eyes were red from the sleepless nights.
His expression lightened up a bit when he saw Thibault Guyton. “Monsieur Guyton!” Kjell greeted him eagerly as he sat in front of the Santonian diplomat. “Are you here to help me?”
Thibault dreaded looking at Kjell, afraid of the teenager’s reaction to the news. Because he knew he would be disappointed. Because he did not have any good news to bring.
“Hello, Kjell,” Corentin started the conversation. “I am Corentin Chouinard, Santonian consul-general.” Corentin shook Kjell’s handcuffed hand. “Thibault is my subordinate.”
“Nice to meet you, Monsieur Chouinard,” Kjell said politely. The lack of any word from Thibault hinted to Kjell that this wouldn’t be as good as he thought this would be. The fleeting smile slowly disappeared from Kjell’s face.
Corentin debated which one to tell Kjell first: the results of his negotiations with Captain Arnöy or his family’s condition.
“Kjell,” Thibault said softly, “We tried… but we failed. I’m sorry.”
Kjell could not understand what Thibault was saying. It was left to Corentin to clarify it.
“We negotiated with Captain Arnöy of the Syndicalist People’s Militia for your release,” Corentin informed Kjell, “but Captain Arnöy refused to set you free.”
Kjell became more sullen. “I guess… I’d be dying tomorrow…” He had been mulling over his fate for the past few days. Right from the time he was put in the truck to the militia’s prison. He had a sense of dread and doom. Yesterday, the militia announced that everyone was going to draw lots to select the twenty people to be hung. He drew short.
Kjell cried when he learnt of his fate. “Why me? What about my mother? What about my grandma? What will happen to Dorothea, to Kolbeinn, to Kolbjörn?” His friend Ósvífur Spilde comforted him. But it wasn’t long before the condemned were pried away from the rest and sent into separate cells.
What cruel fate this was! Kjell was not ready to die. He had dreams of continuing his studies in school. He wanted to see his siblings grow up. He wanted to be with Matthildur and start a family with her. All of those… would no longer happen. His family depended on him. He worried about the hardships his family would have to face once he was gone. It gave him never ending distress.
These Santonians tried to be his saviour. They were not able to save him, but… “I appreciate your help for me,” Kjell told Corentin and Thibault. “But would you monsieurs allow me to make one humble request?”
Corentin nodded solemnly.
“Can you please take care of my mum, my grandma, and my siblings for me?” Kjell asked. “I know it might be too much, but there’s no one else I could entrust them to…”
Corentin gave Kjell a reassuring smile. “Your family is in good hands.” Corentin decided it was time to give Kjell the good news. “Thibault brought them over to the consulate last night and they’ve applied for asylum. We’ll be taking care of them until we can send them to Saintonge.”
“Really?” Relief was what Kjell felt. His family would be alright. “Monsieur Guyton,” Kjell turned to Thibault, “thank you for helping me and my family.”
Thibault nodded, suppressing the urge to cry. He was talking to a dead man. Someone who would be gone tomorrow. “Please forgive me… if I wasn’t able to save you…”
Kjell did not understand why Thibault was blaming himself. “Monsieur Guyton, I am grateful for you and your kindness to us,” Kjell told Thibault. “You don’t know us, but you still helped us...”
“If there’s anything I could do for you, I would do,” Thibault murmured. “If I could grant you your last wishes, I would do it...”
After some hesitation, Kjell voiced out his wish. “I… want to see my family before I die…”
Corentin looked at Thibault. Bringing the Kvakkestads and Starrfelts to the militia headquarters was out of the question. Santonian diplomatic protection does not extend beyond the confines of the consulate. Neither will Captain Arnöy consent to Kjell going on an outside pass.
“Kjell,” Corentin began, “I’m afraid that… that is impossible.” Corentin took some pen and paper from his bag and passed it to Kjell. “Write a letter, we’ll get them tomorrow. They’re not allowing visits. This visit we are having… was an exception because we are diplomats – ”
“Corentin!” Thibault interrupted his boss. There was a twinkle in Thibault’s eyes. He was up to something. Thibault held up the standard-issue Nolf smartphone for Santonian diplomats. All Santonian diplomats have a smartphone connected to Saintonge’s satellite phone communications and global positioning system. “Can we use this?”
Corentin grinned at Thibault’s idea. “Sure!”
Thibault connected to Saintonge’s satellite internet and placed a video call to the phone at the embassy. Judith picked up the call.
“Hello? Judith! Get the Kvakkestads and Starrfelts.”
As Judith went to call the families, Kjell looked curiously at Thibault’s phone. “We’re going to make a video call,” Thibault told Kjell. “At least… you can still see them.”
“Thank you, Monsieur Guyton.”
A few minutes later, the Kvakkestads and Starrfelts were on the other end of the line. Thibault simply gave the phone to Kjell.
“Kjell! My son!” Hrafnborg Starrfelt’s voice could be heard from the phone. “Are you going to be free?”
Kjell stood the phone on the table. His hands were starting to shake from the upcoming wave of emotions. He could see his mother and siblings and Matthildur, all evidently emotional. Oh how he longed to be with them… but he had to make do with a screen.
“Mamma…” Kjell started to choke up with sadness and despair. “I’m going to die tomorrow…”
“Nooooooo!” Hrafnborg cried forlornly. “Kjell...” She started to sob. Kjell momentarily looked away; he didn’t want to see his mother so anguished like that. “I’m sorry…” Hrafnborg fell on her knees. “I should have listened to you… please forgive me…”
Kjell blinked away the tears forming in his eyes. “Mamma...” Not once did he blame his mother for his fate. His mother who gave birth to him, his mother who caressed his pain away when he was a small child, his mother who raised him for seventeen years… why should he blame her? “…don’t blame yourself.”
“Kjell…” With her shaking hand, Hrafnborg slowly reached out towards the phone in a futile and impossible attempt to touch her son’s face. She withdrew her hand to her bosom when she realised that he was nothing but a despondent visage on a screen. “… I wish I could be there with you… touch you… hug you…”
Kjell wiped off the tears from his cheeks. He wanted to hug his mother too… but words were all he had. “Mamma… I love you.”
“I love you son…” Hrafnborg murmured. “If I could do anything… to have you back…” Her words were overtaken with grief. Matthildur and Dorothea, who were also crying, went by her side to console her.
“Kjell, what will happen to us?” Matthildur asked ruefully.
Kjell looked at her girlfriend’s face for a long time. He wanted to remember her beautiful face, a face he’d never see again. He knew what would happen to him… “I love you, Matthildur. Please remember me…”
Matthildur nodded. “I will,” she put her right fist over her chest. “You will always be here in my heart…”
“Kjell, please don’t leave us!” Dorothea pleaded.
“I don’t want to leave too,” Kjell said glumly. “But they will take me away…” Kjell tamped down on his emotions to relay one last request to his sister. “Dorothea, please take care of mamma for me. Take care of grandma too. And Kolbeinn and Kolbjörn.” The weeping Dorothea nodded as she listened to her brother’s words. “Be there for them,” Kjell told her, resisting the urge to weep himself. “I love you.”
“STARRFELT!” The room’s door opened violently and a militiaman entered. “YOUR VISIT TIME IS OVER!”
“But we’re not done yet.” Corentin tried to negotiate for more time.
“You’re only given half an hour,” the militiaman said brusquely, who strode towards Kjell to grab him to take him away.
“STOP IT!” Thibault ordered. “Let him say farewell.”
For the last time, Kjell looked at the screen. “Mamma, Matthildur, Dorothea… I love you… Goodbye…” The crying from the other end of the line intensified, so much so that even the militiaman felt uncomfortable.
“Let’s go,” the militiaman forced Kjell to stand up. Corentin retrieved the phone. “I’m sorry, they’re carrying him away… we gotta go.”
As the militiaman half-dragged, half-carried the reluctant Kjell out of the room, Thibault went up to them and put the pen and paper in Kjell’s hands. “Write a letter for your family. I’ll be back tomorrow.”
Music: Lacuna Coil - End of Time
24 August 2012
11:10 am
Santonian consulate, Darrow
“No, not my son!” Hrafnborg wailed as she read the poster that Judith brought back home. “Not my Kjell!”
The Santonians gathered the Kvakkestads and Starrfelts into one of the offices in the Santonian consulate to break the news. The Santonians could only watch as the two families broke down in tears. Thibault could not bear to look at the families’ anguish.
“Why Kjell?” Matthildur thought out loud. “Why does it have to be him?” She last saw her boyfriend at the window, two days ago when Thibault caught them. She hadn’t even said a proper goodbye to him. She stared at Thibault as tears filled her eyes. Thibault Guyton was responsible for separating them. Yet she could not bring herself to be mad at the Santonian. He didn’t understand then how important Kjell was to her… and when he realised it, he became the bridge between the two. How could she be angry at the guy who also looked as much affected as she was?
“Mister Thibault…” Matthildur called out the diplomat’s name, and then pleaded softly, “Please save Kjell…”
Thibault turned to Matthildur. His glistening eyes hinted about his feelings. He inhaled deeply and steeled his resolve to fight for an innocent life. “I’ll try,” Thibault declared. “I’ll try.”
“Thibault and I will be going to the militia headquarters,” Corentin Chouinard told the families. The Santonian consul-general felt the need to apprise the families of the chances of success. They should not get their hopes so high. “We will petition the militia to release Kjell. But I can’t guarantee that they will,” Corentin laid a hand on Hrafnborg’s arm. “We’ll try to do the best that we can. But we have to be prepared for the worst.”
* * *
24 August 2012
03:17 pm
Syndicalist People’s Militia Headquarters, Darrow
Hugbert had heard rumours that the twenty prisoners were being held at the militia’s headquarters. It was an obvious choice. It was the Syndicalist People’s Militia that was instigating the reprisals.
The head of the Syndicalist People’s Militia in town, Captain Auðbjörn Arnöy, was not expecting the Santonians. But he entertained them just as well. He didn’t want them complaining to higher-ups in Býkonsviði.
After introducing each other and exchanging pleasantries, Corentin Chouinard and Thibault Guyton sat on the chair in front of Captain Arnöy’s desk.
“So, what can I do for you?’ Captain Arnöy asked.
Thibault resisted answering “release all prisoners”. But Thibault promised Corentin that he would let the more even-tempered consul handle the negotiations.
“Thank you for hearing us,” Corentin began. “We came here concerning one of your prisoners, Kjell Thor Starrfelt.”
Captain Arnöy leaned back on his cushioned chair. He knew where this was heading. “What about him?”
“He is an asylum-seeker in the Santonian consulate,” Corentin declared. Never mind that Nathalie still had not finished his papers. Never mind that they still had not transmitted the Starrfelts’ asylum application to Býkonsviði.
“Oh, that’s too bad,” Captain Arnöy said with mock sympathy. Captain Arnöy leant forward and smiled impishly. “But he’s ours now.”
Corentin mentally laid down his cards. They’re not much, but maybe they could score. “I understand that,” Corentin replied. “But maybe you could spare a child from execution? He is seventeen.”
Captain Arnöy chuckled sardonically. “He is no child, Consul Chouinard,” the captain declared. “If a boy’s old enough to carry arms, he’s not a kid anymore. I have militiamen younger than seventeen. They fight. They kill. If they can kill, they can be killed too.”
“But he’s technically under the protection of the Santonian consulate,” Corentin said emphatically.
“Is he a Santonian citizen? I can give him to you if he is,” Captain Arnöy toyed with a pencil on his desk. “But as far as I know, he is not.” The captain straightened back up. “I hope you know that Santonian protection only extends within your premises.”
“Protection that your men tried to breach two days ago,” Corentin reminded the captain. It was his backup trump card. “I already told Býkonsviði about it.” Corentin had already sent a report to the embassy a few hours after the invasion. Ambassador Lasmartres told Consul Chouinard that he can use that fact to the fullest… which Corentin intended to do. “We can make that issue die down,” Corentin whispered. “If you just let us have this one.”
Captain Arnöy sniggered. The Syndicalist government could do nothing about Leiftur’s militia. They could rampage over the breadth of Prydania and still get decorated and praised for their efforts.
“Do you seriously think the Syndicalist government will act against the Syndicalist People’s Militia?” Captain Arnöy told the Santonian consul. “You got your agreement because one of you got killed.” The captain was referring to the 2003 Buhl-Lasmartres Agreement that largely allowed Saintonge to operate consulates and safehouses for refugees and asylum-seekers. “We are not going to make that mistake again,” Captain Arnöy continued, “Why do you think I prevented my men from storming your consulate?”
“Thank you for your restraint, captain,” Corentin said, trying to ingratiate himself with the head of militia based in town.
“I’m not complaining even if he” – the captain pointed to Thibault – “shot at one of our militiamen. It doesn’t matter, I can blame it on Flaatten.”
Corentin nodded.
“I have no hesitations doing that because I know we were in the wrong,” Captain Arnöy told the consul. “I hope you also know the limitations of what you can do, Consul.”
Captain Arnöy stood up from his seat and started to pace around behind his desk. “We tolerate your presence here because that’s what the Prydanian Foreign Ministry and the government wants us to do. Some of the Syndicalist commanders despise the Santonians in their area of operations. I don’t.” Captain Arnöy stopped and turned towards the Santonians. “In fact I would like to thank you.”
Corentin gave the captain a quizzical look.
“You Santonians do a better job in imprisoning the backsliders than the Prydanian police do.” Captain Arnöy gave out a short sly laugh. “You house them in one building, you prevent them from coming out, you prevent them from communicating outside. You contain these undesirables and unreformables properly. Honestly, I would like to thank you for doing a service to Prydania – Saintonge saves us bullets by taking care of these unwanted people and getting them out of Prydania.”
Corentin interrupted the captain. “Why not save more bullets by giving Kjell to us?”
“Consul, I am hanging them tomorrow, not shooting them,” Captain Arnöy retorted wryly. “You know, if the civil authorities and police here in Darrow were as efficient as you Santonians in neutralising these backsliders… this wouldn’t have happened.”
“But is it right that innocent people are going to die because of the incompetence of the civil authorities?” Corentin challenged the captain.
“They’re not innocent,” Captain Arnöy said dismissively. “They tolerated the presence of backsliders in town. If they did not tolerate it, they would have tipped us off about the plot and done something about it.”
“Do you know it was them who knew about the plots and tolerated it?”
“Don’t be naïve, consul, nobody is going to admit they knew about it,” Captain Arnöy answered. “This is a lesson. This is a deterrent. This is a punishment.”
“Is it proportionate?”
“I think it is,” Captain Arnöy said confidently. “Look, if you have issues with this, bring it to your higher-ups.” The captain smirked. “I’m sure they also won’t be able to do anything.”
Corentin realised he was getting nowhere with the captain. But Captain Arnöy was not finished. “Also, let’s say we give the guy that you want. We’ll simply replace him with another one.” Captain Arnöy looked squarely at Corentin. “Can you handle that? Somebody else who wasn’t supposed to die… dying because of your request?”
Corentin fell silent. The captain had a point. If the Santonians saved Kjell, somebody else has to take his place.
“Then put me in his place,” Thibault offered doughtily. Corentin’s jaw fell. Even Captain Arnöy was surprised.
For a moment everyone did not know what to say next. Was Thibault Guyton really offering himself to take Kjell Thor Starrfelt’s place in the gallows? Could the Prydanians do that? What would Saintonge do?
Captain Arnöy took his seat again and smiled approvingly at Thibault. “I admire your courage, soldier,” the captain told Thibault. Inasmuch as the Santonians were a nuisance, he genuinely admired the guy. “I wish many of my men are as brave and as selfless as you are. Are you really ready to die for someone you don’t know?”
“I am ready to die for the innocent,” Thibault said curtly.
“Is there really anyone who is innocent?” Captain Arnöy wondered. “Innocence is subjective.”
“We believe Kjell Thor Starrfelt is innocent,” Corentin declared.
“And we think he is as guilty as all the people of Darrow,” Captain Arnöy replied. “Darrow is lucky we didn’t kill everyone. You see, every common man, woman, and child are natural Syndicalists,” Captain Arnöy continued. “Either they don’t know it, or they are rebelling against it. Kjell Thor Starrfelt is not with us. He is against us, and he is guilty of either ignorance or rebellion.”
The consul sighed. He wasn’t going anywhere. “I still hope you will consider our request – ”
“I considered it, and I rejected it,” Captain Arnöy said flatly.
“We will come back tomorrow,” Thibault said. “Think this decision over.”
“Also,” Corentin continued, “we would like to see Kjell Thor Starrfelt.”
“What for?”
“We would like to talk to him.”
“Now that,” Captain Arnöy said, “I can grant to you. Only because you are Santonians. The others… they won’t get to see anyone before they are hung.”
* * *
24 August 2012
04:05 pm
Syndicalist People’s Militia Headquarters, Darrow
The militia set aside one room where the Santonians could meet the condemned. Corentin and Thibault sat on one end of the table as they waited for Kjell to be brought in.
After a few minutes, a militiaman shoved a handcuffed Kjell into the room and closed the door with a loud bang.
Kjell Thor Starrfelt appeared wretched and miserable. He was wearing the same clothes that Thibault saw him in two days ago, only that they were now dirty and grimy. His unwashed face was creased with fear and apprehension. His eyes were red from the sleepless nights.
His expression lightened up a bit when he saw Thibault Guyton. “Monsieur Guyton!” Kjell greeted him eagerly as he sat in front of the Santonian diplomat. “Are you here to help me?”
Thibault dreaded looking at Kjell, afraid of the teenager’s reaction to the news. Because he knew he would be disappointed. Because he did not have any good news to bring.
“Hello, Kjell,” Corentin started the conversation. “I am Corentin Chouinard, Santonian consul-general.” Corentin shook Kjell’s handcuffed hand. “Thibault is my subordinate.”
“Nice to meet you, Monsieur Chouinard,” Kjell said politely. The lack of any word from Thibault hinted to Kjell that this wouldn’t be as good as he thought this would be. The fleeting smile slowly disappeared from Kjell’s face.
Corentin debated which one to tell Kjell first: the results of his negotiations with Captain Arnöy or his family’s condition.
“Kjell,” Thibault said softly, “We tried… but we failed. I’m sorry.”
Kjell could not understand what Thibault was saying. It was left to Corentin to clarify it.
“We negotiated with Captain Arnöy of the Syndicalist People’s Militia for your release,” Corentin informed Kjell, “but Captain Arnöy refused to set you free.”
Kjell became more sullen. “I guess… I’d be dying tomorrow…” He had been mulling over his fate for the past few days. Right from the time he was put in the truck to the militia’s prison. He had a sense of dread and doom. Yesterday, the militia announced that everyone was going to draw lots to select the twenty people to be hung. He drew short.
Kjell cried when he learnt of his fate. “Why me? What about my mother? What about my grandma? What will happen to Dorothea, to Kolbeinn, to Kolbjörn?” His friend Ósvífur Spilde comforted him. But it wasn’t long before the condemned were pried away from the rest and sent into separate cells.
What cruel fate this was! Kjell was not ready to die. He had dreams of continuing his studies in school. He wanted to see his siblings grow up. He wanted to be with Matthildur and start a family with her. All of those… would no longer happen. His family depended on him. He worried about the hardships his family would have to face once he was gone. It gave him never ending distress.
These Santonians tried to be his saviour. They were not able to save him, but… “I appreciate your help for me,” Kjell told Corentin and Thibault. “But would you monsieurs allow me to make one humble request?”
Corentin nodded solemnly.
“Can you please take care of my mum, my grandma, and my siblings for me?” Kjell asked. “I know it might be too much, but there’s no one else I could entrust them to…”
Corentin gave Kjell a reassuring smile. “Your family is in good hands.” Corentin decided it was time to give Kjell the good news. “Thibault brought them over to the consulate last night and they’ve applied for asylum. We’ll be taking care of them until we can send them to Saintonge.”
“Really?” Relief was what Kjell felt. His family would be alright. “Monsieur Guyton,” Kjell turned to Thibault, “thank you for helping me and my family.”
Thibault nodded, suppressing the urge to cry. He was talking to a dead man. Someone who would be gone tomorrow. “Please forgive me… if I wasn’t able to save you…”
Kjell did not understand why Thibault was blaming himself. “Monsieur Guyton, I am grateful for you and your kindness to us,” Kjell told Thibault. “You don’t know us, but you still helped us...”
“If there’s anything I could do for you, I would do,” Thibault murmured. “If I could grant you your last wishes, I would do it...”
After some hesitation, Kjell voiced out his wish. “I… want to see my family before I die…”
Corentin looked at Thibault. Bringing the Kvakkestads and Starrfelts to the militia headquarters was out of the question. Santonian diplomatic protection does not extend beyond the confines of the consulate. Neither will Captain Arnöy consent to Kjell going on an outside pass.
“Kjell,” Corentin began, “I’m afraid that… that is impossible.” Corentin took some pen and paper from his bag and passed it to Kjell. “Write a letter, we’ll get them tomorrow. They’re not allowing visits. This visit we are having… was an exception because we are diplomats – ”
“Corentin!” Thibault interrupted his boss. There was a twinkle in Thibault’s eyes. He was up to something. Thibault held up the standard-issue Nolf smartphone for Santonian diplomats. All Santonian diplomats have a smartphone connected to Saintonge’s satellite phone communications and global positioning system. “Can we use this?”
Corentin grinned at Thibault’s idea. “Sure!”
Thibault connected to Saintonge’s satellite internet and placed a video call to the phone at the embassy. Judith picked up the call.
“Hello? Judith! Get the Kvakkestads and Starrfelts.”
As Judith went to call the families, Kjell looked curiously at Thibault’s phone. “We’re going to make a video call,” Thibault told Kjell. “At least… you can still see them.”
“Thank you, Monsieur Guyton.”
A few minutes later, the Kvakkestads and Starrfelts were on the other end of the line. Thibault simply gave the phone to Kjell.
“Kjell! My son!” Hrafnborg Starrfelt’s voice could be heard from the phone. “Are you going to be free?”
Kjell stood the phone on the table. His hands were starting to shake from the upcoming wave of emotions. He could see his mother and siblings and Matthildur, all evidently emotional. Oh how he longed to be with them… but he had to make do with a screen.
“Mamma…” Kjell started to choke up with sadness and despair. “I’m going to die tomorrow…”
“Nooooooo!” Hrafnborg cried forlornly. “Kjell...” She started to sob. Kjell momentarily looked away; he didn’t want to see his mother so anguished like that. “I’m sorry…” Hrafnborg fell on her knees. “I should have listened to you… please forgive me…”
Kjell blinked away the tears forming in his eyes. “Mamma...” Not once did he blame his mother for his fate. His mother who gave birth to him, his mother who caressed his pain away when he was a small child, his mother who raised him for seventeen years… why should he blame her? “…don’t blame yourself.”
“Kjell…” With her shaking hand, Hrafnborg slowly reached out towards the phone in a futile and impossible attempt to touch her son’s face. She withdrew her hand to her bosom when she realised that he was nothing but a despondent visage on a screen. “… I wish I could be there with you… touch you… hug you…”
Kjell wiped off the tears from his cheeks. He wanted to hug his mother too… but words were all he had. “Mamma… I love you.”
“I love you son…” Hrafnborg murmured. “If I could do anything… to have you back…” Her words were overtaken with grief. Matthildur and Dorothea, who were also crying, went by her side to console her.
“Kjell, what will happen to us?” Matthildur asked ruefully.
Kjell looked at her girlfriend’s face for a long time. He wanted to remember her beautiful face, a face he’d never see again. He knew what would happen to him… “I love you, Matthildur. Please remember me…”
Matthildur nodded. “I will,” she put her right fist over her chest. “You will always be here in my heart…”
“Kjell, please don’t leave us!” Dorothea pleaded.
“I don’t want to leave too,” Kjell said glumly. “But they will take me away…” Kjell tamped down on his emotions to relay one last request to his sister. “Dorothea, please take care of mamma for me. Take care of grandma too. And Kolbeinn and Kolbjörn.” The weeping Dorothea nodded as she listened to her brother’s words. “Be there for them,” Kjell told her, resisting the urge to weep himself. “I love you.”
“STARRFELT!” The room’s door opened violently and a militiaman entered. “YOUR VISIT TIME IS OVER!”
“But we’re not done yet.” Corentin tried to negotiate for more time.
“You’re only given half an hour,” the militiaman said brusquely, who strode towards Kjell to grab him to take him away.
“STOP IT!” Thibault ordered. “Let him say farewell.”
For the last time, Kjell looked at the screen. “Mamma, Matthildur, Dorothea… I love you… Goodbye…” The crying from the other end of the line intensified, so much so that even the militiaman felt uncomfortable.
“Let’s go,” the militiaman forced Kjell to stand up. Corentin retrieved the phone. “I’m sorry, they’re carrying him away… we gotta go.”
As the militiaman half-dragged, half-carried the reluctant Kjell out of the room, Thibault went up to them and put the pen and paper in Kjell’s hands. “Write a letter for your family. I’ll be back tomorrow.”
Last edited: