A Story of mine

Having Mercy
By Stormi Donnelly

He came from deep in the woods. Where there was nothing but he and his people. Some of them had been exiled. Banished from the villages and towns where there free ways of thinking were not accepted. There dark and mystical workings were feared. Some of there brutal behaviors invoked retaliation. Though it was a fate far better than the alternative. Many had been burned, stoned, drowned, and hung for refusing to leave or run and hide. They faced death out in the open, cursing the people who ran from oppression to spread more seeds of hate and intolerance, and the god that made them do it. Everyone in the village was accustomed to the sounds of torture. The snapping of necks in ropes, the gurgling and sputtering for air, the breaking of bones and the ripping of flesh from being drawn and quartered. The banished wandered the woods just across the river. You could catch a glimpse of the hooded figures on bright full moon lit nights. But it was forbidden to get close enough to the waters edge for that to be possible. It was on those nights that the executions were carried out and the banished gathered to hear the screams and morn those of there kind that gave there lives so that others could see. Mercy had seen this, not many had. No one went there, never across the river. But she had always been curious. Even still she felt for them, having been turned away from there homes and families.

They could since when someone was near, someone not of there own. She knew there was danger, but she also knew that the banished had all been warned, told to leave her to him. Donovon, the youngest son of a long past elder. They respected him, they listened. He knew they would never ask why. She crept threw the woods toward the base of the mountain. He appeared as if from thin air behind her, a cold dark glare on his face. He grabbed her shoulder, spun her around, and leaned into her. His massive frame covered her twice over. He looked like a demon, she looked like a doll. She still wore the scar from there first meeting, the blade he had held to her throat still vivid in her mind. This young woman, so fragile, so soft. He could hurt her. Indeed he wanted to. To be rid of her. He hated this girl. If she were gone he would not have to hide his transgressions. He looked down at her and she up at him. She smiled seemingly unaffected by the overt aggression and persistent hatred in his eyes. He sighed and leaned down to press his forehead to hers.

He thought about what her presence had done to him for the past year, how weak he felt around her. He wanted to put fear in her, to drive her away, to rip her tender flesh and leave her to die, blood soaked and writhing in agony on the forest floor for what she had done to him. So many other village girls had wandered to far from home and been ensnared by the web of the woods. No one would come for them, they knew that. They where made to be servants, whores, or sacrifices. He himself had defiled and even taken the lives of young women that Mercy would have called friend. He had raked his blade across countless necks, he so enjoyed the warm blood spilling down his arms and the begging, the crying, the pleading. There pain, so intense he could almost feel it inside himself. So why then could he not do what he desperately wanted to do to her, what he was raised and trained to do to “Those people” the ones who made him and his people what they were. How was she able to keep him at bay with a glance? Why when he looked into her eyes did he not see fear?

“Tell me something Mercy.” he whispered. “Do you fear pain? Do you fear death?” She tilted her head and replied, “It matters not if I fear these things here, I know in my soul that I will suffer no harm at your hands.” He stood up straight and looked away with a sigh. He knew in his soul that her words rang true. He could never harm her, had he the strength he would have already. He took her hand in his and lead her down the long narrow path around the base of the mountain. A path that they had walked together many times. He knew the way without steeling a glance. Down the steep hill into the thick of the woods. Down where the wind had arched the trees to the extreme left. They walked hand in hand, he stared at the ground and she at him. They were there again, he didn’t need to look to see, he knew. Back at the place where he took her when he could not fight his weakness for her. Where he let her make him smile, and laugh, and yearn for a life with her out of secret. Where he could take her in his arms, let her touch him, and they could roll together in the leaves. Where he told her he loved her and filled her with his seed, over and over. Where they spent there nights hiding from both there worlds, sinning against the gods of both of there people.

To many times to count. There was nothing else, just the two of them in there passion. They knew the consequence of there actions, she would be burnt as a witch by her people, and he buried alive for not killing one of “Those people”. More than once some of the villagers had seen Mercy wandering to close to the forbidden areas and she had been chastised for it. Locked in a small room in the church and forced to fast and pray for days for forgiveness for her disobedience. While in seclusion she thought of the things her lover had done, things that she had seen with her own eyes. Like when the farm boy had followed her into the woods and Donovon had leached out at him from a tree where he had been perched, waiting, the blade like claws that all his people wore on there fingers ripping the boys flesh from the side of his face, and the joyous look on Donovons face as the blood splattered across him, the way he licked his lips when the blood hit his mouth. But she always came back to him upon her release to revel in his embrace once more. Her people called it witchcraft, his people called it treason. He could never explain this away, nor could she, it had been to long, they were in to deep. Her people would try to kill him too no doubt, for defiling the innocent young women of there village. She was already close to trouble, some of the people felt she would corrupt the other young women. Little did they know, in there secret place, where all was safe, they had been found out.

Glacier, Donovons’ older brother had followed the two sets of foot prints in the loose soil down the slope to find with complete shock, his brother, in the trawls of ecstasy with this beautiful young woman. His brother had been mysteriously vanishing for hours at a time for over a year and refused angrily any request for explanation from anyone who dare inquire. He had seen the look on his brothers face while he was with her. He knew right away, exactly what was coming. He had heard the elders speak of there hatred for the village, and vow there vengeance for the death of so many of there people. He had heard the reverend preach his hatred of the banished, and how they should have been delivered for judgment to god rather than just sent away to spread there evil. For over thirty years the banished had been slaughtering the farmers livestock, defiling there young women, and tempting there youths. In retaliation the villagers had made a public spectacle of the pagan execution, screaming and taunting “Thou shall not suffer a witch to live!” This union would be a match to ignite a war.

The cold had just set in when her belly began to grow. She began making her cloths larger, she wore a long heavy cape that hung loose. She had just come out of a long seclusion, nearly a week she spent locked away for her inability to conform to the ideals of the family and church to which she had always belonged. She was whipped repeatedly and bound in a kneeling, praying position. As soon as she was released she went straight home and told her father that she needed more time to pray and fast before she could come out among the people. Her father was pleased, he felt as if this time his daughter truly would reform herself, something for which he had longed her whole life. A few moments after she went into her room her father came to give her a family bible for some inspiration. There he saw her climbing out the large window in her room. He became furious and began to scream that she would never see the light of day again, he would have her locked away forever as he stomped angrily from her room. Mercy could not bare this thought, she picked up her hand mirror from her chest and broke it on her bed post. She picked up a large broken shard and ran down the hall after him. She jumped on his back and dug the glass into his neck, over and over she flailed the glass across his throat until he stopped moving.

As soon as she realized what she had done she ran back down the hall and slid out the window and ran as fast as her cold bare feet could carry her. She found Donovon walking the woods, his face stained with despair. He had feared the worst. That something terrible had happened to his love. His blood boiled at the thought of what he would do to “those people”. He saw her running toward him, her nose and cheeks bright red from the sting of the cold wind. He ran to meet her and threw his arms around her. He lifted her to his face and kissed her deeply. He sat her back down to ask where she had been, what had happened, why had her gown been spattered with blood, he had so many questions. But before he could utter even one she grabbed his wrist with one hand and lifted her gown and cape with the other. She placed his hand on her swollen belly and whimpered. “Look what we’ve done.” Donovon looked shocked. Just then they heard a voice.

“The seed of evil planted in the soil of innocence” Donovon spun around to draw his blade. It was Glacier.
“And the deed of betrayal in the form of love” he continued as he walked, “Your bible sentences you to death and damnation for what grows inside you girl”. Donovon kept his hand on his blade, he never thought it would come to this, but he was ready to sleigh his own brother to protect his love. Glacier spoke softly as he drew nearer, “If I lunge you would bury that dagger to the hilt in my heart no doubt”. “But I have known of your indiscretion for quite some time, and you are not as innocent as you once were are you girl?” Donovon spoke out, “Then why until now have you remained silent on this matter”? “There is going to be a war little brother, this child, from this union, that should bring new peace, will bring death and it will rain hell upon us all at dusk… tonight”. Glacier insisted.

“How do you know this brother”? Donovon replied. Glacier continued, “The elders ordered a servant girl raped, murdered, and mutilated and left her on the church steps. The villagers ready there soldiers”.
“They thought the girl was Mercy, brother, you must hide her”. Donovons eyes widen, he looked to his love, the glow of the life inside her apparent all around her. “Take her to your hiding place, Kia will be there, she is gathering those who wish no part in this fight, Winter is doing the same with the villagers.”
Glacier ended as he walked away hastily. Donovon took Mercy by the hand a raced her down the path. They saw Kia sitting there inside the trees waiting for them. Kia was in line to be an elder, she was a healer, why was she doing this Donovon wondered. Donovon wrapped his arms around Mercy and kissed her passionately. “Stay here, the others will be here soon”. He said as he walked away. “Where are you going”? Mercy cried out. “This is our fate, I must defend it”. He ran into the woods before she could say another word.

Mercy paced around weeping for several minutes. Then they heard it. Men with cycles, bows, sabers and stones from the east, shouting curses of hatred, oppression and vengeance. Men with crossbows, pitchforks, and muskets from the west, and there cries of revenge, cleansing, and evil. It had begun.
The others who wanted no part in the fight had begun to arrive as well. They could see the flicker of the torches threw the trees, they could hear the clang of the blades, the shots fired, and the screams of pain.
Where was Donovon? Mercy looked at a young boy holding a dagger hiding with them, she knelt beside him and asked him gently if she could use it for a little while. The child nodded and Mercy took the dagger and placed it in the waist tie of her cape. She grabbed a torch and slipped out the back and headed toward her village, away from the fighting. Once she had reached the church, the place where she had been starved, beaten, and locked away so many times. She walked threw the front door and picked up a lantern from the high table by the door. She threw it at the pulpit where that reverend had filled so many heads with lies. She took the torch and set fire to the drapes. She walked away watching the women and children left behind there scatter in fear. She then walked to her own home and did the same.

The fire spread quickly threw the village, the hay, the dried leaves, it all went up in flames.
She stood by the river bank watching the flames in a trance like state, the crackle of the roaring fire in front of her and the swords banging and muskets firing in back. They all deserve to die she thought, everyone here, all bigots, rapists, killers, or cowards. But then maybe so do I, I’m no better, she thought to herself.
She sat on the ground in the dark, dagger in hand for several hours. The flames and anger raged all around her. As the dawn approached and the senders dwindled, she took the foot bridge back across the river to the woods. When she reached the top of the hill, it was a blood bath. The ground littered with bodies, some dead, some on there way. Less then a half a dozen men still stood. In one night the two colonies had wiped themselves out. Themselves or each other, no matter now.

As she walked the battle field looking for Donovon a man reached up and grabbed her leg, “Help… Me” he sputtered blood on her foot. She leaned down and took the mans hand, with one quick thrust she gave him the only help she could. She slit his throat and ended his suffering. She continued down the path thinking how it dose get easier every time. There in the path nearly to the hiding place she saw Glacier consoling Donovon. She walked to them slowly. Donovon looked up quickly hearing her feet in the leaves, he gasped out and scooped her up in his arms. He buried his face in her neck and whispered “I knew you weren’t dead, I thought they had taken you”. She looked into his eyes, he could see what she had done.
At the end of all the blood, smoke, and ashes there were 18 people left, people that would one day be the same as the others, just as she had been. And no one was sure what they had saved.