Mercy

“Mercy!”

“Please, oh Holy Highspirit, grant your humble servant mercy.”

His voice croaked as he cried out and his eyes would not open.

“Where am I?”

He tried to wipe the gunk off his face with his left hand. The right hand wrapped around the Book, and even if he tried to move it, it would not have moved.

He blinked and the left eye opened and light streamed through, but his right eyelid stuck shut. This time, using his thumbnail, he rubbed the right eye and felt the dried gunk break free. He blinked again and both eyes finally opened.

Finding himself lying prone under the rocky outcropping, his memory slowly returned and the events of the morning flooded back. He hid in the outcropping after his escape as the Northerners attacked the village. He took the Book wrapped in his arm to protect it. The Book included his life’s work and hope for the future. It laid out the Highspirit’s holy word which he transcribed directly from the Highspirit for future generations to read.

He tried to crawl out but pain racked his body and made him scream and he nearly fainted. 

Slowly, he opened his eyes again. His upper torso was free from under the rocks and now lay across branches and leaves littering the ground. He looked around trying to orient himself. Dried blood covered the forest floor and from the pain he felt in his abdomen, he assumed the blood came from him. He looked at his left hand and then his thumbnail and under the nail, more dried blood.

Cautiously, he crawled a bit further. The pain returned, but not enough to scream or faint as he was ready this time. Soon, his whole body emerged from the rocks. He needed rest, water, medical help, and to get the Book to safety. His breath raced from the movement (plus the realization of his danger) and his eyes lost a little focus.

What seemed like hours later (but really no more than twenty minutes passed), with his breath slowing, he tried to sit up. Ten minutes later, his back rested against a tree and he looked around, this clearing looked familiar. This is the clearing where he first met the Highspirit a little over three years ago. He spent the next three years following the Holy Man learning valuable lessons and recording the Highspirit’s actions to pass along. The Book costs more than a year’s earnings as a librarian, but its true value, beyond belief, especially with the Highspirit now gone. Gone to the eternal sunset, gone to sit in judgment of all races and creatures upon death.

He must get up and return to the Abbey. The brothers would be looking for him after hearing about the raid on the village. Brother Cawladan needed to finish copying and transcribing into his Book for a second full copy.

Looking up to the sky, he could tell by the position of Trilison in relationship to its bigger brother Buaxon-the-Red that it was past midday. Without help, the half-day journey to the Abbey was impossible in his condition. Maybe if he sat here a villager would see him and aid his travel. Maybe if he prayed to the Highspirit aid would come. He closed his eyes and started humming the Highspirit’s words. For five minutes he prayed, lost to the world around him. Then he bowed his head and touched his forehead with the back of his palm, raised his head and opened his eyes to the two suns crossing the heavens. The final passage of prayer crossed his lips and he felt better.

Until he lowered his head and saw the Northerner looking right at him, no more than twenty-five feet away. The brown hair across the high shoulders and the almost bearlike snout were unmistakable. Wet blood still dripped from each axe. A pack of five Northerners was as fierce as a full patrol of humans. In his condition, even with one Northerner, he didn’t stand a chance.

Snarling the Northerner stepped forward, blood lust filled his eyes.

“Mercy.”

The Northerner slowed a bit.

“Mercy please.”

He looked up as the Northerner towered over him. The gold band around the left wrist marked the Northerner as a pack leader and a brutal warrior. 

“Mercy” he pleaded again.

The Northerner dropped the ax from his left hand and squatted down, investigating the human below.

“Mercy” he pleaded again.

Then he remembered that most Northerners did not understand human.

He tried to remember the bear word for mercy.

The warrior reached out and grabbed the bloody mass of robes surrounding his abdomen and white-hot light blinded him with pain as he screamed in agony.

The Northerner laughed, squeezed again, and the clearing filled with screams once more.

Even with the pain, he continued to try to remember the bear word for mercy, hoping beyond hope for relief.

The Northerner’s laughter rolled out of his belly, deep and ominous.

The man looked up, tears running down his bloody face. 

“Gwrallloooo” he finally said.

The Northerner stared at him; laughter silent for a second.

“Gwrallloooo, Mercy” the man repeated

“Gwrallloooo?”

Nodding and breathing hard, “Yes, gwralllooo, mercy, please, gwralllooo.”

The Northerner rose and repeated “Gwrallloooo, mercy.”

“Thank you….gooorrraaaan…thank you.”

The Northerner poked the Book with the ax in his right hand. “Mercy?”

Nodding, “Yes, this Book is Mercy, gwralllooo.”

The Northerner grabbed the Book and ripped it out of his hand. The pain was unbearable and he screamed. Tears flowed from his eyes. Looking down he realized the Book had acted as a bandage, stopping the blood from a gaping wound in his abdomen. Now, the blood poured out on his robe. The Northerner’s laughter filled the clearing again as he looked down.

Catching his breath, he wiped the tears from his face. “Highspirit, please help me” he begged. “Please come to me in time of need.”

The Northerner dropped the Book, bent down and pulled the robe away from his body, ripping the wound more and increasing the flow of blood. He felt lightheaded and his eyesight flickered. 

“Highspirit, please show me mercy.”

“Gwrallloooo?”

“Yes, please, gwralllooo.”  

The Northerner opened the Book and laid it on the man's lap.

Looking down, the story of forgiveness and faith stared back at him. He read it. The Highspirit preached forgiveness for all, even those that do you harm. He looked up at the Northerner and smiled.

”Gooorrraaaan, thank you.”

“Gwrallloooo, Mercy” the Northerner repeated, tapping the page.

Standing again, the Northern removed a coin from the leather pouch on his belt, running it through his fingers and flipping it into the air several times. Finally, he showed the man one side of the coin, with the image of a claw, then flipped it over to the image of an ax.

Then, pointing at the blood-stained wound and then the image of an ax on the coin, “Mercy, gwralllooo.”

The man understood. He nodded but put his left hand up, palm towards the Northerner, begging for a moment. Lowering his head, he hummed a prayer again. The Northerner recognized it from earlier and stood waiting. 

As he pressed his hand against his forehead, he looked up, resting his head against the bark, then watched the Northerner flip the coin in the air. The coin glinted in the sunlight, turned over several times and fell to the ground behind a branch where he couldn’t see the results. The Northerner looked down and said “Gwrallloooo.”  The man sighed and closed his eyes slowly as the Northerner moved forward, arm cocked back, quietly whispered “Gwrallloooo” and, in a blur, a flash of steel tore through the air and buried itself deep in the tree, as an oblong shaped rolled to the forest floor.

“Gwrallloooo.”