A Road to Hell

“Exile!”

“Exile!”

“Stone him!” 

“Go to Hell Michael!”

“Exile!”

Angry cries rang out in the normally quiet village, when most of the villagers would be working during the valuable sunlight. At the edge, the horde of angry villagers surrounded a lone blonde man dressed in the black tunic with a simple golden cross hanging from his neck. His hands covered his face protectively from the flying rocks. He slowly retreated away, trying to put some distance between himself and the mob. He cried out,

“My friends, please quell your anger! May you forgive as the Lord forgives-” His cries were cut off as he was forced to doge another tossed stone. A large man with a brown tunic and a darker brown apron around his neck stepped away from the masses, causing them to grow silent. The priest's eyes flickered nervously to the array of hammers around the larger man's belt. The smith was not known in the town for being a patient man. The smith took a deep breath, 

“Father Michael, you have done enough damage to these people. Please leave now while you still can”. His voice was low and strained with forced patience. Father Michale’s face darkened as the crowd resumed their cries. He let out a low scoff,

“Fine, I shall leave and pray for your souls. I do not know what devil has possessed you all to believe these dirty lies. But if you wish to repent later -” He was cut off by another flying rock, cutting him off once more. “- I shall be at Oakfield.” He shouted the last bit over his shoulder as he fled down the wooded road. The jeers followed him, even after he left the town over an hour ago. At least that what he guessed, dappled sunlight lit the trail but he couldn’t make out where the sun was above his head. Not that it mattered anyways, at his pace he would make it by sunset. Especially since it was the only road to the town of Oakfield so there was no chance of getting lost as well.

There was a silence that was stifling. The woods are never grave silent, usually there is some bird song or the harsh yell of a territorial squirrel chasing an intruder. There was no breeze to make the leaves rustle or branches groaning in protest.  Despite the warmth from the trickling sunlight, Father Michael still didn’t feel safe. The woods were safe from wolves, bears, and local bandits who were recently captured by the local sheriff were no longer a threat to travelers. Yet this fear of danger nagged at the back of mind. 

“How dare they! How dare they chase me out like some common criminal!” Father Michale exclaimed. His eyes darted around looking for any kind of reaction. Yet despite his angry outburst, the woods did not respond. Disturbed, Father Michale fell silent due to becoming parched from yelling. Another heavy hour passed before he heard another noise. 

The sound of running water soothed his ringing ears as he raced to also sooth his dry throat. A spring greeted him with its joyful song as he fell to his knees at its edge. Before Father Michale could take in its beauty, he thrusted his hands into the cold, clear water and took a long drink. A sense of accomplishment washed over him as he had his last drink. This spring was known as a halfway point between his old town and Oakfield. Father Michael noticed that his feet now also ached despite the easy walk. He took off his shoes and decided to cool them in the water. He let out a sigh of relief as his feet slowly became numb. It wasn’t until after the pain had subsided that Father Michael thought to give his prayer. He brought his hands loosely together as he prayed.

“O heavenly father, may you please grant mercy on me as I walk the path of suffering as your beloved son. Please grant me the strength to right the wrongs that were thrusted upon me. Amen.” Satisfied with his prayer, Father Michael tried to quickly dry his feet on the edge of his black robe. Only to jump in surprise when his coin purse rang loudly from the sudden movements. A single golden coin glinted in the sunlight as it slipped from the safety of his purse. Father Michael lunged for it for the tips of his fingers to turn it way farther from his grasp. He watched furiously as it sunk into the depths of the spring. 

“Blast it! Blast them!” He shouted angrily. An unbidden memory tried to worm its way into the forethought of his mind but he dismissed it as traveling fatigue. A chill in the air forced him to forget about both the memory and the coin as he rushed to put on his shoes. To his further discomfort, the sun has disappeared as a light mist started to rise from the spring. He quickly put on his shoes and returned back to the road. 

The mist was still a light sliver by the time he made it back to the road. He recognized the twisted elm that was struck by lightning as his landmark that he was back on the main trail again. Despite his reduced sight, Father Michael still walked confidently towards Oakfield. Father Michael relished in his fantasies of the various punishments that the church would do for him once they learned of how he was wronged. While he was caught up in his fantasies, he didn’t notice how the fog had darkened alongside his twisted thoughts. One foot in front of the other, he didn’t notice how his surroundings were slowly fading away into the darkening fog nor how he walked past the same twisted elm for a second time. Father Michael stopped at the elm for his third passing and cursed. 

“What in the bloody hell am I doing here again?” He looked around once more as the fog slowly lighted up to show the roadway slightly to his left. Relieved that his view was slightly better, he failed to notice that the road was supposed to turn to the right for the town of Oakfield. He rushed forward, believing that his struggle was almost over.