Chapter 2 #2
“Get to it,” I snap, tapping Arn’s arm with my hand.
He turns my way and scowls at me, raising his lip like a growling dog, but I meet him with a stern look of my own.
I rarely try to use my title in this community for my advantage, but I do outrank him here, and he would do well to remember his place.
A beat of silence passes between us as Timothy draws near, running across the field to join us.
“Hey,” he says, breaking the tension between Arn and myself. “Father sent me. He says to untie them. I am to stay and help.”
“Then help,” Arn grumbles, turning his attention away from me and towards Timothy. “Untie them two and I’ll do the rest.”
I watch for a moment as they head to untie the three who have been granted mercy before turning towards the longhouse.
Father stands beneath the overhang of the roof, arms crossed across his chest. Grass prickling against my bare legs beneath my robe, I begin to head towards him to stand at his side as he prepares to welcome the three who have been granted mercy back into the community.
“What are you doing?” Arn shouts from behind me, making me stop in my tracks.
I turn to find horror unfolding. Back at the fence alongside Arn, Timothy holds onto a length of rope, his eyes wide as saucers. He looks right at me, face pale and his eyes displaying his confusion for all to see.
Something has gone wrong and it is about to get far worse.
The two men Timothy was sent to untie are loose and climbing the outer wooden fence as quickly as they can, and everything out there is turning to wreck and ruin.
I take off on a run back towards the fence in time to watch Herold, loosened from his knot, lunge for Angelo, who remains tied.
Angelo screams as Herold lands on him, tearing at his soft middle with his blood-soaked hands and digging his teeth into his cheek.
“Stop him!” I shout, pulling up to the fence and gripping the chain link in my fists. “Cut Angelo free!”
“It’s too late,” Arn says, as Angelo screams again, teeth tearing into the soft flesh of his cheek and hands ripping into his flesh.
“It is not too late. He was granted mercy,” I protest, running towards the gate that opens into the corridor between fences.
If I can get Herold off of Angelo, I can drag Angelo back inside to the healer’s cabin.
He may have a chance. The Lord granted him mercy, surely He would not allow him to die like this.
I grab the latch, but Arn grabs my hand, ripping it away from the gate.
He wraps his arms around my chest from behind, holding my arms down to my sides tight, and I thrash in his grasp.
Arn doesn’t let me go, his squeeze around me nearly taking my breath away as Herold rips the breath out of Angelo beyond the fence.
I can do nothing but watch in horror at the carnage beyond the fence.
“Calm yourself, Lamb,” he murmurs as if it is his place to command me. “If you open the gate, you will be killed. Perhaps God meant to cleanse Angelo this day so that he can go home in purity.”
I doubt God would go through the motions of granting mercy only to have it ripped away with sharpened teeth and claws the very next moment, but I keep silent. That thought is blasphemy and though it seems ridiculous to me, I cannot claim to know why God does as he does.
When Arn finally does let me go, Angelo is gone.
He lies on the grass, mouth left open in a silent scream that feels like an accusation towards me for my promises of his safety.
He should have been safe behind this fence, not out there with Herold’s hands deep in the cavity he has torn in his stomach.
“He was saved. He was granted mercy. He was cleansed. I don’t understand how this has happened.” I slump to the grass in disbelief as Timothy draws near, clutching the ends of the unknotted rope in his hands. His face is pale and drawn, his body trembling where he stands beside me.
“My Lamb, I didn’t… I don’t know what happened,” he murmurs, sounding quite stunned and rather confused. He is not alone in that. My head swims trying to make sense of what has just happened and how it could have possibly gone wrong.
It never goes wrong. The ones the Lord grants mercy to have always made it back into the community. With the taint of their sin within their blood, they become our most valuable resources, able to travel the world and trade goods on behalf of our community and work in the fields during the rain.
“You let him loose,” Arn spits out. “You fucked up.”
“No,” Timothy protests, still clutching the rope tight in his hand. “No, I… I didn’t? You must have done it, because I didn’t untie this. I came over here, and you handed the rope to me. I didn’t untie anything I wasn’t supposed to.”
“Yes, you did. Stop lying. I watched you. I told you not to do it, but you defied me and untied it anyway.”
“I didn’t. I did not untie this. I swear it on my life.” Timothy turns to me, his eyes begging me to believe him, for he knows someone will be made to pay dearly for this. “I swear, my Lamb. I did not do what I am accused of.”
“Well, I didn’t do it, so who did, huh? Angelo’s blood is on your head, Timothy. Father will hear of this,” Arn sneers, his face angry and mean in the darkness.
“Find a way to get the last two inside safely,” I murmur, rising to my feet. I sway where I stand, eyes stuck on the remnants of carnage beyond the fence. “There must be no more death this evening.”
Herold yowls angrily and abandons Angelo’s body, lunging at the fence and flinging bloodied tissue at us.
A glob of it hits Arn’s face, and he screeches, leaping backwards and pawing at his cheeks to remove the bits of Angelo from himself.
With a sneer in my direction, he takes off across the field, clearly heading to tell Father what he has just seen as two Elders bearing axes come to slay Herold and retrieve the remaining two men clinging to the outer fence.
I watch as he is dispatched quickly, his head removed from his body and landing on the grass below.
The two men who were granted mercy fall from the fence as if their limbs finally gave out from the strain of holding them up and it is only when they are safely within the compound that I turn back to Timothy.
“Please, Lamb,” Timothy whispers. “I wouldn’t lie to you. You know this.”
I weigh his words carefully, unsure of who to believe and thankful that it will not be my place to decide in the end.
My dislike and distrust of Arn runs too deep for me to be impartial in this matter.
I lean towards Timothy, for I have known nothing but kindness from him.
We must make our way to Father’s side by the longhouse, for only he is fit to dispense justice over this grave error.
“Come, Timothy,” I say, turning towards the longhouse. “Father waits for us.”
As we walk across the field, I swear I can hear the devil laughing in the woods behind us, his cackles haunting every step I take.