REDEMPTION
5 FLASH FICTION STORIES
BY MICHAEL WRIGHT
Copyright 2011 Michael Wright
The Slaughter
To say that the small village of Sinn was aptly named would be a tremendous understatement. That was on full display one day, when the villagers were gathered together to meet the King, as he stood in the center, in front of the blacksmith’s shop.
“I have come to offer you pardon!” He declared. His light armor shone in the sunlight, and the crown upon his head was fitted to a thick helmet.
The villagers watched him suspiciously. In their thin cloaks were daggers, not concealed at all. In their houses were many other cruel weapons, everyone knew.
“I know what you have done. How you have killed all of my servants who have come before you, coming to warn you. But now I have come myself. I come to offer you pardon.” He extended the thick scroll in his hand. “All I ask is that in exchange you turn from your wicked ways. That you obey me.” He looked round on the villagers that were assembled, each one of them looking at him, aware of their individual and collective crimes, they knew what he spoke of.
Henri the Thief looked at him with contempt, unable to believe the demands of the pompous King. How could he demand that they obey him? Who was this King?
Adah the prostitute looked at him from her doorway, the one that lead into her little love nest, and felt bile crawl in her throat at his demand. Would she deny herself and men pleasure for the desires of this King?
Jason the murderer looked at the King, and glanced at the armor and marveled at the bravery of such a King that would come hardly armed. Didn’t he know that he could kill him in a moment, armor or no?
But still, the King dismounted his horse crying out to them to turn from their ways and to obey him, to follow his commands and live at peace with him, and that if they would he could forgive them. His weathered and roughened face was firm with resolve, and set with purpose. He simply desired for them to turn back.
“What do we owe you?” The blacksmith yelled back. “What have you given us, O King, that we owe you obedience? We will do what we will, you cannot stop us!” The hammer in his huge hand swung with his words, punctuating his statements, his voice rumbling with deep rage and disdain.
The King looked at him, “I have protected you. I have given you supplies, I have granted you land and lastly I have spared you thus far. You deserve death, many of you, as I think you know, that is the law. But I am not here to bring justice, I am here to offer mercy.”
“Mercy from what? You? What have we to be afraid of, you’re just an old man who has sat on his throne for all these years, you do not know what it is to be one of us!” This time it was Henri who spoke out.
The blacksmith added, “How much work have you ever done in your life? Perhaps written a letter why you stood on a hill overlooking battle while your men fought for you.”
The King turned to them both in turn and spoke: “That is where you are wrong, I have lived as you have lived. I have worked for money that I might eat and drink. I have fought in the battlefields with my men, and we have, side-by-side, faced death. I have done these things so I could identify with you. To be like people such as yourself.”
“You know nothing!” Adah called out, “My father and mother worked and worked to provide for me and my sister, but it wasn’t enough. I’ve taken upon myself a trade to pay my way, and that, barely. My parents are dead from their labor, and I will probably die in mine.” She looked to a house that was tucked between two larger ones, barely a hut, “And my sister is eating, but not as much as she could.”
The King looked at her, “You did not have to choose that. I know what kind of woman you are, and I know that you have made your choice to be that way.”
Jason stepped between them, “Just who are you to come into our village as you are? Then you harass us in this manner, thinking yourself so much better than us! I’ve killed a hundred men, each one I have marked on my belt. It would be simple to kill you, and you give me far more reason to do so than they did.”
“Yet again that is your choice. If you kill me it will be your choice and my blood will be upon your head.” The King turned to all that gathered around, “Your evil is your responsibility, I have come to offer your pardon from that responsibility, what ill have I done to you in offering this? Is it because I have shown you what you are? Is that what bothers you so much?”
“It’s not what we are that bothers us.” The blacksmith said, “It’s what you are. I love what I do…I have no problem with that, it’s you that bothers me.”
Adah stepped forward, “It’s not the men that have me that are a problem. I enjoy it mostly, but how dare you condemn me for it!”
Henri pointed a thin finger at him, “So what I take things? I get what I want, I have never taken from you, what is it that makes you judge me?”
Jason grinned, “I kill, but only who I want to. I don’t kill anyone innocent. All the ones I killed? They all had it coming. And I loved it.”
The King stood tall. “If you are offended by me, so be it. I stand only for the law and for justice. I follow my laws, and I love to do so, that which I have laid down I follow, you however have not, and the penalty for many of your crimes, including the murder of my servants who have come to you before is death.”
The blacksmith chuckled, “We’ll take your pardon, but we’re going to do what we want.”
“Then there is no deal.” The King replied.
“In that case, we have no need for you.” Jason walked forward and grabbed on of the King’s arms, and the blacksmith took the other and they dragged him forward, and the scroll was dropped to the ground.
“We will not have you in our town, O King. You are a stench to us.” Henri said coming forward from a small table by the blacksmith’s shop. In his hand was a large wooden board, with three nails stuck in it.
He grinned and stared down at the king, and the King bowed his head. “Then it will be done. Father, forgive them.” He whispered.
Jason pulled the King’s helmet off.
Henri handed the board to the blacksmith, who shifted it in his grip for only a few moments and then raised it above his head. The heavy wood sung through the air as it came down, and with a wet thud, landed on the king’s skull.
The blacksmith smiled as blood shone through where the nails punctured his head. He raised it for another blow, and drew back hard, and came back down. Then he did it again. Blood flowed freely and the King landed on the ground, his blood soaking the dirt, it ran to the small trail where the water from the hog pens and stables ran, and the blood mixed with the dirt and excrement. The King’s head was busted open completely after four blows, but the villagers’ bloodlust was not quenched with that. They continued to rain down blows on him, one after the other. They spat on him, mocked him, and made a spectacle of him. They relished the spilling brain, the way it oozed out of the shattered skull. Their eyes lit up as blood continued to splatter and fly.
Adah, with blood on her face, smeared some of it on her cheek and whispered to no one but herself. “God save the king.”
“For God sent not his Son into the world to condemn the world; but that the world through him might be saved. He that believeth on him is not condemned: but he that believeth not is condemned already, because he hath not believed in the name of the only begotten Son of God. And this is the condemnation, that light is come into the world, and men loved darkness rather than light, because their deeds were evil. For every one that doeth evil hateth the light, neither cometh to the light, lest his deeds should be reproved.” – John 3:17-20 (King James Version of the Bible)
The
Bride
When it came time for the King’s son to select a bride, villages everywhere became filled with beautiful women dressed in their very best, as if they expected to be married that day. Especially in the village of the Brim, where there were young women all about dressed in bright pinks and blues, trying to attract attention to themselves as if they expected themselves to be seen from across the kingdom.
Ami had no idea why they were so dressed up, and she really didn’t care. So what the King’s son was looking for a bride, he was entitled to that, but why did everyone have to get so excited about it? It was just a wedding. She wasn’t going to be there, so there was no need to get all worked up about it.
But Ami didn’t get worked up about much at all. She was barely able to make it from day to day; she didn’t have time to think beyond that. Even as she stared at the street, where gowns of bright yellow, blue and pink colors danced about among the rest of the villagers, hopeful young women with dreams much larger than their chances. Ami partly wanted to laugh at them, but she pitied them too much. They were dressed so proper, walking so proper, everything on the outside was just how it should be, just how a princess should look—but they had grown up just like she had, in this slimy, grimy village among the mud, pigs and filth. There was no difference except they had painted themselves up so pretty, and made such distinct choices in clothing, their conduct was so proper and perfect, but they were all just the same as her.
Ami was dressed as she always was: a simple, dirty dress. Worn out shoes, and disheveled hair. Her job was the clean the small fruit stand in the market. She wasn’t paid much for it, but that didn’t matter it made her enough to get by and she could keep all of the fruit that the owners deemed good for nothing. It was a job with benefits that much was for sure. She didn’t fancy any large dreams of castles, crowns and servants; her dream was a day when she had food and money without having to deal with the swearing, smelly vendors in the market. That would be a great day when she no longer had to take their verbal assaults.
“Why do they do that?” She heard a woman, who was eyeing a small pile of pears ask.
“Do what?” A large woman who was behind her was the owner, and she was watching the woman who was eyeing the pears, afraid of her being another thief.
“Dress up and prance around like royalty? They’ve not been asked to be married to the King’s son.”
“Well, the way they’re doing it this time is a little different, the royal son will come into a village at random, and he will select a bride from the crowd. They aren’t sending out scouts or anything like that, he’s coming to seek his bride.”
“Why are all these girls so excited though, the capitol is miles away, what are the odds of him coming here?”
“He was last seen a few miles over, scouting around Mesmir. They think he might come this way next.”
“All a bunch of rubbish I think.” The woman selected a pear and gazed longingly at it.
The large woman nodded, “I agree, but they don’t.” She saw the woman eyeing the pear, “That’ll be a piece of copper for a pound.”
Ami continued with her wiry broom that was good for little else than scooting small dust piles about, but little else. It didn’t really matter; she got paid to do basically nothing, that’s all that was important.
The woman continued to select her pears and piled them together into a bag, chattering with the large woman who ran that stand. They were quite taken with the idea of royalty stopping by in the village that Ami found it simply idiotic, what did she care if he stopped here, didn’t he have just as much a right as anybody to stop by? She wondered how much they would harass him when he stopped by, he would probably not have a moment’s piece. It was all just a bunch of foolishness.
She felt a tap on her shoulder and turned around fast. A man stood there in a thick cloak, a hood was drawn over his head and his face was shining with sweat.
“Excuse me,” He said. “How much is it for some of those grapes?”
“It’ll be a silver piece. They’ve gone up, what with the shortage.” She said.
He nodded, “Yes, with the dragons in the fields. They must be quite hungry, I suppose.” He smiled, joking.
She nodded, and gestured to them, “Go ahead, they’re fine. I’ve tasted a few that have been deemed unfit for sale.”
“Thank you.” He reached for them and drew a copper coin out of his pocket. “What’s your name?”
“Ami. Why do you ask?”
“Just curious.” He said, and handed her the piece.
“Okay, care to return the favor?” She leaned on her wiry broom. He looked terribly familiar but she couldn’t quite place where she’d seen him before.
“Fair enough. Joshua.” He took a grape and slipped it into his mouth. “Just passing through.” He looked around, and saw all of the young women brightly dressed milling about like rats in a rainstorm. “What is going on here?”
“The King’s son is looking for a wife, rumor has it that he’s nearby.” Ami said, leaning against a large wooden post that supported the market structure instead of her thin broomstick.
“Really?” He asked, taking another bite of his grapes.
“Yep. So they’re all dressed up like prized hens off to the auction, only to have their hopes cut off.”
“Why do you say it like that?”
“Because, what are the odds of royalty coming all the way down here to take one of us for a bride? That seems like nonsense.”
“You sure?”
“Of course, why would he ever want one of us? We are lowly, filthy, mostly uneducated, and quite poor. What is there that he would ever want in us? There’s nothing to see, nothing to desire.” Ami realized how bad that sounded and she probably shouldn’t have been so specific to a stranger but she didn’t see any need to stop. She said her bit and stopped.
“Maybe he just wants to.” Joshua suggested.
“Why?” She asked him, purely baffled at his suggestion. What kind of royalty would hold any interest in them, they were just poor folks, and there was nothing desirable in the least in them. She thought she had made her point already.
“Because.” Joshua leaned towards her and drew back his hood, where rested a thin, but shining crown. “Perhaps he wants to.” The King’s son smiled at her, and whispered, “Would you be my bride, Ami?”
“For ye see your calling, brethren, how that not many wise men after the flesh, not many mighty, not many noble, are called: But God hath chosen the foolish things of the world to confound the wise; and God hath chosen the weak things of the world to confound the things which are mighty; And base things of the world, and things which are despised, hath God chosen, yea, and things which are not, to bring to nought things that are:” – 1 Corinthians 1:26-28 (King James Version of the Bible)
“But we are bound to give thanks alway to God for you, brethren beloved of the Lord, because God hath from the beginning chosen you to salvation through sanctification of the Spirit and belief of the truth: Whereunto he called you by our gospel, to the obtaining of the glory of our Lord Jesus Christ.” – 2 Thessalonians 2:13-14 (King James Version of the Bible)
The Auction
The slaves stood as tall as they could in the frigid air. The snow slowly drifting down—lashing them with cold—assaulted their bare backs and their limbs were shaking with the cold. These who were once warriors, fighting for the other side, now stood as prisoners, about to be sold for a bargain price.
Among them stood Vor, who had at one time been a mighty fighter, but he was now reduced to nothing, standing naked before the world, to be sold for less than a horse. He had fought loyally for the cause, and it had cost him dearly.
His former comrades in arms stood beside him, downcast as he was for their plight. Every last ounce of courage and pride had been stripped from them long ago, and while they had spent weeks in a small prison, they retained a fair amount of muscle mass, though they felt too faint to be
able to use it immediately. It would be a bit before their strength was built back up.
“Who’ll start out the bid?” The auctioneer called out, his loud, rumbling voice filling the dim, and ill-peopled square.
There were a fair amount of men standing below, shrouded in thick cloaks to keep out the icy weather. Each one representing their master, who lived elsewhere ruling over their own little group of serfs and had more slaves than they knew what to do with, and Vor and his comrades were about to join them.
“We’ll start at fifteen silver pieces, do I hear twenty, for the strapping gent on the left?”
He was speaking of Vor.
A hand shot up.
“Twenty! Any other bids?” The auctioneer glanced at Vor in disgust, and he had a right to. Vor had been involved in a rebellion, he was guilty of treason and deserved worse than being sold as a slave—he deserved death.
“Twenty-five!” A voice cried out.
Vor looked down at the man, the man was looking straight at him, his eyes were filled not with greed, contempt or even hatred, but he seemed to be very interested in Vor. Almost compassionate.
“Twenty-six!” Another cried.
The man immediately responded, “Twenty-eight!”
Vor watched the man as the man watched him, his eyes looking not at Vor’s body, calculating what good he might do, but at his face and his eyes.
“Do we have any final bids?” The auctioneer asked.
“Twenty-nine!” The previous man said.
“Thirty!” The man who had been watching him called out.
“Sold!” The auctioneer pointed to the man who had been staring at Vor the whole time. “He’s yours, sir.” The auctioneer motioned to his servants who ushered Vor off of the platform and down below the stand.
The man came around to meet them, and he looked at Vor and smiled. He handed him a cloak. “Thank you, men.”
“Why did you do that?”
‘Because, I want you.” The man wrapped the cloak around Vor’s shoulders and set a bag down on the ground, and began to search around until he pulled two shoes out. “My father wants you.”
“But the bid went high, especially in these trying times, you could have…”
“Slaves are known to be sold for thirty pieces of silver…”
“But not prisoners. Prisoners in this realm go for far less.” Vor coughed into the sleeve of his cloak. “Do you even have thirty pieces?”
“Not with me.”
“What?” Vor looked behind him, “They’ll not let you take me if you don’t pay them up front. It could get messy.”
“I am aware of that. And I have already decided what I am going to do.”
Vor wanted to laugh; did this young man honestly think that he was going to take on armed guards and escape? Or did he think he was going to? Didn’t he know that he’d been in prison and most of his strength had already been sapped from his body by a cold cell?
“I can’t fight our way out of here.” Vor said.
“I don’t expect you to. All I expect is that you go to my father and obey his command.” The man said, and then looked up at the auction block. “Here,” he handed him a piece of paper, “they’ll let you through with this. Go to my father, here’s his information.”
“Why? Aren’t you coming?”
“No.”
Vor again tried not to laugh at the ignorance of this young man. “I could just run off out of here, you’d never find me.”
“I know. But you won’t. You’ll go to my father, I know you will.”
“And what about you?”
“I’m going to offer myself for thirty pieces.” The man said.
“What? Why?” Vor knew the man must have been mad, there was no possible way he could be serious.
“It’s an exchange. Now go on. Go to my father.” The man walked past him and toward the guards. Vor watched carefully as they took him back and stripped him of his garments, and chuckled to each other.
Vor watched as the young man mounted the block, just where he had been, and was about to be sold. As he looked on he could not believe that the young man had just given himself for him. He had set Vor free, at the price of his own life.
What manner of love is this?
“Ye are bought with a price; be not ye the servants of men.” – 1 Corinthians 7:23 (King James Version of the Bible)
“…even as Christ also loved the church, and gave himself for it;” – Ephesians 5:25 (King James Version of the Bible)
The Banquet
When the banquet was announced, everyone knew about it, but nobody seemed to care. The old lord who lived in his castle above the small village had sent out a few men who had shouted the news of a feast that was going to be open to all if they would come. But Gill had a feeling that not many would come, not many at all.
He was sure that the food would be wonderful, and that the music and service would be grand—the wine would be absolutely delightful, it would be everything you ever wanted but the fact that it was in the lord’s castle was enough to cause most everyone to despise the very idea. They hated the lord, and would go to no feast of his.
Gill looked around him at the villagers that swarmed the square, many hauling their wares to the market, others collecting theirs from various parts of the square where all manner of device—good or ill—was sold. None here would go the feast, for the hatred of the lord.
The lord hadn’t done anything in particularly wrong. There was an animosity that was bred by the people toward the lord for his position over them. The people of the village were very independent and didn’t like being ruled over, they were fine with a king that was far off and couldn’t watch them, but the lord that was right over them was constantly watching, and that bothered them. It bred hate in their hearts toward the lord who watched them, and they couldn’t stand him.
The fact that he was so strict on laws didn’t help matters any, which Gill didn’t see a problem with, the law was the law, but the people didn’t care for it one bit. It seemed they desired to have a loose lord who allowed them to do anything they wanted and simply lived in a fortress for the comfort and ease it provided. He would be needed for protection and favors like that, but they did not want his authority.
Gill had been that way at one time, he had despised the lord, but he was slowly coming to figure out who he was, and he was beginning to see things a little differently, he had no idea if anyone else did, but he knew that he did not hate the lord like the others hated him. But neither would he go to the banquet. That would cost him very deeply. Guilt by association was all it was, if he associated with the lord, and then his business in the town was over. Even though he was the finest cobbler for miles around, he doubted that would matter much to people if he dared go the lord’s feast.
He was setting a few of his products up by the small counter in the meager shop when he heard thick boots enter the small door and stop in the shop.
“Be with you in a minute!” He cried.
He set the things on the shelf and came over to where the door was and saw a man dressed in full armor standing there, his head was turned and his hand rested on the hilt of his sword.
“How can I help you?” Gill asked.
The man turned, and he was shocked to see that it was the lord. His full armor was strapped on right and his helmet was under his arm. His face broke in a smile, parting his full beard at the center into a crescent. “Gill?”
“That’d be me.” Gill answered. He was unsure what the lord would be doing in his shop but he wasn’t about to turn him away.
“I’ve come to ask you to my feast. Won’t you come?”
“My lord, I’m not sure that I will be able to make it, and the whole village has been invited…there was really no need to invite me again.”
“This is a little different then the invitation I gave to the others, Gill. I’m inviting you personally. That was a general invitation, and I have a
feeling that most of them will not come in any at all come. But I wanted to invite you personally to my banquet. Won’t you come?” He extended and envelope with his seal on it. A written invitation no doubt.
“I’ll think about…”
“Please come.” The lord said.
Gill tilted his head, “Yes, my lord, I shall. I’ll come.”
The lord took his hand and shook it enthusiastically, “Good! Very good!” His smile was bright and beaming. “I’ll see you at the feast then, Gill. We’ll break bread together and give thanks.”
Gill nodded and slipped the invitation into his pocket.
The lord let go of his hand and walked out of the shop, his armor announcing his departure quite noisily. Gill watched him go and turned back to his business. There was much to do.