Drops Of Mercy

Drops of Mercy by L. S. King published in Dragons, Knights, and Angels, October 2005 Shouts, cries of pain, and the ringing of swords finally ceased. But the ensuing quiet offered no peace to Telsa's heart. The field had been green and filled with life. Now the dry, trampled earth drank in spilled blood, and far above, vultures circled. Her wings beat faster as she hovered closer to the forest's edge, trying to stay in the shadows of the overhanging branches. Death's sweet decay had already begun to claim corpses lying in the field since the night before. Nearly gagging, Telsa drew back into the underbrush of a thick copse. Men had fought over top of the slain bodies of their companions and enemies in the hot sun until they fell too. Senseless. Why did men fight one another? Why did they kill their own kind? A groan reached Telsa's ears, and she darted between trees, flittering nearer to the field again. A body moved. His face contorted in pain, his beard, neck, and chest soaked in blood. He opened his eyes and fixed his gaze on her. She skittered back, her heart thudding, but could not make herself leave. The Holy One's voice whispered in her heart. This man could not hurt her. She could help him. His kind hunted hers. Cries of agony and death rang in her memory. Images of kin butchered. Her father's vain attempt to shield her mother. Their battered bodies left in the mould to rot. Telsa trembled, remembering her sliced wing. Oh, it had hurt! She had wondered if she would fly again. She turned her face away, jaw set, closing her eyes. Man gave no mercy. He deserved no mercy. The voice again whispered to her, chiding her. Her head bowed in shame. Taking a deep breath, Telsa flew forward and hovered just out of his arm's reach. She searched his face--seemingly white against his dark beard. Did he fear her? Hate her? She could not tell. Should she talk? Tell him she could help him? Her own fear choked her. Lord Creator, how dare I? Would he even accept her help, or spend his last moments trying to kill her? He wheezed, his brown eyes filled with suspicion as he watched her. "What will you do, wood witch? I am already dying." Telsa fluttered back, and found her voice. "We are not witches, man. We serve our Lord Creator." "There is no creator." "But there is. If you would but soften your heart, you could find the truth. All of creation is evidence of Him." "Don't try to deceive me with your words, witch." Did man not experience the feelings or thoughts of the Holy One? The whispers of delight each day in the sunrise, the joyful grasses, the happy trees raising their branches to Him? Her eyes swept the carnage across the field. She could smell and hear the blood in the ground crying out to Him. Perhaps man could not sense His presence. Perhaps he knew nothing of His pleasure or displeasure. Did man's fall so separate him from his Creator? The man shuddered and moaned, closing his eyes. Telsa clasped her hands to her breast in a quick prayer. His suffering tore at her heart. "Let me help you." "The help of a wood witch is no help," he murmured, thrashing his head back and forth.

Drops of Mercy / L. S. King

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Telsa hesitated. The quiet whisper urged her again and her resolve firmed. Taking a breath, she recalled sorrows. The terror she had felt while watching the battle, the horror of her parents' deaths, and of friends and kin all gone--all waiting in the Golden Land--coursed through her mind. Hovering above his reach, she began to cry. Her tiny tears splattered on his face. He batted the air feebly. "No, no!" She fluttered higher, but did not stop. What might this man do afterward? Would he still hate and hunt her people? What death might she be bringing to more kin? To herself? Her sobs came harder. She might never know the results of her actions, yet she must obey the Lord Creator. As the sun kissed the horizon, the man's moaning stopped. Telsa drooped, her tears slowing. She had spent all she had, emptied her heart into this man. He would live. For what purpose, only One knew. "The Lord Creator has willed you to live, man. This humble servant merely did His bidding." She rose higher in the air, her wings fluttering faster. "If again you meet my people, remember this day." Without waiting for a reply, she flew into the safety of the woods.