The Arc

Frailty - Part 1

Frailty… Frailty of body. Frailty of spirit. Frailty of faith. Everything about these creatures—these most beloved—these children… Everything about them is so easily broken.

He stood on high atop the craggy peak, watching as chaos took root below. The fire was spreading quickly throughout the settlement, unquenchable beneath the burning midday sun. The dark clouds rising from the devastation below would undoubtedly be seen for miles around, though there would be no hope of aid. The settlement was far removed from the path of any wandering tribe; its people choosing to rely upon their own ability—their own strength—to weather the brutal lands upon which they tread. Now they must rely upon that very strength to save themselves, for they had refused His help...

            There had been no question as to the chieftain’s transgressions. The man had exuded arrogance, confident in his ability to govern justly and protect his people. He had raised himself up to a higher standard of being, bowing to no one and nothing. He was above the need for guidance. He did not give thanks for his success.

            And so it was without qualm that the searing blade had entered the chieftain’s heart, cauterizing the wound as it withdrew from his chest.

            Though the death had been swift and silent, it did not take overlong for the body to be discovered. Even less time came to pass before discord was sowed and unity shattered. Brethren turned upon one another, each accusing the other of spite and envy, hurling malicious accusations in a desperate attempt to identify the murderer in their midst. Suspicion twisted into fear. Fear melted into burning anger. Eventually, the flames of rage were given form, and were cast upon the thatched roofs and wooden domiciles of those perceived to be guilty.

            The fire had been unintended, but it would serve to cleanse the herd nonetheless. Throughout it all, none dared stop to ask forgiveness. None thought to cry out for aid. Penance did not enter their minds at all; so full of suspicion, anger, and fear—dark, reeking fear. None were willing to admit their own weakness. None called for deliverance, and so none among this faithless lot would be saved.

            From his place atop the mountain, the watcher sighed, though the reason for it escaped him. The necessity of breath was beneath him. Possibly he was spending far too much time among humanity, and quietly hoped that any such acquired habits ended there.

            Functionality aside, that the sigh escaped his throat at all was somewhat unsettling, for its very nature eluded him. What had caused it? Fatigue? Certainly not. True enough, the tasks set before him were meticulously planned, requiring intense, fastidious concentration of body, mind, and will. But this was nothing new to him, nor was it particularly taxing, even after the passage of so much time. Could it have been regret, then? Laughable. No compassion could be found for these most undeserving of beings. No more than animals they were, scurrying about in their mad attempts to destroy one another. At least beasts did not know any better. They had been created lacking knowledge of their origins, whereas humanity was fully-aware of its own beginnings. The signs; the wonders…His presence surrounded them always. It had been their choice not to seek Him. Regret would not be wasted upon the arrogant.

            Still the mystery of the sigh remained. If not fatigue—if not regret—then what was its purpose?