Hearts in High Places

Forgiven

Piper

My arms shook as I struggled to pull my chin above the branch. Warm blood stained trails down my forearms as the sharp bark bit into my palms. The sting of pine tar mingled with the pooling blood.

"Twenty more and you can rest while chopping wood," her tone was sweet but my grandmother's words made me shudder. My hands ached at the thought of holding the heavy axe. I felt searing pain set fire to my world as an arrow thudded into the tree trunk in front of my calves. If I didn't get my chin up in time, this was what happened in response. My mothers steady aim never did any serious damage, only maimed.

I bit back my yelp and pulled my chin up one more time before I felt adrenaline kick in and I finished the last nineteen through grunts and stuttered breaths. I fell from the branch and crashed in a bed of pine needles and blood. I felt the wooden handle of the axe bite into my ravaged hands as the ground shook. The pine needles swallowed me in violent red as my mind traveled elsewhere.

Sweat beaded on my brow, my fiery braid frazzled in the humid air. The rough sound of the grinding wheel steadying the beating of my heart. I placed the dull edge of the dagger against the rugged stone and carefully kept the angle and speed, praying the Architect would grant me skill. My fingertips burned as I placed them against the heating metal but I pressed on. After a few moments, the time had come to present my work. Her crooked fingers gently prodded the edge of the blade, her gaze discerning.

"Acceptable" her sing-songy voice is too cold to be anything other than disappointment. She motioned to the crate of dull weapons and then pointed to the sun at its peak. A gentle reminder to be done before sunset so as not to ruin her sleep. I ground away layer after layer of metal, hour after hour of sunlight until the final sword lay grasped in my hands as the sunlight faded and even squinting did not give a better view.

I could not see my mother but I heard the braided leather unfurl and slap the ground. I gritted my teeth as the first lash hit. The branches of the trees rustled in response to my silent cries.

Darkness melted into gentle candle light as Ameli dressed my wounds, her delicate fingers so careful against the mangled flesh of my back. I spoke out against her in town and this was the forgiveness I received when we got home. I heard Ameli sniffle as she sobbed. I gritted my teeth, feeling awful for making her witness such gruesome things. I felt a subtle chill brush my skin as cold sharp pain froze me in place.

My grandmother stood above us, a now empty bottle of distilled spirits in her hand.

"Wouldn't want our forgiveness to get infected now would we?" Her delicate smile cut a cruel line across her face. Agony blinded me as Ameli finished up and helped me to my wad of blankets I call a bed. The curtains shuddered in the cool night breeze as I silently sobbed myself to sleep.

I gently ran a finger along the pink bubbled flesh of my latest scars. Six shallow tally marks etched onto my wrist. The sounds of arrows thumping into the dirt still echoed in my dreams. The 7th shot hit the target, the eighth the bullseye, the ninth, tenth, and eleventh split the previous arrows. I was berated for wasting arrows but did not need forgiveness because I hit the bullseye.

I spent the next several days whittling arrow shafts and chipping arrowheads while my wounds healed. My mother watched over me, her keen eyes carefully assessing my work. There were times I thought I saw pride, but now the visions of her droning stare haunt me. I shuddered as I whittled away with my numb fingers. I felt myself shaking as the task was completed.

Warm sunlight washed over me as I peeled open my eyes. The horizon was awash with vibrant reds and purples, kissing the meadow grasses with their lush hues. A soft breeze swayed the grasses carrying the subtle perfume of dandelions and cornflower. I felt my chest fill with air fresher than I had tasted in my life, the weight of my many burdens like feathers upon my back. The burbling of a brook nearby serenading me with its crisp melodies. Impossibly soft moss cradled me as the pines sung me into a deep resplendent slumber.