Taking sides

Chapter 6: The harvest

I had no way to escape this loathsome task beyond blowing my cover and I was tempted to run, or stagger out of this camp and never look back. I was to harvest lyrium from people. I had never expected that being undercover in the red Templar's would have me hip deep in innocent blood so soon. I was in the deep end and I wasn't sure how long I could keep my head above water.

I approached the tent from which the weak but pained groans still emanated. When I pulled back the material, it revealed the townsfolk. The state they were in shocked me. Standing among the terrified villagers, their pain was evident upon their faces. Their cheeks were covered with fresh and dried tears, their skin was no longer healthy, it was jaundiced, and gaunt. Bloodied lyrium growths protruded through their fingers. I took my hand to my mouth, glad that no one could see me now. As I moved amidst them feeling horrified and saddened, one man caught my arm and with whatever strength he had left with him he begged. "Please kill me. I can take no more, it is tearing me apart inside. I can feel it."

Tears welled in my eyes as I looked upon the bloodied mess that had once been a human being. I could not believe this was what I was reduced to. On some twisted level I almost hoped the Maker had abandoned us, then there would be no one witnessing the atrocities I would now have to perform. I struggled to steady my hand; all I could offer this man was a quick death, to think it painless would only be deluding myself. When Samson had told me that this was a mercy, I assumed he intended me to end their suffering. And given the state they were in death could be the only mercy left for them. I took a deep breath, taking the sharp blade across his throat, cutting deep. His grip upon my hand tightened as he choked upon his own blood, I was forced to look into his eyes, and I did not like what I saw. Samson may have told me it was a mercy, but that was not how it felt. We had done this to them. I felt like a villain, a hand of this dark spawn doing his bidding. I did not believe like Samson did, any faith I had was fading with the light in each villagers eyes. Ending their suffering only added to my own.

I repeated this horrific act of supposed mercy upon every last villager in that tent. I could barely keep my hand steady upon the blade. But I had to keep my hand steady enough as not to add to their suffering. The last words, the pleas for help were soul-crushing enough, and now had to desecrate the dead, pull the lyrium from them, it had grown at a spectacular rate. I returned to the first villager, closing my eyes as I plunged the blade into his chest, dragging it back. My eyes flashed open, the lyrium had taken root within him. I turned away as I the bile rose swiftly. The vomit burned my throat as it rushed free. The sight was so sickening that my stomach turned over. How would I continue? Show Samson I was truly a red Templar if I could not follow orders. I did not believe in anything. It was impossible to see the maker in this.

I made several attempts to continue to harvest the lyrium, but I found I had to throw up readily at the sight and smell. I had barely managed to take all I could from the poor villager. I tried to remind myself he was dead, he didn't care. But that did not help, it felt so wrong. I had to rush from the tent for fresh air. I scrambled away my injured leg making it an awkward and painful rush into the woods surrounding us. Red Templar's watched me, did they suffer as I did or had the lyrium seen to that. I was tempted to take another dose of lyrium. Maybe it would take this pain away.

I pressed my head to the hard bark, it was cool but abrasive against my furrowed brow. I wanted to cry, I wanted to recover myself and return stronger. Was I too weak to handle the task I had chosen to take on? I took deep slow breaths.

A red Templar standing aside the tree stated. "Are you okay?"

I was startled by his sudden intrusion into my heavy thoughts. I did not recognize him but his expression appeared to be genuine concern. "I am fine," I declared knowing I looked a little worse for wear, but I appeared less troubled than I was only moments ago.