This is a short story about forgiveness that one of my students wrote for a project in my Contemporary Issues class.

The Greater Power by Stephen A.

            The worthless feet dragged through the dirt and undergrowth. What once supported the body was now just a useless hunk of flesh and bone. Although they were not deformed, they were bloated from lack of blood flow. The ankles were slightly crooked, but it was the legs that had caused the problem. Both the calves and the hips were warped into unnatural shapes.     These mangled limbs belonged to young man in his late twenties. He was pulling himself along the forest floor with crude two-foot-tall crutches. It was a strange gait, the wooden poles giving the man’s arms a slight extension, allowing him to move swifter than would be allowed on his elbows. He grimaced in pain as his legs were jarred by a protruding root. His dirty brown hair was long and unkept. It was matted with bits of bark, clods of dirt, and decaying leaves. His face was streaked with filth and lined with scowl marks. His face was distorted into one at that moment, an awful expression of pain and a hidden darkness lurking beneath his dirty façade. 

            The path he traveled through the forest was matted down from numerous trips. On his muscular back were three small rabbit skins made into water flasks. He crawled through a think gathering of small trees and came near a clear rushing river. Slowly he lowered himself from his crutches unto his stomach. Reaching around he slung the skins from his back and pulled out the carved wooden stoppers. Stretching forward he dipped them into the water, drawing them out as they were full, the sparkling water dripping from his fingers. He looked once into the water and scowled grotesquely. Then he pushed himself back from the edge and returning the skins to their position on his back.  He grabbed his crutches and lifted himself back onto them in one fluid motion, built from long practice. 

            Suddenly his head snapped up like a startled deer. There was a frantic snapping and crackling in the brush. He barely had time to crawl into the cover of the branches before a horse and rider came crashing through the trees and suddenly pulled up at the bank of the river about two hundred feet upstream. In a split second before she was hurled into water, the man saw a young woman with large frightened blue eyes. She crashed headfirst into the water with a slapping noise. The horse, startled by the whipping reins in its face, reared up and wheeled around, disappearing almost as quickly as it had appeared. The woman surfaced face down in the water, her shoulders limp and her arms being dragged loosely by the swift current. For a moment the man hesitated and began to turn away but something invisible pulled him back. The unconscious woman was being pulled down stream at an alarming rate. He slithered back down to the water almost unwillingly. Her path was taking her relatively close to the bank. Quickly he slid off his crutches and grasped a root that projected out into the water he wrapped both arms around the root and pulled himself out over the water with sheer upper body strength. The sharp bark of the root dug into his arms, slicing his flesh. The woman was careening toward his position, suddenly her shoulder and head crashed into a stone just beneath the surface, and her trajectory changed. The man dropped one arm to catch her as she rushed underneath him. He grabbed the back of her dress’ collar and then was yanked off of his perch. He splashed into the water loudly.

            He quickly surfaced blowing water out of his mouth. His grip on her collar was still firm and he pulled the woman’s head out of the water. Now his thought was to get back to shore. The current had swirled them farther away from the shore, but he turned his back toward the current and squared his shoulders, one arm holding the woman’s head out of the water. He began the long process of slowly moving to shore. After being swept far down stream he finally reached the bank. Here he hauled the woman up. Laying her on the bank, he checked her pulse. Her dark blonde hair was matted across her face. He pulled it back revealing an ugly dark bruise and a cut on left temple. She was younger than he had thought, barely twenty, with a girlish face. Her riding dress, now sodden, was cut in the latest fashion, a sign of high position. The man rolled over on the bank, his back up against the wet ground. His lower body throbbed with pain as the adrenaline wore off, but it was not a new feeling. He swore, and then retched. After expelling the water from his lungs he raised himself to his elbows. His crutches were left upstream and his water skins had been ripped from his back. Crawling to a nearby tree he ripped some vines from its trunk. With these he lashed the girl to his back. He began to slowly crawl back upstream along the bank. 

            After what seemed like an eternity he finally reached his crutches. Dusk was falling as he turned to follow his well-worn path. The girl’s head lolled over his shoulder, still unconscious. He continued to pull himself along going slower and slower with many short breathers. After traveling through the trees for about a two hundred yards, a rocky slope began rising from the trees. He turned and followed the base of it for about another twenty yards. There he came upon a small entrance to a cave. He pulled himself through the narrow opening and into the larger room. He rolled the girl off his back and onto a pile of soft bracken. Her bruise had deepened and dry blood was streaked down her cheek and neck. Slowly he sat up, his useless legs splayed out from under him. He reached for a deer pelt which was crudely skinned but substituted a rough blanket. He laid it over the girl, for the first time noticing her ankle was also extremely swollen. It must have gotten caught in the stirrup as she was thrown. He set two stones underneath it, elevating it. Then he turned and began a small fire in a pit. The smoke escaped through a crack in the front of the cave. Finally exhaustion overcame him and he collapsed on the opposite side of the cave from pure fatigue. 

            Sunlight woke him by gleaming into his eyes. He stretched, and every fiber of his muscle screamed in frustration. With a groan he turned over and in a slight movement of surprise laid his eyes on the girl. She still slept, whether from her injuries or not, he couldn’t tell. The other side of the cave was dim but he could see the rise and fall of her breathing. He slowly pulled himself up and checked her pulse, which was slow but constant. He then crawled out of the cave. Every muscle in his body complained about it, but he continued on. 

            As he crawled through the woods checking his traps and snares he was troubled in his thoughts. Who was this strange girl dumped at his doorstep? Why did he save her? It would have been so much easier to have let her drown. After all what had the rich ever done for him? He grew so enraged that he spit on the ground. Now there was going to be people out looking for her. What if they found him again? His heart began to beat nervously and his adrenaline started to pick up. That would never happen again. Never! He snarled as he crawled along. What was he getting himself all worked up about? He stopped and caught his breath, trying to calm down. Maybe… he thought. She could be a bargaining chip. A ransom! Yes! No. That would be wrong. But what was right anyways? Was what they did right? Why should he show mercy if they never did? They were all the same. Self-righteous prigs. They had no mercy. Why should he? Then he realized that he hadn’t achieved anything. He still had no idea what he was going to do.

            Returning to the cave he slithered through the entrance again. The sun now illuminated the entire cave, through three cracks above. He threw two hares and a pheasant into the corner and laid on his back. He took a long breath. Abruptly a voice sounded through the cave,

“Who are you? What happened?”

He scrambled to look up. The girl still laid on her back but had turned her head to look his direction and had questions swimming in her deep blue eyes. No response came from his mouth. He had not spoken to anyone in four years. 

“Who are you?” She asked again with no hint of frustration in her voice, just queries.

“Tarrent,” his own voice sounded strange to him, a gravely unused thing.

“I’m Ree,” she responded, a quizzical look on her face after hearing Tarrent’s voice. “What happened?”

“Your horse threw you,” he responded after a pause. “Into the water. You got pretty banged up.”

“Is that why my head hurts so much,” she said squinting and then wrinkling her nose in discomfort. 

“Yeah.”

“Where is this place?”

Tarrent stiffened and glared at her. “Where you alone?”

“I…” she paused and bit her lip, “I can’t seem to think of that.”

“What?”

“It’s gone. My headache is horrible.”

“Great,” Tarrent muttered. This was even worse than he imagined. Not only did he have a girl in his cave who he had no idea who she was, she didn’t either! He spat in frustration and silently crawled over to the animals he had brought in. For the first time Ree saw Tarrent’s legs. Her eyes widened and she gave a slight gasp.

“What happened?” she whispered.

“Shut up!” Tarrent screamed at her, jerking around. “Shut! Up! I don’t want your pity and its none of your bloody business what happened! Am I clear?” 

Ree shrunk away from this furious outburst. Tarrent gave a final humph and turned away. He pulled out a long slim piece of bone. It was sharpened and the handle wrapped with leather strips. He quickly and proficiently skinned the animals and then put the meat over the fire. Ree watched his every move with a curious look. 

            Tarrent was steaming on the inside. He could feel her eyes boring a hole into his back. This girl had to go. As soon as her ankle had stopped swelling she’d be on her way. Suddenly he sneezed viciously, surprising even himself. Wiping his nose he took the meat off the fire and silently handed Ree half. Expecting her to shy away from the crude meal, he was surprised when she took it with a whispered word of thanks, and began eating immediately. This was the strangest person he had ever met. 

A sheet of rain covered the forest. Tarrent sat outside the cave, a common thing the last two days. The rain water ran down his hair over his eyes. Quite often he would sneeze, followed by a hacking cough. The fresh smell throughout the forest was normally calming. But in front of Tarrent’s eyes was only chaos. Horrible memories that had haunted him for four years were dredged up worse than ever before with the presence of Ree. He had brooded on his hate for a long time and here was someone he could release it on. But why hadn’t he? He didn’t know. The wind picked up driving the rain into his face. He retreated into the cave. Ree sat in a corner thoughtful combing her hair with her fingers. She looked up as he entered, coughing. Tarrent saw that her ankle was nearing normal size. There had not been a word uttered by the two, beyond an occasional word of thanks from Ree. She had seemed to grow more and more observant, and Tarrent figured her memories were coming back. He paused and then turned to her.

“Your ankle…” he muttered, “can you move on it?”

“Yes,” she responded, “the swelling has practically all gone down.”
“Good. That means you can leave tomorrow.”

“But what about you? Are you going to continue living here?”

“And what’s wrong with this cave?” sparked Tarrent defensively. 

“You are all alone,” she answered softly, “I’ve watched for three days now, you are in a lot of pain. And you are sick too.”
“What would you have me do,” scoffed Tarrent, “come back with you so you can put me on display as the cripple that you found in the woods? Your new amusement? Something to make you feel good about yourself?” Ree gasped in hurt.

“No!” she cried, “Don’t say such horrid things! Tarrent, just because I may be of higher position than you doesn’t mean that I think of you as less than human. We are all equal in God’s eyes.”

Tarrent scowled at the mention of God. He had put the thoughts of any caring supreme being out of his mind. Not only was Ree from high position, but she was also one of the believers. Those freaks always talked so righteous, but would be the first to stab you in the back. 

“I’m staying here,” he lied. “But you can’t. Go back to your fancy house and your servants.” Tarrent had no intention of staying where she could bring others back to gawk at him. He would have to move and find another place to live. 

Ree looked about to protest further, but Tarrent cut her off with an awful scowl. She shut her mouth and nodded. Before he turned, Tarrent noticed a deep sadness in her soft eyes. His blood boiled at her continued goodness. But that look haunted him as he laid down in the dark. Outside the rain still fell with a soothing thrumming.

Fire. The world is on fire. Tarrent’s vision reeled and bucked, the world swimming around him. A fever ravaged his brain. He vaguely could see a form hovering over him, applying something to his forehead. Then he flashed back to a wooded scene. There were three men over him. Two of them were holding him down. The third… Tarrent trashed about, in phantom pain. The iron bar. The cracking of bone and ripping of muscles and tendons. His legs broken over and over. Being left alone in the forest. The pain. The pain. Then the hate. Oh how it came on swiftly. The pain was nothing compared to this new rage. The curses hurled after the retreating men. Writhing on the ground. What’s this? A cool hand. Relief. For him? It had been so long. This wasn’t part of the memory; no this was now. Who? Ah yes, the girl. She was still here? But here comes the memories again. The pain, the hate. Oh how strong it is. Without it he would have died the first night. Without it he would have given up. Without he would not be so strong. The power it gave. But no, that soothing hand. It was a different kind of power. It threw water on the coals. The turmoil inside mirror the swings of the fever outside. Round and around it went.

Tarrent awoke, light blinding his bloodshot eyes. He tried to sit up but his body was drained of all power. He seemed empty and exhausted. Then he realized his fever had broken. 

“You look like you just came back from the dead,” Ree spoke. Tarrent started in surprise.

“You are still here,” he asked warily, “why?”

“You woke in the middle of the night screaming,” she responded, “You had a horrible fever. I thought you were dying.”
“When was this?” Tarrent questioned.

“Three days ago,” she said quietly, “the fever broke last night.”

Tarrent was silent. After how he had treated her, she had staid? There was no way. She was different. He couldn’t believe his own thoughts. 

“You talked during your fever,” Ree quietly broke his musing. “why did they break your legs?” She looked at Tarrent with expectation of being yelled at, slightly wincing. Tarrent waited for his rage to boil up, but it wasn’t there. It scared him, not having his power. What had happened? Then he started talking. Talking? Him? 

“They wanted my land. I owned a vineyard near the highway. It was a very profitable business. The Duke was jealous of my prosperity. He tried to buy my business. He tried to sabotage it. But I was stubborn. It had been in my family for many generations I wasn’t going to give it up. But the Duke was a vengeful man. He was a drunk and was known for his rages. He ordered his men to kidnap me. I wasn’t expecting it when they came and drug me from my bed. They knocked me unconscious and took me to this forest. When I came to I didn’t recognize these woods. But what I did recognize was that they were going to kill me. If only it had been that. They held me down and wrapped my legs around an iron bar until they broke in all these places. Then they left me to die. All alone. Alone”

Tarrent looked up for the first time, Ree’s face was aghast. Her expression was pale and pinched.

“Which Duke?” she hoarsely whispered.

“The Duke of Westfellen,” spat Tarrent, “The snake tried to justify his actions because he said wanted my vineyard for his bratty child to play in. The lies!”

A gasp of horror escaped Ree’s lips. Tarrent looked at her sharply.

“I’m so sorry,” she managed. “I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t want your sympathy,” hissed Tarrent. “What is wrong with you?”

I’m sorry,” she managed again, tears welling up in her eyes, “I need to tell you everything.”

“What?” asked Tarrent sharply.

“Ree is my nickname, my name is Amria,” she choked, “Amria Westfellen. The Duke is my father.”

Tarrent’s jaw fell open. This angel was the daughter of that monster? The Amria Westfellen he remembered was a brat of fifteen, selfish and snobbish. Where had that girl gone? He couldn’t believe it. Then it came. His old friend, the rage. The hate swelled in him and the power was back. Like an unseen liquid fire it rushed through his veins. He felt his strength return and the adrenaline pumped into his veins. His pupils dilated and his nostrils flared. This is the power he loved. He pulled himself up, the world spinning in pain that was disregarded. He lashed out, knocking Amria backwards. He reached for the stone knife, grasping its handle in his strengthened palm. The wrath inside him boiled. It called for her blood. The same blood as his enemies. The anger wanted to feel it warm on his arms, dripping off his hands. The rage-lust controlled him. He crawled to the stunned girl. Rising to his useless knees, not regarding the pain, he raised the knife above his head. His arms flexed as he began to bring the knife down. Then he saw her face through the anger. She was calm, her lips parted with a soft pleading motion. But it was the eyes that stopped him. They were filled with a deep sadness. Not of one about to die, but of one with trauma and deep guilt. A film of tears covered her pupils. The anger died. The rage rushed from his veins as quickly as had flooded in. He collapsed in a pain ridden heap. Massive sobs wracked his soul. Horror rushed over him as he realized he had almost killed someone. He had almost become what he had hated. He laid there crying. He didn’t even start as a hand timidly rested on his shoulder. 

            They sat there for a long time. Tarrent crying, Amria silent. Tarrent wept away the rage. Finally he stilled and raised his head. He felt kind of human again. 

“How are you different?” he managed. “What changed?”

“I’m so sorry for what my father did,” Amria started. She took a ragged breath. “It started on my sixteenth birthday. That was the day my brother died. He fell from a window, broke open his head on the rocks. I was lost. My father was no help. He drank it away. But I would go to the forest to cry. One day the village vicar found me. He sat by me and asked what was wrong. I told him. Then he told me about Jesus. How he had come from heaven to earth, became a man and then died for all of us, from the lowest, vilest among us, to the rich and kind. We were in need of a savior. I believed and the peace I found was beyond words. I changed from then on. A couple years later I met a young woodcutter on one of my trips to the woods. His name was Kieran. We fell in love. I decided that I needed to have my father meet him so I brought him the manor. I choose the wrong time. My father had just received news that three of his trade ships had been sunk and he had drunk heavily. When I introduced him…” Amria paused and swallowed hard, pain seeping into her voice. 

“My father took Kieran’s head in his hands and smashed it into the wall. He wouldn’t stop. Over and over.” She stopped and bowed her head. Tarrent stayed quiet, watching her.

“I bet you hate him more than I do,” he managed finally. She turned and looked at him, eyes full of tears.

“I don’t,” she said simply.

“How?” Tarrent said with shock. 

“I was able to forgive him.” 

“Forgive him?”

“After he realized what he had done, he was in distress like I had never seen before. He was searching and I told the vicar. My father also accepted Christ. He, as much as he could, began to make things right. Not just to me or Kieran’s family, but to everyone in Westfellen. He was a changed man. Although I was broken I found a way to forgive him. We are so close now.”

Tarrent sat there as Amria went to the river to get fresh water. What was this power that had so changed some of the worst people he had ever known in his life? The rage he had was powerful, but it would never have achieved this level of strength. Forgiveness. He never thought he would have ever been able to even think about that word. He tried to stir up the rage to dispel it from his mind but it wasn’t there. He thought about the story of this Jesus fellow. How could someone die for those who were such scum? This was a power that not even rage could achieve. This was something else entirely. 

* * *

            The hall of the manor was lofty and lit with large chandeliers. Tarrent was being pushed by a servant in a chair with wheels. He had been washed, his hair cut, and his beard had been shaved. His hands grasped the handles of the chair, Amria walking beside him. Two large doors were slung open before them and they moved into a large dining hall. At the foot of the table near them a large man turned as they entered. He was heavily set with stocky limbs and a flaming red beard. His face was pocked with scars, but his eyes were clear. The Duke of Westfellen came over and stood before them. His face held a pained question, his eyes searching Tarrent’s face. Tarrent looked up into the man’s face and said three words,

“I forgive you.”