Fist of Mercy

A tale of a young girl set in the 15th century.
Here she has become ill and slips into unconsciousness.
(unfinished and probably not going to be written in the correct order!)


A slight breeze caused the branches of the trees to sway and flutter as if waving to her as she skipped by, her arms full of the goods she had purchased at the market place. The day was hot with no sign of rain and even the slight breeze was refreshing. She must hurry to get back before her fruit wilted before her eyes and the milk turned sour in the heat.

Nearing the small house she saw George grazing and smiled to herself, she wondered where Ernie could be and hoped he wouldn’t sneak up on her again. He had taken to doing this and had caused her to spill milk and even ale on several occasions. If she didn’t know better it would have even sounded like he chuckled afterwards.

She crept up to the door but Ernie was nowhere to be seen. She cautiously opened the door, still no goose.

The house was refreshingly cool inside and she breathed the air in large gulps. She set her goods down on the table and took up a beaker, filling it with milk directly from the pail she had brought back from the market. The milk wasn’t cold but it was still refreshing. It had a strange taste to it that she was a little unsure of but she put this down to the type of clover the cow had been fed on. She picked up one of the apples she had bought and shined it up on her skirt until it was bright and gleaming and then she took a bite. She had another drink from the pail and then covered it so that flies wouldn’t fall in it before putting it in the cool shade in the corner of her kitchen.

Several days later the pail of milk was finished, the fruit had been used to make pies and jam and cakes and tarts. A full pantry made her happy. Ernie was in the meadow snapping up small insects that flew near his beak. George was flapping his ears at the insects and seemed to be watching the goose with a sad look upon his sad face. Ele was running a fever.

Her head swam whenever she tried to move or carry out her usual chores. Her skin felt hot and clammy. She held the back of her hand to her forehead and then tried the palm of her hand; it made no difference she was still burning up. She wondered if her face was as red and fiery as it felt it should be. She wished she had some milk left to drink to cool her down. All she had was water but she did not think she could manage a trip to get more. She soaked a rag and held it to her face.  Her vision blurred sometimes. Often it felt as though chunks of time had passed by without her being aware of it. She wondered what sin she had committed for this to be happening to her. She tried to rack her brain to think of what she could have possibly done but thinking had become akin to wading through a thick frumenty.

The hot midday sun was beating down on her face...Ernie was next to her quacking softly...the evening breeze wafted in through her open door...her whole body felt hot even though it seemed to be dark outside...why was it dark during the day time? Light prickled at her eyes through her eyelids...the door was still open...a bucket rocked to and fro on the floor...George looked in through the door as the sky turned crimson.

She knew she needed help but it was so hard to think and her limbs felt like iron. She grabbed at the broom nearby and eventually managed to grasp it weakly and use it to ease herself up. Although she felt so very hot she shivered. Her clothes were soaked through with sweat and her mouth dry. Her vision whirled and spun and it took everything she had not to vomit as she slowly shuffled her way forwards using the broom as a crutch.

She reached the doorway in time to hold it and steady herself as another wave of nausea flowed over her and the colours of the woodland in front of her swirled in to a mass of varying green shades. She held George’s mane and he stood firm next to her, the only time he had every bore her weight since she had bartered for him. She took a few steps forwards leaning on her broom with one hand and gripping George with the other.

The ground rushed towards her as she crumpled into the grass. Rivulets of sweat ran from her brow and she hadn’t the strength to even wipe them from her eyes...but it didn’t matter, her eyes were shut now, her breathing shallow, and her skin ablaze with fever. Her house was in the grounds of the main, grand building...she was so close she could almost sense the people nearby, yet it could be days before anyone stopped by, weeks even.

The soft grass enveloped her and she felt as if she were sinking into it, deeper and deeper so that she would never be found. Colours flashed in her head. Had she been cursed? Had she done someone a terrible wrong? Perhaps she had been poisoned?

The colours faded to darkness.

The End

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