I am Mercy

by Mandi Lynn

  I jog around others, avoiding bodies, knowing that although I can pass through them like a ghost, the gown cannot. People push themselves out of the way for me. If they see the gown they stare and step back, but never gaze too long. The humans don’t want to know what they can’t explain, so they look away.

  Buildings with brick walls taller and more immaculate than I ever remembered pass by. Faces flash across my vision that don’t look like the people I had known at home. They seem to vary in color, shape, and size, and all of it seems so unknown. There are trees of numerous kinds that I don’t have names for. The land is flatter than the rolling hills of Marseille, but the trees stretch so much higher. Even the air feels different, less dense, like I’m more able to breathe.

  But I run, and I’m not sure how far it is I have traveled before I stop.

  ~~~

  The sun sets and rises in the sky. The air grows moist and thick and freezes at night. Gravel exchanges itself for soil; soil exchanges itself for stone; stone exchanges itself for gravel. The land just keeps going. No matter how far I travel, it stretches on. Lakes and rivers flow in quiet rustles; wind whispers between tree branches; and animals roam among the bushes.

  After a long time mountains roll up in front of my eyes. I don’t know how long I have run with Clara in my arms. I keep her wrapped tightly in the gown, like she may leave me if I don’t hold her near.

  The world disappears behind my back. I have run through villages, some bigger than others. They seem so different from the ones in Marseille, but there were women and children peeking through the windows all the same. The mothers kept to their chores, and the children played idly until they felt the gust of wind as I rushed past. Most didn’t bother to look up, but some of the small faces followed my trail. One girl stood and pointed at the gown, and I remember her saying something to me, but I continued without stopping.

  But now silence is in the air. Hills and valleys appear before me, the land untouched. There is no path for me to walk, so I slow down my pace. And when I do, I don’t rush to breathe or feel the fatigue in my limbs; instead I just want to run farther. I reach a forest next, dense and lush, preventing me from picking up my speed. So I make my way through the brush, hugging Clara close to me.

  Trees are in front of me. The ground drops away as I near a cliff. There’s a lagoon below and I carry Clara into the valley. The water licks the rocky edge at my feet, and the cliff of stone we were just on raises high above my head and cocoons the rest of the water. Rich green moss climbs the surface of the stones and envelops it. The water of the lagoon is clear enough to see the pebbles and stones at the bottom. I wander closer, curious as to how deep it may be. But even then, the crystal quality of the water makes it hard to judge.

  Everything glows with light and I think this is the first time I notice the darkness. Everything is muted in the dull evening, but the moon shines high in the sky. It appears full and gives the nighttime forest an eerie feel in its silver light.

  A type of peace is here. I can’t put it into words, but for the first time, I feel myself settle. A boulder sits at the water’s edge and I lean against it. I let the gown fall limp in my arms. It’s like I’ve run dry of all need and desire to go on. My eyelids don’t droop, but I want to lie down.

  With careful hands I unwrap the gown in my lap. A part of me feels broken as I look at Clara. She isn’t the infant who I had seen on the boat. Her body has mutilated itself, turning a deadly purple color. It’s as if her entire body has been bruised and her skin swells over her small bones. As I strip away the silk further I find myself barely able to look at her.

  So I don’t. Her body sits exposed in my arms. I study the reflection of the moon in the water. It’s just like the one I had seen back on Tiboulain. And for a moment I’m amazed that, although I have no idea where I am, the moon is still the same. It will always be here with me.

  The water is so still, the surface undisturbed and serene, that I feel my presence is unwanted in the lagoon.

  My arms tremble. I think of burial and what it means: a final resting place, a goodbye, giving back to the earth what it owns. I cradle Clara in my arms as I stand. The soil at my feet seems so rich and fertile and I know I should bury Clara—finally let her be at peace—but I can’t do it. I can’t dig a grave, no matter how small, and watch the soil pour over her skin and suffocate her.

  I walk to the edge of the water. My leather shoes meet the rocky shore and absorb the liquid, but I don’t notice the cool tendrils as they soak between my toes. I imagine what it might be like to stand in cold water—how it would be like needles biting into my skin.

  The water comes up to my knees before I stop. My skirt floats out around my legs in the water. Ripples cascade over the surface, echoing rings over the water. I lower the gown into the water, watching as the orange silk grows dark in the water. The fabric floats until Clara’s small body touches the surface. She weighs down the gown, but I hold her up. Her bruised skin grows darker still as the water laps at her skin. And it’s like I’m watching her decay in front of my eyes.

  I pull away the gown from her small body and clutch the soaked fabric to my chest. My right hand goes to Clara, offering to hold up the infant, but again my hand passes through her body. And she sinks.

  “I couldn’t save you,” I hear myself whisper. “I’m so sorry.” My voice chokes on the words, never wanting to say goodbye.

  I back away, dragging the orange gown with me. I can’t see Clara in the water anymore. All that is left is the bright reflection of the moon over the surface. My movements create more ripples over the water, only distorting the image of the moon.

  I try to justify her death, but I can’t. She is like me—a sacrifice to the moon.

  All seems luminous in the full moon tonight, but I can’t stop looking in the water, searching. Searching for the body of an infant who had been here for a short time, only to be taken away so cruelly.

  BOOK 3

  XLIII.

  Through it all I find myself shaking and I’m not sure why.

  It’s the first time I’m alone. Trees stretch out around me, their green foliage coloring the forest. Mountains rise up high above me like I’ve never seen before. Their peaks are hidden in the clouds. They’re nothing like the hills of Marseille—things here are so much larger. Even the trees seem to find a way to reach higher in the sky—and I realize I have no idea where I am.

  There’s no way to find Garren. He and I, we are two things separated, living out our eternities alone. I tell myself to search, to keep running, but we are worlds away. I had never known anyplace besides Marseille, besides my home.

  I bring my gaze downward. Even though the lagoon water is clear, I see no sign of Clara’s small body. It’s like the water has taken her away—truly finding peace in her resting place—but her missing body just makes me feel as if it were all a dream. That nothing had happened. There was no ship, no man named Dimitri, no running away. But most of all I remember Garren and wonder if he too is just a part of my imagination.

  He had touched me as an Essence, and somehow, against everything we had learned about our existence, I had felt something when he kissed me. The prickle of heat, the whisper of something that the mind can’t comprehend. A reminder that I was more than just a ghost.

  The sun rises across the horizon, finally letting me see the world around me. It all glows with colors of pink, orange, and purple as the clouds shade the morning. The lagoon casts a shimmer in the dawn that captivates the eye and draws me closer. I feel it in me, a need to stay near this place. Clara is here—she is within these waters somewhere—and even though I feel as if I’ll never forget her, I can’t bring myself to leave this place.

  Birds echo their songs through the air, speaking to each other. Happiness fills their hearts as they bring the forest to life with the new day. I sit on the boulder by the edge of the water, still clutching the gown that had held Clara. In my arms it feels like nothing, but I find myself drinking in th
e fabric. Pretending I can smell her baby skin, feel the soft silk against my fingers. Remembering her small wheezing.

  Through the branches of the trees the stars call out. Small points of light radiate in the sky, dotting the night with reason and hope. The moon rests within the center of it all, opening my eyes to something beautiful. It isn’t as full as it had been the night before. A small sliver of the circle is missing, but it is graceful in the same manner it has always been.

  The water is so still. The surface appears like ice, untouched and perfect in its own sense. A part of me wants to reach out and graze the surface, just to see the ripples, but I stay rooted.

  Wind blows around me, brushing my hair into my face. The golden strands escape from the braid that hangs over my shoulder, and I remind myself that it’s been days, weeks, maybe even months since I had last run my fingers through my hair. The world spins and continues in its rhythm around me, like it has no idea of the evil I have seen.

  I miss my family. Mama and Papa, no matter what they may have thought of me in the end, had loved me at one point in time. They cared for me enough to raise me, even when I held the eyes of a monster. I miss Dondre and how he used to act like Papa, trying to be the man of the household, because he knew it was a role he would have to grow into one day. And Margo, how she cared for Joelle like it was her dying wish to see her daughter grow strong. But I miss Cyrielle. She was someone I could turn to always. And I’d like to hope I had been there for her in the way she needed when Nouvel passed away.

  There is so much I have lost, but the feelings toward my human life seem so distant. They’re like a dream—some pleasant, others nightmares. The memories don’t always seem to be my own. It’s like someone has told me a story they wish to pass on, and I’m nothing but a solemn listener.

  The memories within my new existence haunt me with clarity. My life as an Essence seeks my attention. I see the bold colors the world has offered me, but I also see Garren. His face seems embedded in my mind, like it is a part of me somehow. I want to make all these memories of him go away, but they never do. Even as I watch a bird fly from tree to tree, I see Garren and think of how he would view this lagoon. It’s similar to Tiboulain in its own way—secluded, hidden by its own nature.

  With an aching chest I feel a part of me is missing, and I wonder what this awful sensation is. It is that feeling in my stomach which occurs only when I’ve been hurt and worn thin in an unforgiving world. It’s a feeling Mama told Margo about, when she married Anton. Mama spoke of men and how love gave them the power to truly hurt women, crushing us, or building us up, but only if they choose to treasure us.

  Mama wasn’t aware I was listening. It was a conversation meant for Margo and her ears alone. Maybe it’s because Mama never thought a man would love me, but I heard her words just the same. She spoke of this frightful thing called heartbreak, how it trapped people in its tendrils initially with beauty and life, only to choke them in the end. Margo had laughed away Mama’s warning, but it wasn’t a long time later that Margo came to us in tears. Anton had hit her. She said she still loved him, but she also feared him.

  I shiver despite the growing sun in the sky. I shudder even though I shouldn’t feel cold. And the truth is I feel nothing. There is a missing piece of me, and I’m afraid I’ve given myself away in the same way Margo had given herself to Anton.

  I fear that these emotions, this desire that will never be satisfied until I see Garren, might just mean I feel more than just gentle care for this man.

  The possibility of love haunts me. It makes me fear that I’ve lost something I never should have traded. But the memory of being loved ignites me. It gives me hope that I’ve seen something, experienced something that cannot simply be put into vain words.

  I think of how he had kissed me and how it had never occurred to me that I may have loved him. It makes my head spin and my stomach clench like I may be sick in a broken, dreadful way.

  None of that matters now. He’s gone. We’re separate beings. Maybe he’s searching for me, or maybe he’s waiting for me to return to him. But I’ve failed him.

  The next morning the sun shines, high and beautiful. The sky is warm with blue radiance, not a cloud to be seen. Just above the tips of the trees, mountains reach into the Heavens, their peaks the highest and grandest sight of all. And despite all this, I sit and wonder how I had fallen in love without knowing how to be loved.

  XLIV.

  The rock wall of the lagoon is beautiful in the sunlight. The individual rays shine upon the moss that covers the wall and makes the green of the forest vibrate with life. The leaves, the moss, the grass all seem to reflect on the water, giving it a cast of color. I search the pool, thinking maybe just algae gives the water its earthy color, but it is still clear and pure. Clara’s body, however, is out of sight. There is no sign that these waters are her resting place, leaving me only to wonder what the moon has done with its sacrifice.

  The stone at the opposite end of the lagoon stretches high above my head. Trees take root at the top, an extension of the forest. The stone wraps around the lagoon, almost hugging the water. The only exposed portion is the rocky shore. The water licks at pebbles as they slope down into the water, descending into the lagoon.

  I hug myself to the stone I’ve found so familiar. It rests just before the shore of the water. It keeps me close, yet I feel protected by the unknown waters. My eyes wander, always looking and searching, like someone will come from the trees and save me—take me home.

  A small hole is in the rock wall. The cave’s opening appears just tall enough to pass through without having to bend for clearance. I find my way over, peering into the opening, only to realize how dark it is inside. Despite its large opening, no light seems to find its way inside.

  My hands skim the cave walls. When I look, I see the ragged surface of stone, but pressing my palms into it, I’m greeted with numbness. The walls of the cave open up once I pass through the entrance. Darkness continues around me. Nothing tells me whether the wall ends or continues down a path. All I see is black.

  As my eyes focus, things become clearer. The stone walls come into view, and the cave continues onward. It is narrow but long enough that I can’t see where it ends. There is only a slight angle in its turns, but still I find no end point in the path.

  The walls come into greater focus with added clarity. The cave becomes lighter, and I realize that the sun has found its way in. The rays rest on focal points in the stone; embedded in the walls, shards of crystal mirror the light. They are small—only about the size of the tip of my finger—but the crystal seems to line every facet of the walls. There is no dark corner or lost piece of the cave. In the light, there are no secrets.

  I follow the path of the cave a little way, gazing at the crystal that seems to go on forever. It dots the surface, a personal guide, and it doesn’t seem like there’s an end.

  I round the first corner and see that the crystal goes on farther—diluted now because less light is reaching the rounded corner. But then my eyes find her. Clara, so peaceful and human-looking. Her small infant body lies against the side of the wall. Her legs are sprawled out like the sleeping baby she is, arms folded inward, close to her face for protection. Even in the dull light I see how healthy her skin looks. It is still pale, but a small blush of color glosses her cheeks. The bruises and decay that I had seen such a short time ago are gone. The death of her body has reversed itself, leaving behind a healthy baby.

  I crawl to her side. My breath seems too loud as I kneel down next to her, but as I approach, my heart loses hope. No matter how beautiful she appears, I see past the façade. Clara doesn’t move. There is no rise and fall to her chest.

  And once again I find myself mourning for a child I had only seen alive for mere minutes. Her light-colored hair falls in thin waves, just barely able to cover her head. Clara’s eyes—her beautiful green eyes that she shares with her father—are closed. When I see her face, I can’t remember how she may have
looked when she cried. Instead I see how she is now: at rest, an eternal and peaceful everlasting rest.

  It’s all I can do not to scoop her in my arms. Instead I curl up next to her on the ground, afraid to even touch her and disrupt the haven she has finally found. She’s so small, so vulnerable, but when I look at her now, she is stronger than any other infant I have ever seen.

  The crystals of the walls shine over her skin, making it glow. The moon has taken her. She is here—always. I don’t understand why or how, but I find myself accepting the fact.

  So little space is between us, yet I’ve never felt so distant in my life. I reach out to her, my hand seeking some contact. My fingertips skim against her temple halfheartedly. I trace patterns across her skin in delicate circles until I realize what I’m doing. My skin finds hers and there is no moment where I pass through her. Instead we are the same. An Essence maybe—like Garren and me. But I’m thankful to finally touch her.

  I cower away, aware that Clara is no longer human—or at least not part of the living world. She is beautiful and lost and small. I wanted to protect her, but the cave carries out my wish now. Despite my best efforts a part of me feels I could have prevented both Sabine’s and Clara’s deaths.

  The light in the cave wanes. The crystals dull as the sun disappears, setting in the horizon, ending another day. I pick myself off the ground, watching as everything around me darkens, telling me my visit with Clara is over.

  I exit, never looking back at her where she rests. I fear seeing her, that if I saw her again, I would fall into the façade and question whether she is really gone. So I don’t look at her. Instead I find steady footing and go to the lagoon again. The sun sets and the moon rises.

  XLV.

  I find myself compelled to do this. I strip one of the trees of its branches. My first efforts don’t do much of anything. I bend the wood, but it is too healthy and alive to break. I twist and tear at the branch and tug at the leaves until I feel the branch start to give. With a subtle ripping sound, the branch breaks away and falls to the ground with my hand still wrapped around the thickest part.