Justice and Mercy

CHAPTER 3
Hope and Hurt

Justice

It seemed they had walked for days, in the span of a mere hour. Even now, night softly descending upon the sky above, the earth was dry and hot, bare with the exception of a few shrubs that appeared dead. The earth was so dry, that with each footfall, a cloud of dust puffed from the ground, orange dirt that clung to the sack-clothes they still wore. Beneath it, Justice was dressed all in black still, the same clothes she wore while assassinating Jameson Howard. The clothes consisted of breeches and a tight fitting top of a strong material, which most would consider highly inappropriate for a woman. Justice, however did not care for fashion, it was hardly sensible to fight in a dress and a tightly bound corset. The top was sleeveless, revealing her Marks, winding around her arms, except for her forearms, which were adorned with black leather cuffs, protecting her arms from attack and damage from firing her longbow, which she sorely missed. Black boots embroidered with the symbol of the throne covered her feet, and it was in the left boot that she had tucked her only remaining weapon, a sharp knife she had been given by her parents before she was claimed by the Kingdom. Supernaturals were taken from their families by the age of six, and if their Talents were deemed useful, they would be kept as property of the Crown, if not, they would either return to their families or be sold to one of the lords. After being taken, Justice never saw her family again, and nobody called her by her name again. Three years later, her parents had died of a fever that swept through the city; the knife was all that remained of them.

Mercy was dressed in a similar fashion to Justice, but the king had seen fit to have Justice dressed in a tighter shirt, as he did with all his female Supernaturals. He may have despised them, but Corbett held nothing against admiring their superior beauty and grace. One particular Supernatural, Beauty, was kept to perform from the king, her Talent being that her astonishing beauty and charm mesmerized men and granted her minor influence over their minds for her own manipulation. He too had been taken from his family, although he had a human sister before him. Supernaturals were born of humans, yet neither party considered them to be of the same species. Some claimed they had been touched by the gods, and others clung to the ways of the Time Before and thought them genetic mutations. It was now, as they walked in silence, that Mercy’s thoughts turned to his family. He didn’t know much, but there were rumours that his sister was to marry soon. What was her name? Mercy was horrified to find he didn’t remember. A flower… yes, it was a flower. She was… she was… his brow furrowed in frustration, and he stopped walking. He hardly noticed Justice stop and look at him, concerned. Justice was confused, as the nature of his thoughts was veiled to her. She didn’t know why, but for some reason she felt that it was best not to ask what was wrong, or attempt to comfort him, so she walked a bit ahead, scanning the area for some sort of shelter. In the Time Before, wars had raged, and wars did not rage without there being some sort of barracks constructed. She glanced back at Mercy and scowled to see him muttering the names of flowers under his breath. Help me, gods, for I fear I might punch him. This, in Justice’s mind, was far from the time for sentimentality and flowers. This was the time for logic, and reason, and survival, yet there he stood, on the verge of tears, and Justice hated herself for her callousness, because here was a man in pain. Still, she thought, irate, couldn’t he put his pain to the back of his mind for now? Feeling guilty and annoyed, Justice turned to him, walked over to him, and spoke as gently as she could, “Come on. We have to keep moving. Lament your losses later.”
Mercy sighed, “Mm. Sorry.” He mumbled, and they started off again.

“MERCY!” Justice screamed, jumping up and down despite her exhaustion. Mercy looked up, alarmed, but sighed heavily when he saw her excitement.
“Mercy! There’s an abandoned building! It’s small, but we should be safe there. Come on! I can see it.” Justice grinned, a good distance ahead of Mercy, looking at the crumbling, devastated wood structure ahead. Despite its wind-torn, shabby state, the fort ahead represented hope, and filled Justice with a newfound energy. She bolted ahead of Mercy, glancing back over her shoulder to make sure he could still see her. Justice let loose a laugh, exhilarated and relieved, and it struck her that she couldn’t ever recall laughing before. She’d witnessed laughter in others, but she could never recall so much as a snicker from herself. She stopped in her tracks, the sound of her laugh cut short, and stared into empty space, considering.
‘Well,’ she decided, ‘About time, I guess.’ And commenced running once more, freely laughing, and ripping her hair from the constraints of her bun. The sensation of the hot, dry air rushing through her hair and blowing it back was new to her as well, since the king had insisted it be kept up at all times. It sent a tingling sensation through her scalp, and she whooped with glee, at this, the most liberated moment in her life. She let herself dance round in circles as she ran, leaping and bounding, and crying out in joy. For all she knew, she wouldn’t survive for very long out in the Darklands, but at least this time was hers and nobody could steal it from her. As she reached the fort, Justice collapsed to the ground, lying on her back and laughing breathlessly. She was boiling down to a few giggles as Mercy caught up.

Mercy

Mercy couldn’t help but grin as he watched Justice spinning and running ahead. The sound of her laughter floated back to him, and it sounded so unrestrained and free and purely happy, that it warmed his heart. His Talent gave him no insight as to what she felt, but he could see, clear as darkening sky above, that this was new to her, this sensation, this feeling of simple happiness. Her joy was infectious, and he couldn’t help but allow it to heighten his own low spirits, jogging to catch up with her. When he finally made it to the fort, she was laying on the ground, black tresses fanning around her head, and, for the first time he’d ever seen, a smile on her face. A handful of dying giggles fell from her lips, and her blue eyes closed for a moment, a content smile playing on her lips. He could hear her breath evening out, and see her countenance becoming serious and subdued again. When she opened her eyes, they were as serious and as grave as they always were. She pulled herself off of the ground, and approached the sealed door of the fort. Drawing a deep breath, Justice lifted her leg, kicking the door forcefully, and it swung open smoothly for her. Mercy watched her creep inside cautiously, and scan the room thoroughly before motioning to Mercy. He stepped inside the dark fort, and after his eyes adjusted, he noted dust, covering broken or rotting chairs and tables, and blankets full of holes. There were stairs, dilapidated, and a few of the steps missing. Carefully, testing each step before putting his full weight on them, he scaled the stairs, while Justice salvaged what supplies she could from the room below. The second floor of the fort held weapons, hundreds of them, everything from knives, daggers and swords, to arrows, and various longbows, maces and clubs. Some of the weapons were rusted, or broken, but most were in the same condition their owners had left them in, save a thick layer of dust and grime. From an open trapdoor in the roof, Mercy noticed that the third and final level was simple a lookout point, where a soldier would have sat, bored, keeping watch. He called Justice up the stairs, and they poured over the weapons, seeking that which they could effectively use, and cleaning them up. Justice, who could apparently use anything to fight, collected for herself a quiver of arrows, a longbow, a dagger in her boot and two in her belt, several throwing knives, also fitted into her belt, and a sword, that was strong and slightly curved. This, in its beaten leather sheath, was also fastened to her belt. The belt, which she had emptied back in Vallesmere, had been designed to fit all this and more. There were pouches, presumably for healing potions, poisons and blinding gasses made from an acidic root. Mercy saw that now she rummaged through several degrading boxes she had found tucked in a corner, and selected a sword and two daggers for himself; the sword he strapped to his own belt, and the daggers he tucked into his boots.
“What’s in the boxes?” he asked her.
“Phials.” Justice said, opening the stopper of one and sniffing it. She screwed up her face and held it out to him, “That smell like weeping gas to you?” reluctantly, Mercy leaned over and sniffed the liquid in the phial. He drew back, hacking and coughing.
“Yeah.” He said, “That’s definitely it.” The only response Justice gave him was a curt nod, before she returned to her rummaging. She picked up another phial, and didn’t seem to recognize the substance within. She carefully tipped a single drop onto the floor, and the pair watched in horror and awe as the substance, deep blue in colour, hissed and sizzled, and a burning smell wafted up to them. After a moment, the liquid was gone, and a perfect round hole remained in the wood.
“Vallesmere save me! It’s one of the Acids from the Time Before!” Justice buzzed, “Look! There’s another six phials!” and she quickly tucked three into one of her pouches, passing the other three to Mercy, who warily took them, stashing them away in his only pouch. Of the rest of the phials, there were twelve health concoctions, which Justice could recognize as being for specific ailments, two poisons, and another phial of the weeping gas, which she handed to Mercy also, warning him not to confuse it with the Acids. Mercy thought that would be difficult, considering that the Acids were such deep blue, and the weeping gas a milky white, but he accepted her warning nonetheless.

Justice

Dark had fallen by the time Justice and Mercy moved down the stairs to ground level. Earlier, while Mercy was exploring upstairs, Justice had collected blankets and decaying cushions from chairs to make them each a makeshift bed, and had selected enough of the meagre rations they had brought with them for a meal tonight. The food consisted of a flat bread that took much time to turn stale, a hard cheese that would keep for weeks, and some vegetables, which they would have to eat early on, lest they rot. There was also a small amount of salted meat for them to eat, but Justice had decided it would not be necessary to light a fire and cook the meat tonight.

After they ate, the pair sat across from each other, on their makeshift beds, and talked of home, and their individual lives. Justice found Mercy easy to talk to, despite his soft nature, and overwhelming emotion.
“I can’t believe,” she said laughing, “That they fell for ‘GreenThumb’. No Supernatural would have such a name. Foolish humans, they are so ignorant of us.” Mercy laughed lightly, and then sobered at her last sentence.
“They really are.” He said.
“Their loss,” Justice told him, “For should they take the time to get to know us, most of us a wonderful people.” And then, to herself, she added, ‘I’m just not one of the wonderful ones.’ Her expression must have revealed how she felt, or maybe his Talent showed her guilt, because Mercy looked at her sympathetically,
“You’re not so terrible, you know. Your Talent does good, as well.”
“You are so open with your emotions, Mercy. Must you always speak what you think and feel?” Justice said quietly, lying down and shutting him out. Mercy had nothing to say to that, and Justice closed her eyes to sleep. She clutched the blanket close, for night in the Darklands was as cold as the days were hot.