Perhaps It Is a Mercy
Inheritance #3
This is the third and final scene of Inheritance: In a world where magic is forbidden, a carpenter stops by the town square to watch the execution of a hex. When he returns home, he realizes the something of the hex has seeped into him.
Inheritance #3: Perhaps It Is a Mercy
Ingram walked upstairs with a steaming plate of roasted chicken and boiled potatoes. After he had killed the chicken, the corruption’s hunger had been briefly satiated and he had been able to touch other foods without them rotting in his hands. His wife lay in their bed covered by blankets, asleep, as he knew she would be, for he could sense the brittle life she still possessed wherever he was in their house. He placed her meal on the bedside table, picked up the overflowing bucket from underneath a hole in their roof, and opened a window to throw out all the water. The rain clattered on the shingles of the village and in the distance, over fields of sodden grass, lightning struck across the clouds.
“I don’t want to do this,” Ingram said even though he knew he wouldn’t be able to resist. He held out his burnt hand to let the rain taste it. A dog barked at the thunder. “It’s not the right way to go,” he said. The corruption’s only response was its relentless desire for the dying woman a few feet away. Ingram closed the window and turned. “I’ll bring you chickens and rabbits and sheep and cows,” he said as he shuffled to the bed. “I’ll hunt deer, I’ll kill wolves. Don’t make me do this.” He was next to the bed and pulled away the blankets.
She was awake and looked at him. “Who are you talking to?” she asked.
“I’m sorry,” Ingram whispered and he gently cupped her cheeks with his hands. He closed his eyes as the corruption flowed into her and waited for her flesh to turn cold. It would take only a moment to extinguish the little life she had left. Perhaps it is a mercy, Ingram thought as he stroked his thumbs across her face. Immeasurable pain was building in his chest and stomach. He had loved how she sang during the sunlit days laundering his linens, how she cooked meals that smelled so much better than the one he had made for her today, how she made no demands of him but that he kiss her in the morn. A life without her still seemed forever away.
“Why are you crying?” she asked.
Ingram didn’t open his eyes because it could not have been his wife who had spoken. It was his imaginings, produced by his intense desire to live in a world she still lived in too. And yet her cheeks were warm. He had even felt them moving when she’d spoken. Despite his fears of what he was about to see, he opened his eyes. There she lay unglazed with her hands on his. A glow had returned to her face, and Ingram realized that the corruption had not taken her but had instead aimed its tendrils at the rot inside his wife.
“Ingram, why are you crying?” she asked again.
“Because I think you’re getting better,” he said. He reached for the plate of food and slowly fed her. The following days were a fragile but blissful return to normality, with the doctor proclaiming her sudden recovery a miracle as he bandaged Ingram’s hand, and the many visiting villagers saying how much they had prayed for her. Ingram thanked them and did not speak to anyone about what had really caused his wife to heal.
The corruption was his constant companion, and every time it twitched he left his house under the cover of the night to steal an animal he hoped no one would miss. He took great care not to draw any suspicions and did not visit others who were ill who he now knew he could heal. Instead, he attended every execution and turned away when the ax came down to look upon the crowd and see who stood there transfixed.
Inheritance #3: Perhaps It Is a Mercy