Marcus looked into the fire; eye?s alive as he watched the dancing flames. He looked at the host and around to the others, sitting at the wayside. ?I?ll tell you a story.?
?When humans first roamed the land, morality was determined by those who carried the sharpest stick or hefted the heaviest rock. Those who fought and won were able to state what was right and what was wrong. Those who were vanquished; cut, torn, and rotting in the sun - they were never able to complain that their demise had been immoral. Morality is nothing more than a concept, conjured by those who have the time and the privilege to be able to think instead of existing in a situation where they are forced to act. The absolutist tells me that taking a life is wrong under all circumstances. The punishment for murder is death they cry! Hypocrites. The relativist tells me that taking a life is justified under certain circumstances. It is acceptable to kill to save a life! Arrogant fools. Who are these people, who claim to recognize right from wrong, who attempt to justify the taking of a life in one breath, yet condemn it in the next? If Gods were real, thus creating a necessity for morality, then surely it would be the Gods alone who should have the power to decide who lives and who dies?? Marcus?s face was alive with emotion, as he continued to speak.
?This assumes that we all have the capacity for choice, that we possess a will that is free to shape our own paths in this world. This, my friends is a big assumption indeed. Our thoughts and our actions are as much determined for us as the course of a single drop of water caught up in the ebbs and currents of a mighty river. Each droplet pushes and coerces those around it, and is likewise coerced in turn. I am no fatalist ? I do not believe that we have an unavoidable fate mapped out before us, but similarly I do not believe our actions are entirely our own to decide.? He fidgeted on his stump, pausing for but only a second.
?Take this as an example. I once worked for a man who was an apothecary of great renown. He had brewed a restorative for a patient in a neighboring town who was sick and on the verge of death. The quickest route between the two towns was through an area of woodland, known to be inhabited by bandits. Of course there were other routes available, but time was against us, and so the fastest and most direct route was really my only option. The bandits preyed on the unwary in those woods because their taxes were too high and they were unable to feed their families through honest work. The apothecary knew of the bandits, so he issued me with a sword for my protection. He also knew that a sword would be useless without training, so he hired somebody who was sufficiently proficient. Suffice to say, I was set upon by those bandits as I passed through the woods, and I killed each one who dared to face me. I delivered the restorative and saved the apothecary?s patient, who in the following years proved to be a murderer responsible for some fifteen deaths.? Looking to the others he tilted his head and smiled.
?Ethicists, Philosophers and Scholars will sit back and pick over this situation like vultures picking at a corpse. In the comfort of their studies, seated in fine chairs, warmed by brandy and fire, they will assign blame or praise to the actions of others, actions they know nothing about. I could have refused the job, I could have taken another route, or I could have surrendered to the bandits ? but each of these actions would have had their own series of repercussions. I did not choose for the patient to become sick, or to be attacked by bandits. I did not set their taxes or take the food from their families. These occurrences were outside of my control. Once the patient had been cured, I was not responsible for the terrible tragedies wrought by his hands. I simply acted as I saw fit. These great thinkers, in all their arrogance and surrounded by luxury, they forget that they live their privileged lives because there are others out there who act to keep them safe. The soldier who defends this land ? unafraid of sacrifice, or the cut and thrust of a blade ? keeps these great thinkers safely distanced from the actions they judge with such disdain and contempt.? Marcus shook his head as he laughed, letting out a great sigh.
?Hypocrites, sycophants and misguided fools, they peddle in dreams and illusions, never truly knowing the reality they claim to judge. But I digress, what does this have to do with me or my story? As a matter of fact, everything.? Then, as though in great pain, he looked towards the fire and spoke.
?Once upon a time, there was a man. After a period of wandering, this man came to settle in a small coastal town. Here he met a woman, and between them, they had a beautiful son. They were happy. Then one day, a hooded stranger traded harsh words with a noble in the town square. It came to be that those words sparked a fire that ended in death. The boats, the town, the people ? they all burned. A few made it out alive, none of them made it out untouched. The man lived, his family did not.
Turns out that the hooded stranger was part of a great and terrible cult. They believed that all sins should be cleansed in flame, and they found sin amongst the people of Hark?s Bay. The few survivors all tell a slightly different tale; the details and the names don?t matter much anymore. As the town slept, the hooded strangers crept into dark places with flasks of oil and struck flint against steel. The sparks grew into a great conflagration that engulfed the whole town. By the time the alarm was raised, there weren?t enough people left alive to fight the fires.
The man wandered the coastal paths that night, his skin blackened except for the pale tracks cut into his cheeks where tears flowed freely. He found a handful of those hooded fanatics on a cliff top overlooking the town, watching everything he had ever loved burn to ash. By sunrise the next morning, they had shared in his pain completely.
With nothing left to live for, he walked until his legs would carry him no further, and then he sat, waiting for the numbing embrace he hoped death would provide. It did not come. The burning brilliance of the sun sank beneath the waves, only to be replaced by the ghastly light of the moon, but still death did not claim him. He prayed, he cried, he screamed at the black emptiness of the sky until his throat was raw, but no salvation was forthcoming, no release evident.? A single tear could be seen, etching its way along Marcus?s face as he continued through the story.
?The old woman found him shivering, disheveled and exhausted the following morning. She prepared a small fire, cooked him breakfast and asked for nothing in return, save for the answer to a single question: what did he wish had happened? The man replied simply, wishing he had possessed the power to kill those who would harm him. His wording was careless, for he did not understand the weight of the conversation that was taking place. The woman left shortly afterwards, telling him to live his life, reassuring him that no harm would ever befall him again. For many months, the man did not believe her. For many months, he did not have to.
Then events began to stack up. There was the barroom brawl, the highwaymen, the drunken member of the watch. Each person had meant him harm, and each had fallen in a heartbeat. There was no thought involved, no conscious decision to fight or end a life, not even a recognizable reaction. One moment he was threatened, the next he was safe in the presence of a corpse.? Marcus turned his gaze from the flickering of the fire, to the others sat with him.
?Whether the old lady bestowed a blessing or a curse, no one can say for sure. The man continues to travel the land, never stopping long enough for his past to catch up with him. One thing is certain; those who wish to harm him fall as swiftly and as surely as if they had thrown themselves on their own blades.
Does the man choose to end these lives? Or do these lives choose to end themselves upon his blade? He would not harm them if they had not sought to harm him first. Are their deaths therefore self inflicted? Is there room for good or evil or morality when a person is not truly free to act in accordance with their will? These questions I cannot answer with any certainty, but I warn each of you as a friend, I know this man?s story to be true.? Marcus paused for a second before looking up, tracks of his tears visible against the dirt that had covered his face. ?His name is Marcus and he sits with you now, on the wayside.?
