The guard swung his whip down.
In an instant, her body made the decision for her. With a garbled cry leaking from her throat, the girl raced forward. She saw in her periphery the way the guard’s eyes widened. Her arms wrapped around the boy as she shielded him with her own body. Searing pain slashed her back.
“L-lash me instead!” the girl choked out.
“Why are you…?!”
She didn’t know. She didn’t know why she’d said that. What had possessed her to use her body to protect him? The girl didn’t know. She didn’t know anything. Except maybe that this really was the only thing she could possibly do.
“This child will die if he receives those lashings!” she shouted. “I’ll take them instead!”
A ripple of agitation spread through the crowd as the guard hesitated, confused by her sudden intervention.
“Stop this!” barked the senior sister.
“This is the only thing I can do to save him! There’s no other way!”
Their meal services hadn’t been enough. The boy had no choice but to steal from a bakery. Yes, what he’d done was wrong. But if he and his brother weren’t starving to begin with, if he had been old enough to work and pay for food, he never would have resorted to this. He wasn’t even doing it to fill his own belly—he was doing it for his little brother!
“Can the church save this boy?!” the girl asked, her voice echoing in the air.
She knew the answer. The church couldn’t save all the starving children in the world. It wasn’t possible. Not even on the mainland, where they had spread their creed far and wide. There were always pockets the hand of salvation could not reach. It was supposed to be a nation’s job—a regional lord’s job—to make sure children didn’t starve. But they were less successful at that than even the church.
The world was unfair.
“If someone must pay for this crime, then as someone more privileged than this boy, I will pay it! I will take his punishment!”
The church kept her fed. She never went hungry. If she got injured, they would tend to her. She had people to look out for her if she needed it—unlike this boy. She had a stone wall to keep her safe.
This is the cost of freedom, she realized. For so long, she had thought the people outside the monastery walls were luckier than her. They had families and could do whatever they wanted whenever they wished. But she’d been wrong.
How ignorant have I been?
Even in this regard, she had been blind to anything but her own perspective. The sharp pain in her back was a reminder of how shallow she’d been. It was her punishment.
Before the senior sister could further admonish her, the red-haired sister rushed over and threw her arms around the boy as well. “I’ll take the punishment with her!”
“That’s quite enough, both of you!” boomed the senior sister’s voice.
The longer this played out, the more confused the authorities were.
Refusing to back down, the girl argued, “Sister, shouldn’t you be over here doing the same as us?! Had we been able to save this child as we should’ve, he would never have been in this predicament!”
The church wasn’t solely to blame. The townsfolk could have spared a little to make sure children like this boy were properly fed. They could have prevented this.
The boy’s trembling arms snaked around her.
“It’s the church’s duty to save the weak, regardless of their status in society. Isn’t that right?!”
There was a brief quiet before the senior sister murmured, “We cannot save everyone.”
“Then that’s all the more reason we should save this boy while we have the chance!”
The girl knew covering for him wouldn’t resolve the core issue. His brother would continue to starve. The senior sister was right; they couldn’t save everyone. But that only filled the girl with more conviction.
“I know there was a victim in this case. I’m not asking for him to be absolved of wrongdoing!”
Calmly, the senior sister told her, “This is selfish. You’re only doing this to feel better about yourself.”
“That’s fine! If that prevents him from dying, I’ll take it! What do you think whipping a starving boy accomplishes anyway?!”
Punishment didn’t save anyone. It went toward making society safer, sure, but she couldn’t help pointing out the absurdity of it all the same. Victims of circumstance, such as this boy, weren’t even considered part of society to begin with.
“I agree that what he did was wrong,” said the girl. “But then who should take the blame for him and his brother starving?!”
He had been born into misfortune. His situation wasn’t of his own making, yet he was being held accountable like a grown criminal? The country couldn’t save him. The church couldn’t save him. And the girl wasn’t the only one who was powerless to do anything.
“So, hey…”
“Yeah, um…”
Murmurs traveled through the crowd, the onlookers exchanging glances. The girl had posed a startling question: Who was to blame? They had slowly begun to understand what she was getting at, and compassion now supplanted their twisted interest in seeing him suffer. It was a parent’s duty to watch over their children, but what about children who had no parents? Moreover, a young sister of the church had offered herself up in his stead, claiming she was more privileged than this boy. If she was more privileged, what about them? Were any of them more blessed? Of course they were.
The bakery owner soon rescinded his claim to victimhood, which left all the guards present looking relieved. “Here,” he said gruffly. “Take this bread with you, kid.”
“You mean it?” Uncertain, the boy accepted it. The girl and the sister had stepped back to give him space, but he was still sitting in the dirt.
“Yeah, I, uh…” The baker rubbed the back of his neck. “Look, I was being shortsighted. Next time you need food, come to me. I’ll give you anything we’ve got that’s expiring or can’t sell—for free.”
“Really?!” The boy’s face lit up, but he quickly cleared his throat. “I’m also very sorry for what I did!”
“As long as you know it was wrong. And you oughta thank those two ladies. One of them took a lash for you.”
An innocent person had felt the sting of the whip on his behalf. Women, even commoners, abhorred unnecessary injury. That was all the truer when one was young and unmarried. Scars could sink a person’s value on the marriage market. Granted, the girl was a nun and thus would never marry, but the point still stood. If she was unlucky, she might carry this scar on her back for the rest of her life.
“Y’know,” said the bakery owner, “if there’s such a thing as a saint, I’d bet that you’re it.”
Other townspeople readily agreed, nodding along.
“Yes, not many people could do what you did.”
“He may be a young boy, but it’s not like you know him, right? And forgive me for saying this, but he’s filthy. A person must be awfully compassionate to put themselves in harm’s way like you did.”
“Yeah, you really made us reconsider.”
“You sisters have such pure hearts.”
While the onlookers showered the nuns with praise, the boy nervously climbed to his feet. “Th-thank you,” he muttered, staring at the ground. His voice was shrill, cracking with nervousness. Color concentrated in his cheeks, all the way up to his ears.
The girl couldn’t help but smile. He had plucked up his courage to thank her. Beside her, the red-haired sister had big, fat tears rolling down her cheeks. She probably saw her late siblings in this boy.
“You are very welcome,” said the girl, “but you mustn’t steal again.”
“I won’t. I’ll talk to the bakery owner and see if he has any scraps when we get hungry.”
Hearing his words, she reflected that this boy had been just as ignorant as she had. He didn’t know any better. He’d thought stealing was the only way to fill his—and by extension, his brother’s—belly. It wasn’t until the baker offered to hand over his scraps that the boy realized there was another way. A way that didn’t have all the consequences that came with stealing. There was no telling what the future might bring for him, but at the very least, the girl was sure his life would be easier than it had been.
“I’m glad things worked out,” she said.
Her red-haired friend sniffled. “Yes. Yes, thank goodness.”
“You’re still crying?” The girl gave her an exasperated look. She was the one who’d tasted the bite of the whip. If anyone should have been crying, it was her.
“How long are you two going to sit in the dirt?!” the senior sister snapped at them. “Get on your feet!” The onlookers regarded her disapprovingly, so she hastened to add, “We need to get you home to treat your wound. As for the cart…I’ll push it this time.”
That had never happened before.
The girl traded looks with the red-haired sister. They both rose to their feet. She nearly doubled over when the pain hit her.
“Are you okay?!” the red-haired sister cried. “Here, hold on to me.”
She offered her shoulder, which the girl gladly took. They shuffled along to avoid aggravating the wound. The path back to the monastery felt farther than it ever had before, but it wasn’t as grueling as usual, perhaps because people continued to commend her as she went.
“What you did was incredible. I could never do something as brave as that,” said the red-haired sister.
“You don’t have to. It hurt,” grumbled the girl.
Frankly, she didn’t even know why she’d done it either.
Had I known how much pain that whip would inflict, I might not have.
Tears still lingered in the corners of the red-haired sister’s eyes. The girl knew the sister had numerous similar scars on her own back. She, too, had resorted to thievery in the past, only to be caught and punished. She’d grown up in a far crueler environment than this. No wonder she thought the monastery was a relaxing paradise.