Mercy’s Drop Hymn

   

About Mercy's Drop

Mercy's drop was an executionary tool used by the The Seven Sands Concord. It was a 90ft hole dug into the earth. Those found guilty would take the leap, and if they survived, their charges were dropped - Seen as the will of The Floodfather & His Rungs.   Below are recovered texts made on clay featuring two call and response chants.  

Mercy’s Drop Hymn I: The Crown and the Axebearers

Occasion: sentencing at the rim, before the garden years. Voices: Axebearers, Crowd.   [A drum on the rim. The drop below hangs like a question.]   Axebearers: Rim to rim, eyes up.
Crowd: Eyes up.
Axebearers: Hands to the rope, breath to the teeth.
Crowd: Hold. Hold.
  Axebearers: Name the edge.
Crowd: Mercy.
Axebearers: Name the price.
Crowd: Breath.
Axebearers: Name the place.
Crowd: Down.
  Axebearers: How pleads the body at the brink.
Crowd: Guilty! Guilty!
Axebearers: Louder. The pit hears poorly.
Crowd: Guilty! Guilty! Guilty!
  Axebearers: Say what the rope is not.
Crowd: Not the law.
Axebearers: Say what the neck is not.
Crowd: Not the scales.
Axebearers: Say what the drop is not.
Crowd: Not the judge.
  Axebearers: Read the deed.
Crowd: Heavy!
Axebearers: Read the plea.
Crowd: Guilty!
Axebearers: Read the last wish.
Crowd: None!
  Axebearers: Rope tender, the knot.
Crowd: Square holds. Granny slips.
Axebearers: Which do we trust.
Crowd: The one tied twice.
  Axebearers: Air, witness.
Crowd: We witness.
Axebearers: Stone, remember.
Crowd: We remember.
Axebearers: Drop, answer.
Crowd: Answer.
  Axebearers: If the heart speaks, we pause.
Crowd: Heart, speak
Axebearers: If the heart is quiet, we count.
Crowd: Count.
  Axebearers: One.
Crowd: One.
Axebearers: Two.
Crowd: Two.
Axebearers: Three.
Crowd: Done.
  [Silence. The drum cuts. A thump rings in the dark.]   Axebearers: Say what the rope is not.
Crowd: Not the law.
Axebearers: Say what the neck is not.
Crowd: Not the scales.
Axebearers: Say what the drop is not.
Crowd: Not the judge.
  Axebearers: Then what are we.
Crowd: The law.
Axebearers: And what are you.
Crowd: The judge.
Axebearers: And what is this.
Crowd: The end.
 

Mercy’s Drop Hymn II: The Gardeners at the Hole

Many years later, the hole was outlawed by public vote. Those who tended it then do so still, as living ghosts longing for redemption. They keep the rim, keep the tools, and keep the count that will not stop.

  [A bowl of water shivers when no one moves. The thyme smells like iron.]
  Gardener 1: Rim to rim, eyes up. We looked down when it mattered.
Deceased:
Gardener 2: Hands to the rope, breath to the teeth. I should have let go.
Deceased:
  Gardener 1: Name the edge that took them.
Deceased:
Gardener 2: Name the price we called clean.
Deceased:
Gardener 1: Name the place that answers nothing.
Deceased:
  Gardener 2: How pleads the body at the brink. We taught the word.
Deceased:
Gardener 1: Louder, we said. The pit hears poorly. It heard enough.
Deceased:
  Gardener 2: Say what the rope is not. I repeat it to keep breathing.
Deceased:
Gardener 1: Say what the neck is not. My hands were the scales.
Deceased:
Gardener 2: Say what the drop is not. I judged with my grip.
Deceased:
  Gardener 1: Read the deed we weighed and called heavy.
Deceased:
Gardener 2: Read the plea we drowned with counting.
Deceased:
Gardener 1: Read the last wish we did not hear.
Deceased:
  Gardener 2: Rope tender, the knot. Square held. Granny slipped. We tied the first.
Deceased:
Gardener 1: Which do we trust. The one tied twice. I wish it had failed.
Deceased:
  Gardener 2: Air, witness what we were.
Deceased:
Gardener 1: Stone, remember what we did.
Deceased:
Gardener 2: Drop, answer for those who cannot.
Deceased:
  Gardener 1: If the heart speaks, we pause. We paused too late.
Deceased:
Gardener 2: If the heart is quiet, we count. We count seedlings now.
Deceased:
  Gardener 1: One. I feel the rope scar in the wood.
Deceased:
Gardener 2: Two. The mint tastes like last breath.
Deceased:
Gardener 1: Three. The roots learn the shape of ankles.
Deceased:
  [Silence. No drum. A memory thumps in the dark. A bee lands on the bowl and does not drink.]
  Gardener 2: Say what the rope is not. Not the law. We hid behind the words.
Deceased:
Gardener 1: Say what the neck is not. Not the scales. Our hands were.
Deceased:
Gardener 2: Say what the drop is not. Not the judge. We were.
Deceased:
  Gardener 1: Then what are we, now that it is outlawed.
Deceased:
Gardener 2: And what are you, whose names we water without speaking.
Deceased:
Gardener 1: And what is this, if not an end.
Deceased:
  [Stage note: They kneel. Thyme for borrowed courage. Rue for hoarded regret. Mint for stolen breath. The sealed stone sweats again. Tools are rinsed in brine that looks pink for a blink, then clear. No one leaves first.]

---

Written for Spooktober 2025 !