Back in the days of old, the days of controversy and appalling slavery, there was a small village located in the valleys of Europe. This small village was ruled by a vengeful king, King Bloodrick. Before the king had been born, his father had been killed by a nearby colony. Through his teenage years, his hate grew into boiling vengeance. When he ceremoniously accepted the throne, he decided to make them pay for their wrongdoings. After the many long years of battle and blood, he had destroyed all of the colony and their allies. After the war was over, King Bloodrick had tasted too much blood to stop his murderous acts. He had lost his mind in the process of destroying the other colony and couldn’t stop his blood lust. He enslaved his village and put up walls of stone surrounding the valley to prevent the villagers from escaping his grasp. The citizens were extremely troubled.
This despicable tyranny lasted many years. King Bloodrick’s son, King Trident, took the throne after his father died and was even more evil than him. After him was King Trident’s son, King Jackal, which was even more evil that his father King Trident. King Jackal hated any sign of happiness and made it illegal to smile or laugh. His hatred was deeply seeded in his heart of stone. King Bloodrick had mercy, but King Jackal didn’t even have a reason to care.
The people of the village were losing hope. They were forced to do strenuous labor all hours of the day. If they didn’t work to the best of their abilities, they would be whipped by King Jackal himself. He didn’t let any skin on their backs stay attached.
In the village there was a girl named Gwenn Tear. She was an orphan who carried mud from a pit next to the southern wall all the way across town to the brick master’s hut on the north side. She was small for her age, but very strong. One day, as she went past the castle on her delivery route, King Jackal was going back into the castle in a very angry mood. She didn’t see the king and ran straight into him. The mud in her reed woven basket splattered over the king’s velvet robes and covered his face. Gwenn hit the ground face-first.
King Jackal was enraged. He brought out his whip, covered in spikes, and brought it back to strike. Gwenn tried to run, but stumbled only a few feet away. The king brought his whip down hard on her back, tearing her simple cotton dress and breaking her flesh wide open. The king proceeded to whip Gwenn as she lay helpless on the ground, holding back her cry of pain.
When King Jackal was finished, not a piece of skin was left intact. He strutted away, not a dash of sorrow in his rock-hard heart. Gwenn laid still, her eyes dry, her throat scratchy, and her back aflame with pain. She slowly crawled out of the village and sat against the wall, her face in the mud. She sat there, gritting her teeth, not knowing what to do. Then she heard a voice.
“Gwenn…” the voice echoed, “Gwenn…Can you hear me?”
Gwenn, not able to speak because of the searing pain, nodded her head in acknowledgement. The voice continued to speak.
“Gwenn, I have heard the cries of your people. I have seen the sorrows that have befallen your people. Now, I will help your people escape the iron grip of King Jackal through you. I will now give you a way to express your sorrow, but you have to listen.”
Gwenn nodded, feeling an assurance in this mysterious voice. She then proceeded to listen to the voice.
After the voice had told Gwenn who he was and what she needed to do, she started crawling back towards the castle. People stared at her in wonder. “How could this small girl still be alive after such a beating?” they all pondered. “Why would she be heading back towards the castle of King Jackal? He will surely kill her because of her courage to show her face in front of him.”
When Gwenn had reached the entrance of the castle, she gradually eased herself off of the ground. With her shoulders back and her spine rigid, Gwenn began to speak.
“Jackal!” she bellowed into the breeze. “Come forth and see the one you have distorted.” As she said this, the king came towards the window on the uppermost floor of the castle.
“What do you want, you lowly peasant?” he snarled back. “What do you have to say to me, the king of this village, which is worth a minute of anyone’s time?”
Gwenn stared right back into his eyes, his eyes that were blind to anything good. She then loudly proclaimed, “You call yourself a king? You are not even worthy enough to be a shepherd to a herd of sheep. You and your father and your father’s father have tormented this village, the village you say you rule, long enough!”
“What are you saying you foolish little child!” King Jackal screamed back. “What force would you use to take me off my own throne?”
“The one true King will give me the power to overthrow you. He is the only one who has the power to do so.” As she presented these final words, she kneeled in front of the castle. She held her hands into the air and then fell face-first onto the ground.
The world seemed to stop in mid-spin. The breeze settled and the birds held their song. Then, not soon after Gwenn had fallen on the ground, a puddle started to form around her face. The puddle grew, slowly expanding its scope a few inches at a time.
The people stared on, murmuring among themselves, “What is this? There are no clouds for it to be raining, but yet there is water. Is it sprouting out of the ground?”
Through the water, Gwenn sputtered a response. “No.” she answered. “The water is not sprouting out of the ground. It is pouring out of my eyes like an angry waterfall at the end of a river. This act represents the oppression of my people and I gladly do this out of my heart for I know the one true King is here helping me. Now, escape out of this valley! Flee at once and save your own lives! Jackal must pay for what he has done, but the citizens of this village have done nothing wrong. Escape now, villagers, and never look back!”
The people heeded Gwenn’s words, for the water was quickly spreading. They gathered what little belongings they possessed and scaled the wall to freedom.
King Jackal watched in mock horror. “Oh, dear!” he mischievously cried out. “Whatever shall I do? This puddle of water shall never consume this castle!”
Thunder sounded from nearby and a bolt of lightning struck the castle, chipping away a piece of stone. Then, the voice, the voice of the one true King, boomed from the sky.
“Hear me King Jackal, oppressor of many! You are evil, more evil than your father and your father’s father. They have paid for their wrong-doings, but you have not. You mock this girl, Gwenn Tear, and her faithfulness to me, someone she did not know until just a few hours ago. Now, what you say is true, Gwenn cannot overpower you, not alone. But with the help of me, the one true King, she can achieve anything. So now, Gwenn Tear and the water flowing from her eyes shall be accompanied by a storm that shall release my wrath on you, King Jackal!”
The storm clouds let loose a torrential downpour on the valley. It crept up the walls of the castle at a ferocious pace. King Jackal backed against the door of the uppermost room of the castle as a wave of water broke through the window and consumed him. The Bloodrick line would never proceed past King Jackal.
Gwenn Tear sacrificed her life in a humble service to her people. The citizens that had survived the iron fist of King Jackal headed west and settled in the nearby mountains, forever learning that there was a chance of flash flooding while living in a valley. And to remember Gwenn Tear and her courageous acts, the villagers named the outflow of water from Gwenn’s eyes tears. And whenever they were sad or thought they had lost all hope, they would cry Gwenn’s tears and pray to the one true King about their troubles. Through doing this, the villagers never forgot Gwenn and her courageous acts.