On a mountain many miles away, a great white tree stood. Its branches were full of singing leaves and shining fruit. Beneath it sat a throne of white stone and on it sat a king. He was a wise king, old as time but stronger than the mountain’s roots.
Daily he sat upon his throne where he kindly and patiently listened to any of his subjects who came to him with a petition or pleas, but on this day a mighty prince of another kingdom brought one of the king’s own subjects before him for judgment.
The king’s subject had strayed from the kingdom and into the prince’s where he had committed to a crime.
Without the authority to deal out condemnation and punishment, the prince sought a malicious consequence, for he cared not about the crime, only the pain of the king and those in his blessed kingdom.
Greatly saddened, the king could not look upon his subject whose shame was so strong that it hung upon him like heavy shackles.
However, the king’s own son was there and quietly conversed with the subject while the other prince railed and condemned the criminal, brandishing the decree that declared the broken rule as if it were a mighty weapon.
The king listened patiently throughout the accuser’s charges and then turned to his son. “Has he any denial to these claims?” He asked.
“No, Father,” His son replied. “He acknowledges his crime.”
“Then punish him for it,” The prince spat, eagerly enraged.
The son turned to his father and said, “The law is clear. Restitution must be made for his crime.”
“There is only one choice for such a one,” The prince cried.
“Death!” He cackled at the same time as the son said, “Grace.”
The prince stopped, stunned. “What?! Grace?! Impossible!” He sputtered.
“What is impossible is not for you to decide,” The king thundered. “My son can give of his own worth to fulfill the consequences.”
“No!” The prince hissed.
“Do you not seek justice, O Accuser?” The king demanded.
“Yes,” The prince muttered, reluctantly.
“And so it is being fulfilled.” He turned to his son, “It is your choice, my son.”
“He has accepted my help, Father,” The son replied.
The son stepped towards the prince, drawing a knife. He glanced back at the man. “This I do willingly for you.” With a single thrust, his hand ran red with blood. Another slash and both hands bled.
Taking the decree of guilt from the prince, the king’s son placed a bloody hand over the guilty condemnation and removed it, leaving a bloodstain upon the page that covered and erased it all.
Foiled and furious, the prince left.
The son walked over to the free man and showed him the blood that faded into aged scars.
The king looked down from his throne and announced, “You are cleansed of all wrong.”
“Neither do I condemn you,” The son murmured to the free man. “Go, and sin no more.”
