Path Of The Broken

25. Drawn

25

Drawn

Devon emerged from the fragmented confusion and pain his world had become into an area that was somewhat familiar. He was near his childhood home where he’d grown up. His mind shied away from the associated images of his family, dead on the ground by his hand, amid flickering flames that reduced his family home to ash. Yet as painful as those memories always were, and no matter how far he tried to flee from them, somehow, eventually, he’d always find himself back in the vicinity of the village that he’d called home.

Devon looked through the trees to the nearby home. It was the journeyman healer’s hut, one of many spread throughout the kingdom. As the light faded from the sky, he saw light flare within the cabin and the familiar figure of Healer Jenny Medcalf’s silhouette in the window. He sat watching her hut as the light completely faded and darkness set in. Healer Medcalf had been away visiting the surrounding villages when he’d finally succumbed to the Taint. She had been trying to help him, even leaving a supply of the medication. He remembered his little sister had been playing and bumped into the cupboard, and the bottle containing that vital liquid had fallen to the floor, the precious liquid seeping into the floorboards and disappearing between the cracks lost forever.

Devon whimpered, curling up on himself and sliding down the tree trunk he’d been leaning on, barely noticing as the harsh bark cut through his tattered shirt into his skin. The memory brought up others, a flickering succession of images, feelings and smells as if he was reliving the moment over again. His little sister, Emma, he’d been so angry with her, the anger and fear growing, boiling up inside him. Then out in the yard, a scythe in his hands, her scream resounding in his head. Her crumpled, bloody, lifeless form on the ground. His father, mother and brother nearby. The smell of smoke and the crackle of fire burning his home. Blood, all over him. Their blood.

Devon sobbed, his fists pounding into his head as the images kept flickering in his mind's eye and the voices all around whispering to him, echoing in his head.

Please stop. I didn’t mean it.

Devon’s broken, pleading mind voice joined the chorus of others carried through the veil.

Devon wasn’t sure how or why he’d crossed the intervening space between the forest and the healer’s door. Caught between fear and desire to be healed, he froze outside her house, his hand raised to knock on the solid wooden door. He swallowed, eyes squeezing shut, lines of pain etched across his face. She would hate him for what he’d done, turn him away.

The door creaked, light flared on his eyelids. Devon’s eyes flew open, wide-eyed he looked at her, still frozen. The instant flash of fear in her eyes hurt. The compassion that followed, with her hands reaching out to him to draw him into her home, caused great wracking sobs to come from deep within him.

Help me. Please help me, don’t let me kill anyone else.