To Stop the Pain

By Pixie

Gasping for breath, the child clung tightly to his mother's hand as they raced desperately through the narrow streets. The air around them was thick with smoke and echoed with screams. Coarse laughter grated on their ears as their pursuers gave chase. Leaping flames lit the path of their flight, as the town burned around them.

Rounding a corner, the pair raggedly stumbled to a halt as they found their way barred. A line of men blocked the street before them while their pursuers closed ranks behind them. Within moments, the two were surrounded. The men around them were fighters, rough-looking and scruffy. They wore battered armour and carried swords with confident ease. Their thoughts washed over the terrified child, a maelstrom of hate-want-hurt-greed-satisfaction. He whimpered and clutched at his mother's skirt. She lifted her chin, glaring at the men with haughty, futile defiance.

One of the men stepped forward with a cruel chuckle. "You can't stop us, you know. Your husband, the wizard, the town's guardian, is dead. You're just a helpless woman. You can't even save yourself, much less that pretty son of yours." He leered at the woman and the child huddled behind her. Smirking, he strode forward until he stood before the trembling woman and raised a calloused hand to her cheek. She pulled away from his touch, only to be jerked back with a sharp cry as the man tangled his fingers in her long hair.

Fear suddenly evaporated in the heat of anger. The child darted around his mother and flung himself at her tormentor. "You stop that! Leave her alone!" With a crack of flesh striking flesh, the man's swift backhand hurled the boy backwards to land in a heap on the dusty street. He lay there limply for a moment, head spinning from the force of the blow. A fresh surge of fear from his mother grabbed at the child and he lifted his head.

Peering through straggling strands of raven hair, wide blue-violet eyes watched in horror as a sword swung in a glittering arc, its blade driving deep into his mother's chest. There was a brief moment of numb shock before the pain burst into their minds.

The air was split by a child's wail.

Paralyzed by the agony tearing through him, the boy saw his mother crumple to the ground. Her head turned in his direction, her eyes already emptying of life. He could feel her spirit flickering, drawing away. Her mind brushed his and whispered sorrowfully to him.

"I'm sorry, Zelgadis. We tried. Forgive us, please, for not having the strength to save you."

With that, she slipped away, leaving only blackness to fill the boy's mind where her brightness had always dwelled. Lost in shadowed grief, Zelgadis did not see the men tighten their circle around him. He didn't hear the scrape of swords sliding out of sheaths. Tears spilled from his unseeing eyes, tracing shining paths on his cheeks.

A familiar flare of hot power blazed across his senses and the street was suddenly illuminated by a sparkling crimson light. Ringing chimes sang clearly through the night. The sound reached through his grief and Zelgadis glanced up hopefully, to see a tall shadow looming against the ruby glow.

"The boy is my grandson," a smooth, deep voice announced. "You will not touch him."

Zelgadis could not see his assailants, only the power swirling wildly around them. When the wave of brilliant heat rolled past, the men were gone.

Lurching to his feet, the boy bolted across the street to his grandfather. Reaching down, the man caught Zelgadis effortlessly and lifted the child into his arms. The boy flung his arms around his grandfather's neck and buried his face in the soft folds of the crimson robe he wore.

Rezo could feel Zelgadis shivering violently against his shoulder and sensed the pain radiating from the boy. Frowning, he summoned a thread of power and reached out to catch the feel of his grandson's spirit to assess his injuries. He could find no physical hurts but caught his breath at the pained misery winding its way through the child's aura. The priest recoiled as the depth of Zelgadis' distress became clear.

Zelgadis' aura prickled with jagged spikes, sharp-edged with pain. His mind felt...bruised, almost strained. Rezo's lightest mindtouch triggered wavering ripples of hurt. Perplexed, the priest gently scanned his grandson's aura. The boy's mind had not been attacked, why would it be showing signs of overtaxation?

A pattern etched into the very nature of Zelgadis' mind caught Rezo's attention. Focusing, he carefully examined the mindpattern - the very receptive mindpattern. Allowing the pattern to arrange itself in his own thoughts, Rezo was startled at the image of openness suddenly blooming into his mind. The implication was shockingly clear.

Zelgadis was an empath. An unshielded, untrained empath whose mind had been bombarded unmercifully as hostile invaders swept through his home, slaughtered the townspeople and murdered his mother before his eyes.

Understanding brought sympathy and the priest laid a hand against his grandson's bent head, softly stroking the boy's hair as the child trembled in his arms.

"Ah, Zelgadis," Rezo sighed, "Let us see about shielding that too-sensitive mind of yours, shall we?" As he spoke, Rezo spread a thin veil of power over Zelgadis' thoughts, coaxing the boy to sleep as protections were layered over his spirit.

Later that evening, Zelgadis found himself awakening safely in his room at his grandfather's home. He lay still, staring blindly into the darkness. He felt oddly light-headed, his thoughts alone curling through his mind. The isolation left him with a feeling of serene, echoing emptiness. Despite the strangeness of the sensation, Zelgadis was unafraid. Instead, he was overwhelmed by a sort of numb relief, as the pain that had been tearing at him was finally gone.

Huddled behind the shields his grandfather had constructed, Zelgadis almost felt safe from the bright, noisy, hurtful world outside himself. He dared not relax his guard completely, however, since as powerful as those shields were, they could not protect him from his own memories. They paraded before him again, unraveling before his mind's eye. Clear images of the invaders leaping to attack, townspeople falling before their blades as the town burned around them played out behind closed eyes. He could still remember the sound of terrified screams and crackling flames. Once more, his mother's final apology whispered into his chaotic thoughts.

The shields were not enough, Zelgadis knew. They could help him keep the world at bay - they could not keep him from harm.

"I have to get strong," the boy decided. "I will get strong. Once I am, I won't need anybody to save me. And no one will be able to hurt me again. Not ever again."

§ end §

Return to Pixie's room
or The Library