The Pathway

Despite her fear of the dark, the young small girl was locked in the cold empty room. Alone once again. Pain from her shredded wrist crept up her limb, where her skin hung free from her arm. Each heartbeat caused her to shudder, as the severe agony dominated her mind. Dizziness swayed her body, then quickly forced her dirty knees to the ground. Hunching down in the filth she kept still and listened to the footsteps of the warden still echoing loudly through the damp stone hallway. She held her breath and counted each step until she could no longer hear them. She must not show weakness. No tears, no pain, no distress. This was the way of the Royal Quarter. She must discipline herself to remain calm.

In an effort to control her anguish, the girl hung her arm limply in front of her. Gradually, as she slowed the pace of her heart, the throbbing pain found a rhythm. It moved from her arm to her head, to her heart. Arm, head, heart. Arm, head, heart. Sharp thoughts of panicked frustration pierced her peace.

Why can't I just do as I was told? Why did I have to upset the Lord like this? How long will he would leave me here this time?

Adjusting to the darkness that rested on her, she slowly opened her eyes without moving her head. The gash ran down the inside of her arm, from her wrist up almost right up to her elbow. In places, pieces of flesh hung loose from the skin. Blood seeped from it, dripping onto the floor and with each drop she tried harder to ignore the pain. It wouldn’t go away. She wished she could at least spread the pain across her entire body, to ease the intensity. The girl hung her head again and closed her eyes, trying to imagine the throbbing moving into every part of her body. She pictured it moving up her arm, spreading across her chest and then down her spine. She envisioned the pain dissipating into her legs. She imagined every cell in her body linking together to fight against the wound and help her endure. After a few minutes of thinking this way, it actually began to help. The throbbing subsided and her body began to relax. A dangerous tear trickled down her face in misery and she wiped it instinctively with her injured arm. Her injured arm! The girl did a double take, the wound was gone. She stood up immediately and held it to the faint light.

This can’t be. It can’t be.

The skin on her arm was slightly pink like someone had slapped it really hard. Otherwise, there was nothing. She spun around to check for blood on the floor. It was right where she had been sitting, so it was real, she had been injured. This was bad. She shouldn’t be able to do this. She was a Mover, not a Healer. Frantic panic set in. There were foot steps at the end of the passageway once again. She could hear the rattling of keys. As young as she was, she knew what she had to do.

“Please,” she begged. “Please.”

She scratched around in the dark for something sharp amongst the straw. The footsteps were quickening. Her tears began again.

“Please.”

The corners of the room were so dark, she couldn’t find anything.

The walls! she thought to herself, getting up off her knees.

The girl hastily launched her arms over the length of every piece of the wall she could find. Finally, there it was. Keys sounded in the lock. The girl held her breath and ran the nail into her skin from her elbow to her wrist just in time.

“Nasty little beast,” said the toothless warden, as he let her keeper in. “Tried to bite when I put her in.”

The girl held her arm in fresh pain and scoured at his lie.

“The Lord will reward you well for your patience,” her keeper replied.

The warden bowed deeply. “I live to serve the Lord.”

Her keeper turned towards her, “Come on then, let’s get you to a healer.”

The girl stood up gingerly, as a new shiver of agony washed over her skin. The blood was dripping afresh.

“Don’t mess on the warden’s floors,” he said matter-of-factly.

Obediently the girl wrapped her arm in the skirt of her dress and followed in submissive silence.