The Healer’s Touch — “The Last Truth”
Chapter X/XIV
The Healer awoke without ever having fallen asleep. A glance out of the window showed him that it was still before dawn, the fire burnt low. Winds heralded the approach of another storm.
He had been joyful when she had received healing from heaven as a result of her faith. How grateful had he been for her daring to pray and cast all her cares upon Him, who could take it all? But his euphoria had faded. Whereas she had been given the peace she had longed for, he had received a stark realization in turn that had infested his mind like a virus ever since. The idea had made him toss and turn at night, never finding rest, never finding sleep.
What if …?
He swung his legs over the bed and tried to get up, but found his head swimming in blackness. He fought the urge to throw up and forced himself onto his feet. Pain soared through his left arm once more.
What if …?
Could he tell her? Should he ask her? What if it was true? Would she be able to let this wound be healed as well?
He lurched towards the fire and leaned against the frame of the fireplace. His initial intention had been to put another log in the ambers, but now the simple thought of bending down caused nausea to rise through his body.
What if …?
Then I’ll face it! But it wasn’t about him. It had never been. Since the day Death or the Angels or the Father or whoever granted him the gift of healing, his life had become a life of service. And even though he saw these years as a time of redemption, he knew his past murders couldn’t be undone because he preserved lives now. Only God could do that.
Since the day he had been healed and learned to walk once more, he knew this day would come. The day he would come face to face with his past.
When she awoke from her sleep, she looked beautiful. The ember light illuminated her countenance, that sparkled with this rejuvenating smile. She looked well rested, relaxed for the first time since he had met her.
And he hated to take this away. But how could she not react with surprise and fear for him, as he lay there, skidded down the wall, more lying than sitting, unable to move.
Her smile turned to ashes as she rushed towards him.
-
“What happened?” she cried out and was at his side in an instant.
He smiled weakly and answered, “Just wanted to … wanted to rekindle the fire.”
She tore off his shirt over his wounded shoulder, and a rush of anguish swept over her. She put his other arm around her shoulders and helped him to his feet, walking him over to the bed.
He was so weak that he needed quite some time to catch his breath and find the strength to form words. His face was as white as paper. With a quick cut of the knife she removed the bandages from his wounds.
The knife dropped out of her hands in shock and skittered over the wooden floor. The wound had festered again, but that wasn’t all. The veins extending from the wound had started to form dark lines. Black, thick blood seeped through the soaked scab.
“You got blood poisoning!” she whispered, stepping back, as if it were contagious. She forced herself to examine the wound again. It had been healing well over the last days. “I don’t understand.”
The Healer stretched forth his other hand, urging her to grab it. “I do,” he said, his voice less than breath. “An old wound of my soul broke open and my body won’t heal any longer.”
“What do you mean? What wound in your soul? Does it have to do with the fading of your gift?”
She saw him ponder about her questions for a moment.
“Yes and no,” was his answer. “I think it might have to do with the reason why I was invincible in the first place. But it has more to do with the time before I was.”
She understood even less. “You speak in riddles,” she said and grabbed the old flask of alcohol, ready to disinfect the wound once more. She would have to cut out all the rotten flesh, but she had no idea how to treat blood poisoning. Only that whomever she had seen with veins turning black like this had perished.
As she tried to pour the liquid on his wound, he grabbed her wrist. “Don’t,” he said. She stared at him, as he gathered strength through another long and slow breath. “I need you to tell me something.”
“Can’t that wait until I attended the wound?” she asked. His grip was so weak she could have just proceeded, but she wanted to understand. There was no logical explanation to his suddenly deteriorating health. He had gotten better every day until … this morning. What had happened that burned his soul in such horror that his body lost all strength?
“It can’t,” he said, conforming her expectation. “I need to know, now!”
She nodded and put the flask away. Her hand instead went to his pale and sweaty forehead. She felt as if she touched a coal. “What do you need to know?” she said, trying to help him proceed.
He swallowed hard and looked at her. “What was the name of your village?”
