FARHAYVEN: VENGEANCE Read Online Free PDF

As the tears flowed steadily in streams down his cheeks, his vision cleared.
     
         He picked himself up slowly and took a good look around. The sun was now directly overhead and the weather was warm, as opposed to the feeling in his heart. He walked into the building that was once his happy home, but knew instantly what to expect. The sight of his sister, whose eyes were white and sunken, was the first to stab his heart. Her skin was shrivelled like an old lady. Dried blood had congealed at an open wound around her neck. The demon had apparently drunk her blood after it had drained her soul. Lying next to his sister was his grandfather, stiffened and still clutching his sword. He knew his grandfather went down fighting as a piece of the evilness that had attacked them the night before was lying on the floor beside him. The body of his mother sat stiffly a few paces away, the expression of sorrow and despair carved permanently on her shrivelled face.
     
         Lance turned around and headed out to the field. He had not bothered to hope. Actually, he had not dared to hope. But he wanted to be sure. He needed to be sure ! He had not gone more than a few paces before his suspicion was confirmed. The corpse of his father was being feasted on by a few vultures. They had pecked his eyes out and the rest of his lifeless body was full of rips and cuts. Flies were swarming all over the body and the first of the maggots were joining in the feast. There was not much for Lance to do now except the obvious.
     
         Lance went back into the house and gathered what little belongings he had, which included a small pot, two loafs of bread, some clothes, a few coins and a hunter’s knife, and bundled them into a large piece of red cloth. He chose this colour to remind him of the blood that had been spilt the night before, so that he would never forget the horrendous fate that had befallen his family. Tying the cloth neatly at both ends with a length of thick rope and slinging it across his left shoulder, he proceeded to retrieve the sword from his dead grandfather’s right hand. It took Lance a tremendous effort to overcome the stiffened fingers that held the sword. Then he sheathed the sword in its scabbard and tucked the scabbard on the belt on his waist. He then picked up the severed arm of the demon and bundled it with another cloth, this one of the colour green, and bundling it, slung it over his right shoulder. Stepping outside the house, he went straight to the tool shed. There he took a wooden bucket and poured oil into it from a large earthen jug. He then dipped a wooden torch into the bucket of oil. Then he took the bucket of oil, the torch and also a flint rod. He went back into his house, and with a final glance at the bodies of his dead family, poured oil all over them. He then struck the flint rod with his hunter’s knife and ignited the torch; and with it, set fired to the oil. Columns of thick black smoke rose to the ceiling as the flames spread all over the dead bodies. The flames spread to engulf the entire house. But Lance was not concerned. This house meant nothing to him anymore, except to remind him of the extreme hollowness in his heart.
     
         Lance took the oil bucket and the torch, and went out to the field where his father lay. The buffalo grazed the grass lazily as it usually did. A gentle breeze blew, but it did not console him. The vultures flew off as he approached. He poured the remnants of the oil that was in the bucket onto his father’s body. The flies swarmed around him. He then set his father’s oil-soaked body alight. As the cleansing flames roared into existence, the flies abandoned the hollow shell that was once his father. He stood there for hours, watching his father’s body burn to ashes. The sun was setting west of this simple farm, unaffected by the events of the night before. Lance did not know what to do next. His eyes were already dry, his tears totally drained. And