by Justin Kauer
Alban watched as the opening of the door darkened and then gave way to the silhouette of a young, shapely woman. She entered into the wagon, which was quite spacious. From what Alban could see in the dim light of the wagon, she was a very good looking young lady. Her dark, curly hair was well kempt and tied back in a ponytail. Her clothes were not the best of fabric, but they were well made and kept clean. She had her eyes low, looking at a tray of food in her hand which she began to arrange. He suddenly realized what Ryan meant about robbing him. Alban had wondered what she could possibly steal from him that would be of worth. When he saw the tray of food, he knew that it was his heart that he should guard against being taken. Then she looked up from her tasks of setting out all of the food and organizing all of the utensils, cup, and drink.
Their eyes met.
. . .
. . .
. . .
Alban was the first to realize that he was staring; she realized the same was true for her. They both turned their heads as if to look away, but their gazes were fixed.
The young woman tried to say something, but it came out as, “Open . . . eyes.”
Just when it seemed as they would be caught there in each other’s eyes for all eternity, the high-pitched nasal whine of Nordholst’s voice came shattering the very air.
“If I had known that you were fetching him food, I wouldn’t have gone for these biscuits! Why doesn’t anybody ever tell me what’s going on?” he whined the most perfectly odious whine.
“Nordholst, if you had any sense in your head, you’d have gone and gotten it yourself!” snapped the girl, in a tone that turned about all aggression, and put Nordholst to feeling quite sheepish. It also elicited a bright red blush on her face, possibly due to the fact that she had made no sense, or that she had lost her temper in front of Alban, but it was probably both.
“I’m sorry. I just didn’t know . . . but. . . Wait! I did go get them myself.” was his reply, which he might as well have bleated out.
“Well . . . go and get me a new bandage! This one is all bled through!”
“I am sorry . . . I mean, yes, my lady!” Nordholst retreated.
When he was sure that Nordholst was out of earshot (this time), Alban half whispered, “Thank you. My head cannot take much more of his voice today.”
“You are welcome!” she said, in a voice that Alban thought was straight from heaven because it was soft and quiet enough that he felt the peaceful fire return. “How are we feeling today?”
“We?” asked Alban. “I guess we’re doing just . . . fine. We’re a bit nervous, though.”
“Well . . .” she giggled. “You’ll find that I don’t bite.”
“When I said we, I meant both of us; but I don’t bite either . . . at least, not very hard!”
She didn’t laugh. Alban thought that perhaps it was the fact that he called her on her being nervous as well.
“I’m . . . well, they tell me that my name is Alban.”
“I know.” was the response. “You still don’t remember anything?”
“No, my lady, I do not. Though from your voice, I know you to be the substitute angel,” he affirmed. After a pause, he added, “I think that it is customary that when two people meet, and one introduces himself, the other should reply in kind.”
“Oh! You should remember that!” she laughed.
“Remember what?”
“The fact that we have met before. I told you all about me, and my family, where I grew up as a girl, all kinds of things!”
“Had I remembered, I wouldn’t have introduced myself. Could you please humor me? I really don’t remember much other than waking up with a huge headache, cooking a meal in a kitchen where I met the substitute angel (perhaps you mean that we met then), and then waking up in a wagon.” explained Alban.
“Maybe that is due to the misery’s sorrow that was in the supply wagon.” offered the young girl.
“It is more likely due to the head injury or, perhaps, a combination of both.” offered Alban.
The girl just smiled at Alban who was becoming a bit impatient. He figured, though, that he might want to forget all about this girl after all. There may be something amiss if she didn’t want to give her name.
“Look, if you don’t want me to know your name, I’ll just make something up. It may be better that way, anyway.” he spouted. “For all I know, being in such a mixed up state, you’re some gorgeous demoness, spat up from hell in order to tempt me to eat worms!”
“You have a strange way of talking with women! I don’t know if I should be upset or flattered by those remarks.” she returned.
“Maybe both!” laughed Alban. “But until you decide to answer, I will call you Eir, after the Nardigan goddess of mercy and healing. Look, I was kidding about the demoness part, and I am literally starving! May I please have something to eat?”
“Oh! Yes. Here.” she said, as she put some stew into a bowl and served it to Alban. “It is not nearly as good as the food that you prepared last week, but it is food.”
“I think that food is just the thing to eat right now.” he offered. It wasn’t the best of remarks, but that is what he said. She laughed anyway, so it was fine.
He started to reach for the bowl but found that his right arm was tied down tight against his chest. It surprised him that he had not noticed that before. Maybe the pain in his head had made him not want to move, so he didn’t notice? He was unsure.
“What happened to my right arm?” he asked himself aloud.
“Oh. That happened when they were moving you from the supply wagon to this one. The doctor says that it isn’t broken, just sprained. That’s why they tied it to your chest.”
“But, it hurts here in the forearm!”
“Yes, but the tying it down helps to keep you from using it . . . umm . . . too much.”
“How am I supposed to eat if I have my hand tied?”
“I have been giving you sips of water, milk, and broth from time to time. I could feed you, for now.”
“Just exactly what are feeding me today?”
“Well . . .” began the young woman, realizing that there was a double meaning in Alban’s tone but, being unsure as to the exact way he was thinking, she simply stated, “I think that I’ll just feed you this food that I have here.”
“And the food that you have there is . . . what?
“Well, it’s not the great feast that you cooked for the whole company back at headquarters, but it is not worms, either. Where did you learn to cook like that?”
“Joan, I haven’t the slightest idea. Every time that I wake up, people keep asking me if I remember anything about my past. The truth is that I remember how to do things like to cook, for example; I just can’t remember the important things like my name or from where I come.”
“How do you know that my name is Joan if you don’t remember anything?”
“It was first Ryan, and then you told me the rest, just now.”
“What do you mean? I never said . . .” she stopped, mid-sentence.
“Ryan said that there was a young woman that had been looking after me. He said it with a twinkle in his eye. I figure that may be because you are an attractive woman, maybe not. I guess that only time may tell.”
“Well, either I am attractive or not! What do you mean time will tell?”
“I was mostly talking about the motive for the twinkle . . . Are you really just going to starve me to death? I mean, if you could just tell me if this whole thing was devised as a type of cruel torture, I would be much happier. Then again, it may be part of the very same torture. You know what? Do not tell me. I am literally dying of the suspense!” Alban began to rant.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot for a moment.”
“You forgot?” started Alban, notably upset. “How could you forget? It was the one thing that you came in here . . . to . . . Well, maybe it wasn’t the only thing that you were sent in here t
o do. Maybe there was something else that . . .”
With that, Joan shoved a spoonful of stew right into Alban’s mouth. It was not some cliché moment when he was surprised by the action. He saw her loading up the spoon. It was simply the fact that there was food on it. He gladly chomped down on the spoon and emptied it of its contents.
“Oh! That’s about the worst stew that I have ever tasted! . . . I think. But please, keep it coming. It does seem edible.” Alban said between chews.
Joan feigned surprised offense; but even in the feeding frenzy that Alban found himself, he was not fooled. She realized this and began to protest.
“So, you don’t like my cooking!”
“We both know that it is not your cooking. You said that you had brought some food from the kitchen. Had you actually cooked it, you would have owned its preparation as well.”
“Well, of all the . . . You have no proof . . .”
“Then, please tell me what you put into this lousy stew . . . Go ahead. I’m waiting.”
“I put some pork and . . .”
“I’ll stop you right there. That is not pork, it is bear meat. You should have done better with a story about beef that was first grilled and then . . . Well, anyway, you are a bad liar — that’s a good thing! I should hate to start off any friendship with a deception, though the attempt is noted. May I have some more stew, please?”
The more that Alban talked, the more Joan looked worried. The thought of putting more food into her patient’s mouth in order to shut him up was ever so inviting. She hurried in loading up the spoon with more bear stew and then shoveling it into Alban’s mouth. As she pulled the spoon away, her hand was trembling. Alban looked at her hand, and then back into Joan’s eyes. She looked around as though she could see right through the wood of the wagon wall as a way of warning Alban of something. He realized that someone must be listening. He nodded in understanding. Joan looked surprised at his discovery, but she settled a bit when she knew that the young man could be trusted.
“Tell me again, then about your background. Where did you come from? What is your favorite season of the year? How did you get to be so beautiful? You know . . . the like.” Alban began anew in whispered tones.
“Oh. You are too kind!” Joan blushed. “I guess it’s just from my mother’s side of the family.”
“So, you know of your outward appearance and assumed that I was speaking about that. I do not take as much stock in such things as most people, though they are nice. I was speaking to the fact that you are mostly honest, unless under duress. I have been able to surmise that you have a good heart under that outward appearance. You have shown me kindness. You have nourished me and helped me to stay alive and have made me more comfortable. You were also slow to anger when I pushed you. That is where true grace and beauty live and thrive — in the kindness shown to others. I thank you for all of that. I was, now obviously, referring to your deep inner beauty.” Alban whispered softly.
Joan looked up from the bowl of stew and looked back at Alban’s with eyes welling up with gratitude. She swallowed hard to try and take back some of the tears forming in her eyes, but one fell down her right cheek.
“How . . . how did you do that?” she asked in whispered tones, as she began to sob.
“I am sorry. How did I do what? If I have hurt your feelings, I am sorry.”
Fighting back the tears and in a hushed whisper, the young woman explained between sobs. “I have been with this company for a few months now. I am treated as poorly as the lowly slaves unfortunate enough to be captured and sold into this company. I have endured hardship after hardship all along the way. I have been working for days to help heal you, though I didn’t know why. No one asked me to help you or to do anything in particular, until today when they wanted to know more about your background, and if you really couldn’t remember anything about it. This whole time, I cared for your wounds. I made sure that you didn’t get dehydrated. I watched to see that you had all that you needed. And then you wake up, and with just a few words heal me. Your kind words have come to me at a time when I began to think that this world had little left to offer me. I don’t care where you came from or who you really are. I shall always be yours, your true friend, I mean. Whatever you need, just ask. Whoever you are, you’re a good man. I should expect great things from you . . . when and . . . if you regain your memory.
“Next time, I’ll try to get you something better than old bear stew,” she said aloud for whomever it was that was eavesdropping outside could hear. She gathered up the bowl and tray and, as she headed out the wagon door, whispered. “Take care.”
“And you, too, my lady.” answered Alban.
Just then, the rumble of horses’ hooves came rumbling up to the caravan. Ryan called everyone to arms, but another voice, in drunken dishevelment shouted him down.
“There’s no need to pre . . . to get all . . . to fear!” it said.
“But that is CoAgulon! He’s that Darvanian piece of . . .”
“I said that I wuzz . . . expactr . . . expecting . . . him!”
“No you did not!” returned Ryan.
“Yes . . . I . . .”
“No, you did NOT!” Ryan replied.
“Well, I wuzz a goin’ tuh.” said the drunkard.
“Decebal, you are a slinking, slithering snake! You know full and well of the evil he wreaked on my home village! He razed it to the ground and all that were in it! My sister and brother . . .”
“Of which village do you speak?” asked CoAgulon who had now reached them.
“You know full and well, CoAgulon!”
“They were casualties of war!” CoAgulon spat out.
“No, no, NO! You will not try that one with me! You led all of the men off with a decoy and fell upon the women and children — by design of plan, not even as the spoils of war! Had they attacked you, it would have been different. As it was, they were too young to have done anything to you or your men, had they even tried, you murderous, filthy . . .”
“I’ll have your tongue if you don’t control it here and now!” CoAgulon hissed by way of threat.
“But, it is all true, Decebal, and you know it!” Ryan challenged.
“Not the part about being filthy,” CoAgulon stated coldly as ice. “I do my best to keep myself looking gorgeously immaculate! Why don’t you avenge them now? I would release these men from my defense if you should like!”
“I know you and your men! You are most devious in battle and have no honor. Perhaps that is why you are now working for Reg . . .”
“Enough! Where is that slave?” CoAgulon
“Well, we have quite a few slaves!” Decebal’s Chief of Guard quipped. “You’ll have to be more specific.”
“Decebal, you will have to contain your yapping hound! I shall stand for no more insolence!” CoAgulon roared. “One last time, Decebal, where is the lost slave?”
“He must be back at my main camp, I mean, at my stronghold.”
“I have just returned from there, it is no stronghold, and there was no slave that matched the right description, DECEBAL!”
“Ah! Did you check in the kitchen? He was quite good at cooking, we found out.”
“I searched high and low for him, but he was nowhere to be found! If I find that you got a better offer from the Effulgians, I shall give you a lashing for every talent above our agreed price!” CoAgulon hissed and even spat between his tightly clenched teeth.
“Well, you can search my whole caravan, if you should like,” Decebal said agreeably.
“I shall. There was no question on that matter.”
Upon hearing that the whole caravan was to be searched, Alban felt a strong urge to try and flee. He turned over on his stomach in order to push his way up, but his strength left him, and he fell back down on the bed, unconscious.
The last thing that he had heard was the voice of CoAgulon saying, “Let’s search this big
old wagon!” followed by Ryan’s protest.
Chapter Five - Attempt at Awakening
