by Dan Brigman
The scene from recent events flashed before Melek’s sleeping eyes. He could hear his friend say his final words.
“Make it quick.”
Defeat and disgrace washed over Loken’s face, etching into Melek’s mind as he stared helplessly at his friend. Melek’s mind screamed to hold back—to not bring the weapon across his exposed neck—yet his body defied his wishes, and the weapon tore into his friend’s flesh.
He blinked at the spray of blood then bolted awake.
Melek frantically searched the floor near to him for the body of his friend. At first, he noticed light emanating from a flickering candle in a brass holder sitting on a small, square wooden table. The table stood within arm’s length of Melek, but the meager light cast enough shadows to shroud the room in darkness. The fireplace across from Melek had a few logs nearly burnt to ash. Through a four-paned window, to Melek’s right, rectangular shafts of moonlight shone on the floor. He inhaled a hint of pipe smoke and he could make out a faint smoke haze. It smells of burning acorns. He positioned himself with several goose-down pillows behind his back.
Reality snapped back to Melek. Through the rushing blood’s momentum, Melek noticed a shadowed figure sitting in a high-backed wooden chair in an empty corner. A long white pipe poked out from the shadow. The stranger, thought Melek with amazement, he’s awake. A black leather-bound book lay open on the man’s lap, yet he stared directly at Melek. While his heart still raced, Melek waited expectantly for the figure to speak.
The man snapped the book closed and set it upon the table. He slowly removed the pipe from his teeth before exhaling a jet of smoke from his mouth and nose. The sweet scent of the smoke almost prevented Melek from slightly coughing. A slight chuckle shook the man’s form.
“So, I see my savior is finally awake. You have been asleep for several days.”
Melek’s surprise must have been apparent even in the dim light. The stranger continued, “That log you somehow jammed into your leg nearly bled you to death. Ah, it was nothing to care for, but you surely went out of your way to carry me down a flight of stairs with that thing in your leg. I had tried to let you know I could walk. Just looking at you then, all covered in blood, I did not want you near me anyway.”
Melek had stared openmouthed while the man spoke. He replied, “It’s because of you that I was covered in blood. I still don’t know why I did it, but I killed many clan folks to protect your life. Including my best friend.” Malkari’s body flashed before Melek’s eyes, as he continued, “Another good man died protecting your life.”
Melek had no reason to completely trust the stranger, yet he could not shake the need to do so. The man set the pipe back into his mouth. The bowl glowed periodically with each inhalation. Anger washed over Melek with each passing moment of silence. It was all Melek could do to not reach over a grab the pipe out of the man’s mouth and break it in two pieces. Finally, after what seemed to be several long minutes, Melek could not wait any longer and spoke.
“What is your name? I cannot keep thinking of you as a stranger.”
“Call me Kirian. That is all you need to know for now. What I need to know is why you saved me from death even though, according to you, I was to be killed? Why would you keep alive a total stranger?” The last question came out sharply before he inhaled deeply from the pipe, causing it to glow brightly in the meager light.
“I kept you alive because of the man you mentioned before you passed out. There are other reasons that I choose to keep to myself for now, only at least until I have my wits back.”
As soon as Melek finished speaking, he pulled away the gray woolen blanket covering his legs and stomach. He tried shifting his legs to move from the bed. The movement caused Melek to scan his left leg to see if it had burst into flames. Melek hissed though gritted teeth and could do nothing for several moments but pant to help alleviate the pain.
“I doubt you will get your wits back any time soon if you try to do that again.” Kirian’s voice held stern disapproval with a mix of humor he did not attempt to hide. “You are to stay put until I tell you to move.”
“Why didn’t you tell me not to move to begin with? It feels like my leg is going to burn away.”
Melek still felt a dim throbbing of fire-hot pain like ants biting every pore. He dared not move it, yet he noticed, through the haze of aching and pipe smoke, that his leg was bandaged completely. Not even a stain of blood could be seen on the outer layer. Melek realized he wore nothing but his underclothes and pulled the blanket back over his body. The fire provided little warmth to the room.
“Actions speak much louder than words. Besides, would you have believed me anyway?” The man calling himself Kirian seemed to be asking only himself. “Anyway, a man such as yourself should completely understand that belief. You could not be any other sort of man, considering what has happened here. Or, at least, that is what I can puzzle out.”
“Your vague words mean little to me, sir,” Melek scoffed. “I do thank you for helping me, but I’ve much to attend to.” The stranger responded with a forced laugh prompting Melek to continue, “What is so funny? I don’t think I’ll ever laugh again after what occurred.”
“Oh, I laugh only at what you claim you need to attend to. There is nothing left to attend to here.” With that, Kirian pulled the pipe from his mouth again, and sat forward on the chair to put his face close to Melek’s. Then with emphasis on each word, the stranger said, “Everyone here is dead.” He turned and sat.
“I don’t believe you,” Melek whispered. But his own words did not sound convincing even to himself. He stared down at his lap. His hands and forearms were covered in bruises and cuts from the recent battle. Some of them were deep enough to leave scars. They would match all his body’s other wounds. Good. I’ll need reminders. Melek heard the chair creak with strain as the man stood. To Melek’s keen ears, the floorboards did not creak as Kirian paced across the room to the fireplace. He reached over to a small pile of firewood, picked up a piece, and set it in the dying fire. The fire licked at the wood, popping and hissing from the heat. More memories flooded into Melek’s mind of that day’s fighting.
Before Melek’s eyes, the second story window shattered outward onto the street. Then the blinding bright flash startled his body and mind back to the small room. He raised his head again and saw that the man had sat back down.
“Kirian.” Melek said the name as if he were trying to grasp the reality of the man who had changed his very existence. Everything had changed when the stranger came into his life.
“Kirian. Are you sure?”
“Well, if you can call being sure by searching each of the buildings in this village and finding no one still breathing, then I am sure.” He stared at Melek, seemingly waiting for some response. When none came, Kirian puffed faintly on the pipe. “Somehow, I think that you are not going to believe my words. You seem to be a man that can only believe what is before his eyes.”
“That is not entirely true,” Melek muttered irritably. Why does this man think he knows me? Melek wondered. “Just because you stitched up my leg does not give you the right to claim you know me.” Anger flared in Melek while the words flowed. He positioned himself straighter on the bed and the pain in his leg flashed intensely. Through closed eyes and gritted teeth, he heard Kirian speaking, but just barely through the pain.
“I meant no offense. I just assumed a scout, such as yourself, would not take the word of a stranger before what he can see for himself. What I know of you Olst is that you don’t take the word of a foreigner, even one who saves your blasted life!” The anger in Kirian’s voice forced Melek to forget the pain. His eyes opened in astonishment. The stranger stood from the chair, quickly walked to the wooden door, and opened it. Without looking back, he departed.
Melek heard the outsider’s rapid footsteps down the hallway. Every step seemed to reverberate off the walls, breaking the near-total silence in the room. The sound dropped away and Melek realized the footsteps had s
topped. He held his breath, waiting and hoping that man would at least help him to his feet. Through the open door, Melek could make out only a large window at the end of what appeared to be a narrow hallway. Now he could see two sets of moonlight shining into the building. By the angle of the shafts of light, one of the moons was near to setting. The fire popped quietly, drawing Melek’s eyes to the glowing flames. Then from outside the wind shifted, straining futilely against the well-built windows. Melek turned his attention back to the window in the room.
The barest hint of the sun’s rise could be seen on the horizon. The slight tinge of a diffused gray during the twilight calmed Melek’s mind enough for him to remain oblivious of anything else except a poem from his childhood.
The Sun may rise high,
Yet Fear always remains.
The Fallen seem to fly,
While the pure Darkness’ sustains.
Although the Light exalted
Does ever become vaulted.
The poem had become more of a mantra since he first put it to memory many years ago. What exactly it meant was something Melek could not fathom. He had pondered the words over many evenings’ discussion with Loken, and neither man could make any sense out of it. With the thought of his dead friend, Melek automatically began chanting the words of the poem. The words themselves held no more meaning to Melek than when he had first uttered them, but the simple repetition brought clarity to his mind.
From the corner of Melek’s eye he caught movement at the doorway. Kirian had managed to move back down the hallway without Melek hearing, and he stopped his recitation instantly. The man stood in the doorway holding a small metal tankard in one hand and the other held a tiny wooden bowl. Kirian’s face no longer held any anger. Instead, it held a puzzled frown and he stood stiffly with either wariness or fear; Melek could not tell which. His legs seemed to be ready to carry him away in the next moment.
“I see the Olst still teach their young ones the sayings of the Ancients,” Kirian said softly.
Fool! Speaking those words with strangers about, Melek thought. Derision wracked his mind. If not for the pain Melek would have throttled the man for eavesdropping. You cannot blame him for hearing words spoken too loudly.
Taking Melek’s silence as permission to reenter the room, Kirian paced to the bed. Keeping his gaze on Melek, Kirian said, “Do your people really follow those beliefs or is it something to keep the children from misbehaving?”
As he finished the question, Kirian stretched his hands outward to Melek. Melek simply stared at the proffered items without response. Inside the metal tankard was what appeared to be water, and a finely ground red powder was piled to the top of the bowl.
“Take them.” Kirian held the powder bowl forward. “It is a medicine that lessens the pain.” The powder, now close enough to Melek’s nose, smelled like roses mixed with several different herbs he did not recognize. “Mix the powder in the water. Wait a few moments and drink it all quickly. The quicker, the better.”
“Why didn’t you give me the medicine earlier? When you obviously knew I’d be in pain?”
“Because if I had given it to you while you lay unconscious, you’d never have awoken.” Then, Kirian stared forward and muttered, “Only once have I given it to a sleeping man. Never again.”
Melek took the items from Kirian’s hands. Kirian apparently did not notice that his hands were empty since he held them outstretched. Melek poured the contents of the bowl into the tankard, and the water emitted a stench of rotten eggs, nearly gagging Melek. He glanced back at Kirian and the vacant stare remained on his face. As Melek counted to fifty, the stench dissipated somewhat. He put the tankard to his lips and drank the mixture in one long swallow. He placed the tankard and bowl back in Kirian’s hands, which seemed to pull the man from his waking dream.
“What?” Kirian shook his head as if to clear it, then continued, “Did you drink it?” Without waiting for an answer, Kirian looked down into the tankard. He noticed that it was empty before he slightly sniffed the air. The fetid smell lingered. “Good. Now, get some rest because tomorrow you are going to help me work.”
“What work do you mean?” asked Melek. Through his weariness he barely stifled a yawn.
“Rest, my friend,” answered Kirian. And, with no further discussion, Kirian departed. Before the door had fully closed, Melek yawned, his mouth wide, and fell into a dreamless sleep.
Sunlight streamed through the four-paned window, traversing across the room and Melek’s sleeping form. The unfettered light washed over his face to gradually waken him from a deep coma-like slumber. His eyes opened to the shining sun’s brilliance, so Melek was forced to close them. He repositioned himself gingerly, so as not to enflame the pain in his leg. Surprisingly, the pain seemed to be nothing more than a dim throbbing, more of an annoyance than a dreadful fire. Shifting his body brought a soreness which only came from not shifting at all while he had slept.
When Melek finally sat fully erect, he suddenly realized he had slept the entire day away. First time for everything. He turned to look out the window at the slowly-setting sun. Reds, oranges, and blues dominated his field of vision as he sat trying to block out the actions he had committed. Time had not dulled the pain in his mind, but it had dulled his leg’s pain. That cut should still burn, Melek thought disconcertedly. The stranger must’ve given me something else. His face cut a deep frown as he thought about the implications of unknown substances in his body.
Then, without a knock, the door clicked opened. Kirian waited for no permission. He entered with another small wooden bowl and a metal tankard. As he walked to Melek’s bedside, Kirian flashed a wry grin and stated through perfectly white teeth, “Good. I see you’re up. Feeling better, are we?” As Kirian paced closer to the bed, Melek noticed that the fireplace still burned, which accounted for the comfort of the room. Seeing that Melek was not going to answer, Kirian thrust the items under Melek’s nose. “Here. Do the same with these as you did with the last mixture. It will help you sleep peacefully.”
“You expect me to sleep more?” Melek asked indignantly. “The entire day’s wasted, and here I’m lying about in bed, like an Erbesten.” The Erbesten were known far and wide as city dwellers which played on the feelings of the generous to receive charity.
“No, no. I never thought that, you fool!” The grin disappeared as fast as it had appeared. “Why do you have to be some stubborn mule about getting a gift of appreciation?”
“I cannot accept a gift that does more than what the giver says it does.” Melek’s face became the image of obstinacy as his frown deepened and his hands knotted into tight fists. He turned to stare at the fire. “Leave me be.” Paying little attention to Kirian, Melek heard two slight taps on the table next to the bed, as if two items were being set down. Kirian turned and strode toward the door. Halfway to the door, Kirian came into Melek’s full view. He watched Kirian grab the doorknob, move through the doorway, and close it behind him without uttering a word. The stranger’s footsteps faded as he walked down the hall.
Once Melek could no longer hear the scraping of the boots upon the wood, he turned to the table. The two things he expected lay next to a nearly-spent candle. Muttering an oath under his breath, he reached over to the bowl and tankard to pick them up. Without hesitating he dumped the powder in the tankard. Preparing himself for the same horrid stench, Melek waited as long as his senses could tolerate, and then he quickly swallowed the mixture.
“Well, it didn’t kill me the first time,” he voiced almost breathlessly. “Though the stench alone could kill me.”
As he sat watching the fire, the world around Melek began to blur. Blurring shifted to blackness. Seemingly moments later, Melek felt himself being gently shaken. Opening his eyes to a dimmed room, he saw Kirian’s shadowy figure standing over him. The flickering fireplace put off such meager light and heat that Melek wondered why the man had even bothered.
“What? Where?” Melek slurred through his sleepiness
.
“Wake up,” Kirian stated, his voice flat. His tone had no room for excuses. The firelight accentuated the apparent hardness in his face. “Breakfast is in the kitchen. After you finish, come outside.” Without waiting for a response, Kirian withdrew from the room.
He expects me to work, Melek thought indignantly. My leg won’t hold any weight. And, it is still dark outside. He glanced blearily out the window. Seemingly defying his very words, the sun’s gray light before sunrise became apparent. I must’ve spent too much time in bed to not notice that, Melek thought in annoyance. Then, without thinking, he pulled himself up and kicked the cover away. The pain in his left leg flared, but to a muted degree compared to the day before. That should’ve made me want to howl. Frowning with consternation, Melek gently moved his legs to the side of the bed. The pain seared with each movement, but with lessening intensification.
Melek placed his feet upon the floor and hissed in surprise. The floor’s wooden slats still held the night’s chill and his boots were not in sight. He raised up from the bed, testing his weight upon the leg. The pain had dwindled, and Melek knew he would limp for some time, but it had reached a tolerable level. The pain throbbed, but he pushed it to the back of his mind.
“Now. Where did he put my clothes?” Melek looked around and noticed a large, two-door wooden wardrobe standing near the bed in the corner of the small room. The darkness and pain hide many things from my eyes. He gingerly stepped his left leg forward, testing its capabilities. Through the tolerable pain Melek limped to the wardrobe. The floor’s coldness did not lessen, yet it barely registered—no more than the pain.
In the near darkness, Melek could hardly make out any details of the simply-designed wardrobe. It reached nearly to the ceiling with two oaken doors framed by vine scrollwork. He opened the doors and felt for his clothing. Melek immediately felt pieces of clothing hanging from a hook at the back, then grabbed them and set them on the disheveled bed. Limping back to the wardrobe, he bent over to feel its bottom. More feeling than seeing, Melek grabbed a set of leather boots. He lifted them out of the wardrobe and into the firelight to ensure they were his. After instantly recognizing his well-worn boots, he placed them on the floor next to the bed.
