Chapter 2: White Haired Stranger
The squirrel fox sniffed along the path, following a scent. The long ears were twitching around, listening for any noise. Its long bushy tail weaved methodically, then suddenly stood up. The animal froze, lifting its head slowly. Then, with a sharp turn and a great bounding leap, it turned round and ran back to its master.
“Did you find them, Ronyo?” The animal chattered loudly, leaping up onto the man’s shoulders. The man listened for a moment to the animal chattering and barking. “Good. I only hope we are in time.” The man began walking quickly, in the direction that Ronyo came from.
A sharp bend in the road concealed the grim scene that the man soon came upon. Four men lay on the trail, and the air was thick with the scent of death. There were hoof marks all over, proof of a struggle. The easiest guess was marauders, but they tended to hold up coaches.
The man only thought about this a moment before going immediately to the first fallen man. He was dead, as were the next two men he went to. But the fourth, when the man felt for a pulse, had the faintest fluttering of a heartbeat. It was weak and irregular, but it meant he was still alive, barely.
The man immediately muttered under his breath, casting a weak spell of sustaining. For this man was a wizard, one of few who used Cil magic. It tended to be the safest of magics, using both the wizard’s energy and the expendable energy of whatever they were casting the spell on. But it was difficult to learn, and most bypassed it for other magic types.
The wizard picked up the man with ease. He would take the wounded man to the hut, where he could heal him. He knew much of healing herbs. And when the man was bandaged, the wizard would return to bury the fallen.
Waves of pain brought him out of unconsciousness with a scream of pain. Immediately his mind fell back into the sea of darkness, fainting. Again, a loud cry, consciousness, then darkness again. He remembered someone’s voice, and the sound of some animal. A third time, pain wrung him from his dark refuge, then released him. The man fell into a deep sleep.
The wizard stepped back, surveying his work. He had cleaned and bandaged the wounds, with poultices to help draw out any infection and heal faster. He had also given him a sleeping herb, so that the man would sleep deeply.
“Watch him, Ronyo, and call me if anything happens.” The squirrel fox let out a low, barking noise, then jumped onto the bed next to the wounded man. The wizard left the hut and returned to the three dead men.
It didn’t take long, for the ground was soft and easy to dig. Digging graves by the roadside, the wizard used the swords as markers, burying them up to the hilt at each grave head. He stood and paid his respects to these unknown fallen.
Returning to the hut, he found the man still asleep. That was to be expected; he would likely sleep for several days with few moments of awareness and lucidity. Ronyo chattered softly and jumped onto the wizard’s shoulders. Stroking the pet’s head, the wizard sat by the fireplace and wondered. “Who is this man, Ronyo? Why was his party attacked? And why was he, the most wounded of four, still alive?” The squirrel fox let out a low growl. Laughing, the wizard said, “Yes, yes, I mustn’t ask so many questions.” A serious look crossed his face. “But still…I wonder…”
Three days later, the man woke long enough for the wizard to give him water. After the man fell asleep again, the wizard changed the dressing on the wounds. They were already beginning to look better; no infection seemed to have set in.
The wizard thought a moment, but decided to leave the sustaining spell for a few more days, until his condition was more stable. The man’s hair color was beginning to fade, and the wizard suspected that the same effect was occurring with the man’s eyes. This was one effect of Cil magic; it could drain color of hair, eyes, and sometimes skin. It used this energy as it was most expendable, and when dealing with people, it was better to help them rather than worry about hair color.
Two days after that, the man awoke again, long enough to drink some broth the wizard made. The wizard did not remove the sustaining spell, but did replace it with a slightly weaker one, feeling that the man’s condition was improving greatly. His hair was more faded, and the wizard had seen the man’s eyes were also fading in color.
A day after that, the man was lucid enough to speak.
“What is your name?”
“I don’t know…” the man said, his breathing labored.
“Do you know what happened?”
“…I…don’t…know…” the man said, falling asleep before he could say more. These answers made the wizard wonder all the more.
It was another 5 days before the man could stay awake long enough to answer the rest of the wizard’s questions. But these questions achieved nothing, for the man recalled nothing. He didn’t know where he was, why he and his party were attacked, or even his own name. The wizard stopped questioning, however, for the man grew upset and agitated when he was questioned. The wizard also stopped the sustaining spell. By now the man’s hair was a silvery white and his eyes a light grey.
Another 5 days and the man could sit up, but not for very long. He was eating more, but still his memory was missing. The wizard and the man spoke little; the man was mostly silent, brooding, and the wizard did not want to aggravate the man’s lack of memory.
It was 14 more days before the man was mostly recovered. He still was weak, and the wounds, though closed over, weren’t wholly gone yet. But he wouldn’t stay still, too haunted by a blank memory. He took brief walks in the forest, often to the graves of his companions, in hopes that something would come back.
Without realizing it, the wizard and the man had become friends. Neither could say when, but they knew that there was a bond. The wizard had taken to calling the man Gelmir, an ancient word for stranger. Gelmir called the wizard by his name, Amras
One evening, a month and a half after Amras had taken in Gelmir, Amras was sitting outside his hut, carving symbols into a staff. Gelmir returned from the graves and sat across from the wizard. Amras looked up, then back at his carvings. “Do you remember anything?” He asked this question often, feeling the pain of loss that Gelmir felt and wanting him to remember. Gelmir shook his head. “Nothing.” He held his head in his hands, sighing heavily.
Amras stayed silent, and they said nothing for nearly an hour. Then he sat up, examining the staff. Satisfied, he said, “Here,” and offered it to Gelmir. Gelmir looked at the long piece of wood covered in symbols. A confused expression crossed his face, and he looked at Amras questioningly.
“It is a traveler’s staff, with a bit of magic to…assist said traveler. You will need a walking stick on your journey, of course.”
“Journey? What do you mean, wizard?”
“Why, the journey to find your lost memory. But don’t worry, Ronyo and I will travel with you. We can’t very well have you get lost and die after I spent so much time keeping you alive.” Amras stood and went to his hut. “We leave in the morning, and we will travel slowly.”
Gelmir looked at the closed door, then turned his eyes to the sky. Sunset pained the sky a brilliant orange and red and drenched the clouds with pink and gold. A tear slid from Gelmir’s eye. Why couldn’t he remember anything? Why did he survive? Why was he here? Why?
He sat beneath the night sky, asking and asking but receiving no answers. His mind slowed till only one question was evident. The stars only winked at him, singing him a lullaby of silence till he fell into a deep sleep.
Ronyo padded outside and curled up by Gelmir’s feet, guarding this unknown white haired man.
posted by Arya Svit-kona at 22:23
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