Emrys Lost

Chapter 1

He's outside lying on his back. That he can tell from the contrast of the warmth of the sun and the cool breeze on his face. He tries to open his eyes slowly; they feel glued shut. When he can see, he is staring up at a windy sky, clouds scudding fleetingly across the blue.

He hurts. Everywhere. He feels a hard object pressing into his back. A rock? No. He's holding it. He can feel his arm bent behind his back grasping the object. A sword, from the way his hand is holding it.

Slowly he tries to turn onto his side. He brings his arm out from underneath, still grasping the sword. He lifts it with difficulty; it's heavier than he expected. He studies it as the sun glints on the golden inscription. 'Cast me away,' he makes out on the side he is looking at. "What does that mean?" He wonders.

He tries to sit up. The unexpected dizziness knocks him back. When he comes to again, he sees that the sun has moved. "An hour has passed," he thinks. "At least." He tries to sit up again. This time he makes it, but is overcome by nausea, and vomits on to the ground. He falls back again. Too soon. Can't move yet.

A while later, he raises his head to see where he is. Nothing looks familiar, and he realizes he is alone. It's quiet, so quiet. Not even bird song.

He wipes his hand across his face and it feels like it's painted with an oily substance. He looks at his hand and sees that it's covered by black soot that has a faint burnt odor. "What is that stuff?" he thinks.

This time, he makes it to a sitting position, his head hanging down, panting. It hurts. Everything hurts. He checks his body. The black soot coats everything. Nothing seems to be broken as far as he can tell. He's still holding the sword, and looks at it again, still puzzled. He sets it aside. "Whose is that?" He feels fairly certain that it isn't his.

"Where am I?" He doesn't recognize the woods or the lay of the land. Thirsty. He realizes he's thirsty. Raising his head and looking around, he catches a glimpse of something sparkling in the sunlight to his left. A stream. He uses the sword to lever himself up and slowly makes his way in the direction of the water. He starts to kneel down at the side of the stream, and ends up falling partly into the water. "Well, that's the fast way to wash," he chuckles to himself. It hurts to laugh. He drinks, and then tries to wash his face and hands. He puts his hand to the side of his head, just in front of his ear. Blood. He sees blood. He lies back down, curling up on his side, closing his eyes. He hurts. Everywhere.

"I see someone," he hears a voice calling. He opens his eyes again, but sees no one. His eyes close when the dizziness hits him again. The voice comes again, "over here." He keeps his eyes closed and groans. His head is pounding. He tries to lift his head to look around and locate the voice. Vertigo overcomes him, and he puts his head down again. The voice is more insistent, "help me!" He doesn't hear the quiet footsteps of a small group of people approaching carefully. He opens his eyes at a gentle touch, and sees a sad-eyed older man with grey waves of hair framing his face, wearing a long blue robe. He tries to scramble away, but can't get up. The man who is kneeling beside him with his hand on his shoulder turns his head to look behind at others approaching. "It's Emrys," he hears the same voice call out.

"What's Emrys?" he says. The man laughs, but the injured man hears no sound. The grey-haired man gestures to the others, who gather around and pick him up. He tries to struggle, but has no strength. The sword he had cast away is gone, replaced by a stout stick. "Was it ever there?" he wonders. He is lifted up by gentle hands and carried away.

xXx

The Druid healer examines the body of the young man who had been brought into his tent. The boy's clothes have been removed, and he can see the evidence of thousands of stings and the physical reaction to them. He washes the oily black substance from the body, and applies ointment to the injuries. He covers the slender boy with a soft blanket. The young stranger still sleeps.

The grey-haired man enters the tent. "These were no ordinary insects, Iseldir," the healer tells the other man. "There is some dark magic at work here that I don't understand."

"Maybe he will be able to tell us when he wakes." Iseldir says.

"He's lucky to be alive."

xXx

The young man stirs, his eyes fluttering open. He must have fainted again because when he opens his eyes again he is on a pallet inside a tent. A young woman sits nearby watching him. When she sees his eyes open again, she rises and leaves the tent without a word. The grey-haired man in the blue robe returns with the healer and sits near the young man on the cot.

"You're safe now, Emrys," he hears but doesn't respond. Other than the voice all he can hear is a persistent buzzing noise. He still hurts, but the intensity has been alleviated. He senses he is naked under the blanket, his body slathered in some kind of sweet smelling ointment that cools his skin and relieves the burn. "Emrys, can you hear me?"

"How can I hear you?" he asks, his voice barely a croak. "You're not talking."

"Open your mind, Emrys. You will hear and be able to answer."

"What happened? It hurts."

"You don't remember?"

"No. Nothing."

The healer speaks aloud, "Emrys, can you hear me?"

"I can see your mouth moving." The young man watches the faces of the two other men in the tent, seeing them talk, but hearing nothing above the buzzing. He knows that he had been carried here and cared for. But beyond waking in a haze of pain in the forest, he remembers nothing else. In his head he hears them and they appear to address him as Emrys, though he doesn't recognize the word.

"Water, please," he says, his voice rasping from discomfort, trying to reach out with a hand, trying to push himself up.

The healer rises and pours some water into a goblet. He sits behind the young man to support him so he can drink. The cool water burns his throat as he swallows. He closes his eyes and slumps against the older man. The healer gently lowers him back down to lie on the cot.

"Iseldir," the healer says as he stands looking down at the young man, "I think he's deaf." He adds, "there was some blood in and around his ears, which would indicate some kind of serious blow to both sides of his head."

"That thunder we heard yesterday, could that have done it?"

"It would have had to be very close to cause this damage. Something must have exploded; he was covered with this black soot."

"Strange. I wonder what happened?" Iseldir muses aloud.

"We won't know unless he remembers and can tell us. He was in the middle of whatever it was."

"It was violent to have done such damage."

"It may have caused only a temporary loss of his hearing and memory." The healer pauses, "I will give him something to ease his pain, but it will make him sleep. Talk now, if you must."

"No, let him rest."

The healer nods in understanding, stepping over to a small chest at the other side of the tent. He quickly mixes some powders into a goblet of water, swirling it around to dissolve. He steps back to the cot, sitting once again next to the young man. He touches his shoulder, and holding his arm, pulls him up a bit, bracing him. "Drink this," he conveys silently, touching the young man's mouth with the goblet. The young man blinks open his eyes and tries to reach for the goblet to drink. The healer guides his hand and he drinks wincing at the taste and the burn in his throat. He collapses back onto the cot.

Iseldir looks at the young man, "sleep now and recover. You are safe here, and welcome, Emrys."

"Who is Emrys?" is his last thought before sleeping again.