DRAGONFIRE
Part I: Shattered Knight
The boy picked his way cautiously though the blackened and broken debris. He was getting closer to the battle site. His mother had warned him to stay away, but curiosity drove him. He'd heard the thunder in the night; had seen the lightning and had felt the ground trembling beneath his feet. It had sounded like a storm, just as his mother had insisted it was, and he'd nearly believed her. Until he'd seen the dragon.
He didn't even know what he was doing out there, what he was looking for, really. He just wanted to see what such a titanic battle had left behind. Romantic notions of a bold knight battling that dragon filled his mind and he wondered if he'd get to see the actual dragon up close, slain by the knight. He wondered how big it was, and how sharp its teeth were. It didn't occur to him that he might see the knight slain instead.
He wandered farther into the battlefield, gazing in awe at the sheer destruction left behind. He had to detour carefully around great, tumbled chunks of rock and earth, chasms, craters, and fissures, some still smoking; broken, shattered and charred trees, and everywhere, everywhere, the acrid stench of burning and eye-watering, choking smoke. The dragon had to have been real, not his imagination like his mother had insisted; nothing else would leave everything so burned and blackened.
The smoke made it hard to see, and the boy had to slow his advance as the footing had gotten treacherous. So it was understandable that at first, he could not differentiate the twisted forms that littered the ground from the charred, skeletal trees. It wasn't until he stumbled over one that he realized in sick horror that they were bodies.
Human bodies. Soldiers, by their appearance; dozens of them, scattered everywhere.
Stomach churning, he continued onward, the scattered bodies becoming more numerous as he approached what must have been the center of the battle. The epicenter of whatever event had left everything charred and smoking. He didn't recall actually seeing the dragon belching fire; all he remembered was a brilliant flash of what had looked like lightning. There might not even have been a dragon. It might have been like his mother had said: just the remnants of a dream getting confused with what he'd seen in the middle of the night, his sleep-mazed mind trying to make sense of the insensible.
The stench of burned flesh grew stronger, reminding the boy sickeningly of a roast his mother had burned once. He nearly threw up and stopped, eyes watering, beginning to feel both nauseous and a little scared. Wondering if he should go back home. He stumbled forward, blinking his streaming eyes, and gazed around, looking for the way back to the pathway he'd taken in.
He stopped, realizing he'd finally reached the center of the swath of destruction he'd been traversing. He turned around, gazing outward, seeing now the pattern that radiated from this focal point. A gust of wind blew the smoke away briefly, clearing his vision enough that he saw the body that lay there. Another dead man, only this one wasn't burnt to ash.
The man lay prone, face turned to the side, one arm outstretched, with his hand still grasping the handle of a strange, swordlike weapon. He was covered in blood; it soaked the ground beneath him as well as his clothing, which bore great rents as though he'd been savaged by a wild beast. It also crusted a nasty wound on the man's temple and trickled down his white face.
The wind keened suddenly, and the boy shivered, hearing voices within it. Perhaps it was his mother, looking for him. She'd be upset that he'd wandered into this place and seen such carnage; upset enough perhaps to warm his bottom. He didn't like that thought. He should go back. But the weapon that the man still held had captured the boy's imagination.
He'd never seen anything like it. It was both sword and gun, and while dirty and crusted with blood, was still beautiful. Where it wasn't darkened and smeared with gore, the blade was a glowing sky blue. It swept gracefully from the point back to the gun part of the weapon, which was cunningly fashioned from silver, polished steel and blackwood, incorporating the motif of a winged lion into its design. At the very end of the handle, next to the man's head, was a small charm of a roaring lion's head, attached to it by a chain, the whole of it also in silver.
"Wow…" the boy whispered. It was a knight's weapon. It had to be. Only, the dead man wasn't wearing any armor. Of course, it was modern times now. Maybe knights didn't need to wear armor anymore.
Greatly daring, he walked right up to the dead knight and knelt down, wanting to take a closer look at his blade. The wind moaned softly, and the distant voice the boy had thought he'd heard became more distinct. And more worrisome; it was his mother, looking for him. He looked around, wondering how close she was, how much time he had to examine the beautiful artifact. This contributed to his haste and made him incautious; in reaching for the handle of the blade, he grasped the man's hand instead.
He jumped back, heart in his throat, and stared, eyes wide. The hand had been warm. Not cold and rigid, as he'd heard corpses usually were, but warm and pliant. He sat frozen, watching the man closely, wondering now if he was actually dead, or if he'd simply died more recently than last night.
The wind moaned again… a quiet, whispering moan, filled with pain. No. Not the wind…but the man lying in front of him. The boy swallowed convulsively, wondering what to do. The man was dying, that was obvious. But that knowledge left the boy scared and confused…he didn't want the man to die… did he? No. He was a knight and if he lived, if the boy helped him…maybe the knight would be his friend?
"Teran! Teran where are you?" His mother's voice, coming closer.
Teran leaped to his feet suddenly. Maybe his mother could help this knight and stop him from dying.
"Mom! Mom I'm over here! Hurry!" he called, and was rewarded by his mother's quick appearance, anger darkening her eyes.
"Teran! What are you doing here? I told you to stay away from this place! You shouldn't be here, it's not safe!" she said angrily, fear plain in her eyes.
She started in surprise as her son grabbed her hand and dragged her forward, "Mom! There's no time for that! Look!" she gasped at the sight of the bloodied form at her feet.
"Teran! What…"
"He's not dead mom!" Teran said urgently, asking, "Can you help him?"
She frowned at the man's appearance; then knelt down next to him and placed a practiced finger beneath his jaw at the side of his neck, saying softly, "Ter honey, I don't know if I can…"
"Please? Can you try?" Teran asked, pleading. His mother gave him a puzzled look, wondering why he was so interested, and then looked down at the injured man. Her fingers had detected a heartbeat, but it was weak. In all likelihood, the man would perish before much could be done for him. Still…what kind of person would she show herself to be, if she simply left him to die alone on the cold ground? Alone, with no one to hold his hand…
"I'll try, but you need to help me." She told her son seriously.
"What do I need to do?" He asked.
"Run as fast as you can to get Doc."
Maiere Collen blinked her blurring eyes, rubbing at them in an attempt to wipe away the fatigue that had left them burning. Focusing on the still form that lay in her guest room's bed, she felt a brief stab of panic until she saw his chest rise as he drew in another breath. Slow, shallow, but….regular.
Neither she nor Doc thought that the man would make it through the night, so Maiere held vigil by the stranger's bedside, holding his limp hand, determined that he should not pass alone and uncomforted. Not like Brend had.
Memories of her twin brother's death made her heart ache, and she pushed them away even as she acknowledged to herself at least, that it was for his sake that she was watching over a dying stranger.
She studied the hand that she held, running her finger over the silver ring that adorned the third finger. It was beautifully carved into the likeness of a roaring winged lion, much like the etching on his swordlike weapon, and nearly a twin to the silver pendant that he wore. The fingers were long, tapered, and well-formed but strong, the hand callused. He'd used his weapon a lot.
There was no identification on him, no clue as to his identity. No name, nothing. When…if he died, she would have no idea whom to notify. The ring on his finger offered a hint that he did indeed have a family. A wife at least, if not children as well. Someone out there was missing him. Looking for him. She sighed, suddenly hoping that he would survive and be able to make his way back to them himself.
She couldn't help but wonder about him. Who he was, what part he'd played in the battle from the night before, which had come far too close to their little community of Haverhill for comfort. As dawn approached, her curiosity became more personal; what his wife was like, if he had children…if he was even still married.
Even battered and unconscious, he was very handsome, with finely drawn, chiseled features; easier to look at, now that the blood had been washed away. A bandage around his head partially obscured a scar that ran diagonally between his eyes, starting above his right eyebrow, running over the bridge of his nose and terminating below his left eye. Whatever had given him that scar, if it had struck him even an inch in either direction, he would have lost an eye. In this, he had been fortunate. It didn't mar his appearance to any great extent, though it did raise questions and give him a slightly dangerous look, even in his currently helpless, insensible state.
"You're an idiot, Maiere," she murmured to herself. Lost puppy syndrome, that's what it was. Teran was always bringing home wounded or lost animals, and Maiere had done her best to patch them up. Sometimes it worked and the critter was set free or a home found for it. Sometimes it didn't. So on that level, it wasn't surprising that her son would want her to try and save this wounded creature also.
But on another level, it left her wondering exactly why her son had been so insistent. Her tired mind went round and round with it, drawing the conclusion that she had somehow managed to raise an unusually compassionate child. It did worry her a bit, if this man did in fact succumb to his injuries, how Teran would take it.
The sound of movement in the house, corresponding to a lightening at the edges of the bedroom's curtains, told Maiere that dawn was at hand. And the stranger was still breathing. Doc would be coming over soon to check on his patient, and Teran was likely already awake and ready for breakfast.
This supposition was borne out when the bedroom's door opened and her pajama-clad son entered, peered interestedly at the patient, then came up to Maiere and climbed up into her lap, snuggling against her. Maiere smiled to herself. Teran was always cuddly, first thing in the morning.
"Good morning mama," he whispered.
"Good morning baby. What did you want for breakfast?" she asked him quietly.
"I like eggs. And toast." He answered, then asked, "Can I have coffee?"
"Not yet, sprout. Milk or orange juice for you." Maiere answered.
"Awww." Teran sounded only slightly disappointed at this. Turning his head, he focused his attention on the man he'd found. "He's still sleeping."
"Yes," Maiere answered. The man's hand was still warm in hers. A good sign, actually. Had it gone cold or clammy, she would have called Doc. Thus far, they'd managed to prevent shock from taking too firm a hold on him. Blood loss however, and that head injury… Well, they'd done what they could.
"When do you think he'll wake up?" Teran asked her.
"I don't know Ter. He's hurt pretty badly."
The boy appeared to consider this, then asked, "Will he wake up?"
"I don't know baby. Doc and I are doing everything we can." Maiere answered, then asked him, "why?"
"He needs to wake up and fight the dragon again. So he can beat it this time." Teran answered her seriously.
"What are you talking about Teran?" Maiere asked him, startled by her son's statement.
"It woke me up last night. Their fight. I saw a dragon when I looked out the window, so I went out to where the battle was, because I wanted to see what had happened, and I found him. I think he's a knight, and he was fighting the dragon and lost. We need to make him better so he can fight it again and win this time." Teran answered.
Maiere thinned her lips briefly. She'd known about the battle, and had not wanted Teran anywhere near there. It had been far too close for comfort, and she had no idea if the area was even safe to venture into. Apparently, judging by the carnage left behind, whatever enemies that may have survived had fled long since. She hoped, anyway.
"How come you're holding his hand mom?" Teran asked curiously.
"Remember when you got really sick?" Maiere asked him. "I held your hand so you wouldn't feel scared or lonely, remember?"
"Yeah. So, you're holding his hand so he won't be scared or feel lonely? Like you did me?" Teran asked her seriously. She nodded in response, and he said, "Good. He'll get better then."
"Why do you say that?" Maiere asked him.
" 'Cause I did." Teran answered simply.
Maiere wished she had his confidence. The boy squirmed, wanting to be off to do something else, and she loosened her encircling arm, allowing him to slide off her lap. He moved closer to the bed briefly and peered at the man, watching him for a minute. Then he touched the hand that Maiere held, resting his own small hand atop it before turning and heading toward the door.
Pausing, he looked back and asked, "When are you gonna cook breakfast?"
"When Doc gets here. He'll stay with our guest for a bit so he won't be alone." Maiere reassured the boy.
"Okay," Teran said, and left the room. Moments later, she heard the door to the hall bathroom open and close.
Doc arrived shortly afterward, followed by an anxious and interested Teran. Maiere smiled at her son, now scrubbed clean and dressed, wondering if his interest in Veterinary medicine would now change to human medicine.
Maiere got up and made room for the doctor, who checked over their patient, changing out the IV fluids and giving her an update on his prognosis.
"Well, he survived the night. That's a good thing. I honestly didn't think that he would. He's a tough young man." Doc said, adding, "He's still in pretty rough shape though. Multiple lacerations, including a deep, through and through stab wound below his right clavicle, like he was speared. Lucky for him, it missed the subclavian artery and the upper lobe of his lung. He's got three broken ribs, his left leg is broken, just above the ankle, and his right shoulder is dislocated. He's lost a lot of blood, and it's just dumb luck that I had enough O negative on hand. Took all that I had though. We'll have to do another blood drive to replace our supply; Deling City's too far and it takes too long to get anything from the blood banks there. The O neg will do in a pinch but this fella's actual blood type is really rare: AB. If he ends up needing surgery or if he reacts adversely to the O negative, we'll be in trouble. His blood pressure's holding pretty well though, and his breathing's pretty steady, so I guess he hasn't punctured a lung or damaged anything internally. My biggest worry is that head injury." The doctor peered into the patient's face with a frown, and peeled first one and then the other eyelid up, shining a penlight into each eye in turn. He shook his head in concern, muttering under his breath.
"What did you say Doc?" Maiere asked.
"He needs a scan. I don't have the equipment here to do it and just can't tell what kind of damage he's sustained. He has been brain-damaged, that much is clear; how severely remains to be seen. The fact is Maiere; he might not even wake up. Have you found anything that might give us a clue of who he is or who we can call?" the doctor asked her.
She shook her head, "nothing. The only thing he has on him is his jewelry. A ring…it might be a wedding ring…the pendant, an earring, and… that." She indicated the large blade, still crusted and dirty, that she had leaned carefully against the wall in the far corner of the bedroom. She didn't even know why she'd brought it, though Teran had insisted that the "knight", as he referred to the injured man, would want it.
"Hmmm. Take some pictures of it, and the jewelry. And him, once we can get him a little more presentable. I'll have Sherriff Marres come by and get some fingerprints too. If he's married or has any family, they're probably looking for him." The doctor shook his head again, commenting, "Looks awful young though, to have a wife. Looks like he's barely out of his teens."
That piqued Teran's interest. Up until that point, he'd been trying to follow the discussion Doc was having with his mom, but couldn't follow all of it. Some of it, he simply didn't understand, particularly when Doc used what he called "doctor words". Some of it scared him and made him a little sad, thinking that the knight wouldn't wake up at all.
Finally, he spoke up, asking, "Can I help?" Looking from the doctor to his mother, he continued, "Maybe I can hold his hand, like mama did me? It made me feel better, when I got sick."
Maiere and the doctor exchanged a look, and the doctor smiled down at the boy, saying, "I think that's a fine idea. If you help your mother with that, I think it'll do this young man a world of good."
"Okay," Teran nodded, satisfied.
The doctor glanced over at Maiere, and said, "I know you've been waiting breakfast on me. Go ahead and take care of it; I'll sit here with this young man awhile. Just bring me up some toast and coffee when you get a chance."
"All right. Thanks Doc."
"You're welcome, Maiere." He nodded at them both and took the seat that Maiere had vacated, picking up the limp hand and placing his fingers on the wrist. The pulse beat steadily, and felt just a bit stronger than it had the night before. Several pints of whole blood and plasma had undoubtedly contributed to that.
For a small town family doctor, he did all right with what he had to hand, but this young man's catastrophic injuries had nearly wiped out his supplies. He was going to have to take a trip to the next largest town, maybe even as far as Deling City, to replace them. Perhaps he'd take the young man with him, if he was stable enough for the trip. Then he shook his head. They'd need an ambulance and attendants to move him to a trauma center. Ideally, he should be airlifted out; the road was much too rough and while he was stable for the moment, a long trip over rough roads would do him far more harm than good. Still, perhaps when he went, he'd take whatever information on this man that they could gather and give it to the authorities there. Maybe he'd already been reported missing.
If he'd had any means of getting the man to an actual trauma center when Maiere and her son had fetched him, Doctor Marlow would have preferred doing so. But the trip was a long and arduous one, and the patient's condition was too precarious to chance moving him further. So they'd installed him in Maiere's guest bedroom and he'd done what he could for his patient and hoped for the best.
It could still go either way for this nameless young man, Marlow reminded himself. He'd managed to pull through the night, so had withstood the threat of shock and blood loss, but there still was the unknown quantity of his head injury and the possibility of infection. Marlow had antibiotics, but wasn't sure he had enough, should the patient's wounds go septic.
One thing that he'd noticed about his patient was the scars on his body; there were more than a few, and they hinted at similar injuries to the ones that he bore, sometime in his past. He was lean, muscular and fit, and his hands were callused. The doctor's attention strayed to the weapon in the corner of the bedroom.
He was a fighter. Soldier or mercenary, it didn't really matter which. That breed had a toughness borne both of training and sheer bloody-mindedness that would often win them through impossibilities. Perhaps this young man could use that to win through this as well. Only time would tell.
He drifted in a black void that was both familiar and frightening to him. Something had driven him here, to this dark emptiness. Monsters lived in the void, but they too seemed both familiar and alien all at once. He had retreated to this place, seeking numbness, seeking nothingness, seeking escape…. but the pain that had driven him there had followed him. He tried to outrun it, and grew tired from the running, but there was no escape….save one, and that way was barred to him. It promised him rest and release, but the monsters in the void, the voices that spoke to him, held him back from passing through that gateway.
The monsters, the voices, they had names, and seemed familiar to him, but he could not recall them. His confusion and pain distressed them; they tried to calm him before he withdrew further into the void to escape the voices, the pain, and the unclear, frightening nightmares.
The monsters did not follow, but their sorrow did. Instead, they seemed to draw together and the voices calling to him quieted. The pain was still there, but dimmed, and the muddle in his mind was held at bay by the entities that shared the void with him.
We are Guardians. The strongest of the voices told him, before withdrawing again.
He seized upon the small measure of peace that the momentary calm afforded him, and sank gratefully into it.
It was brief however. The Guardians did their best to drive away his nightmares, but there was no escape from the images: He was a frightened child, lost and alone, looking for…someone. He was a young man, wearing some kind of uniform and holding a weapon, running from something. Running for his life, fear making his heart race as whatever it was clanked and whined and breathed hot fumes down his neck.
He was dancing, heart racing for a different reason as he took the hand of a slender young woman. Or perhaps she took his; he couldn't recall clearly, and that alarmed him to the very core of his soul. He tried desperately to see her face but it was blank, blurred….gone. In every appearance in his memory she was faceless, fading. But she appeared in frequent flashes; a swirl of frothy white lace…a wedding gown? Running at his side, wearing blue, and firing a projectile at something. The only thing he could be sure of about her was that her hair was black and her skin, pale. And that somehow, she was important to him.
The image that lingered the longest was of this young woman walking in a sunlit field of flowers, translucent white wings spreading wide from her shoulders…and understanding dawned. She was an angel, come to lead him through that final door. He tried to speak to her, to follow where she led, but she faded away. He felt her loss keenly.
Always, there were voices; sometimes muted, sometimes strident, echoing throughout the darkness and the pain, ebbing and surging like a sea of blood, pounding in his head, throbbing in his bones. Aching all over. He felt lost, helpless, and it added to his confusion and his fear. Would he be lost in this emptiness forever? He felt as though he'd already been there for eternity, and that thought brought with it despair. He found a dark, quiet corner within himself, curled up into a ball, and began to cry.
Where am I? Help me…
Exhaustion took him and his consciousness faded. Perhaps he slept. In this place, it was impossible to tell. Something furred, feathered and purring wrapped itself around him and offered comfort. He sank into it and the sweet oblivion that followed gratefully.
Gradually, the pain faded to a dull ache. The nightmares still plagued him, but his…Guardians… protected him from the worst of them. Something, or someone… from far off still called to him but he could not answer. He had slowly become aware of the fact that he had been injured somehow, which accounted for his current state. He thought perhaps that he should try to wake, but a type of inertia held him back from that.
His Guardians though, were encouraging him to attempt wading from the darkness where he floated.
Do not fear, they told him. We will protect you. You will be safe with us; nothing can harm you here.
He wasn't sure about that, as the nightmares converged upon him, but the monsters in his head fended them off. He couldn't see them clearly, but got nebulous impressions of them: one seemed vaguely feline, while another 'felt' reptilian. There were others, one that felt cool and feminine, and the other….was hard to define as anything but an impression of great age and power.
The voices he'd been hearing grew more distinct, though he still could not make them out clearly. His Guardians reassured him that it was needful that he hear them. The nothingness of the void, while frightening in its emptiness, had offered a small measure of peace and a haven from pain and confusion, so he wasn't entirely willing to leave, but his Guardians were insistent upon it.
You cannot stay in this place. If you do, you will be lost forever. He looked at the speaker and finally saw it, starting in shock at its appearance. It was both terrible and beautiful, this creature. It gazed at him with glowing, ice-blue eyes set in a purple-furred, catlike face framed by a luxurious mane of silvery white.
Lion. You look like a lion. He thought, and the creature bowed its head with great dignity.
It is the image that your mind has given me. I am what you have created.
That statement puzzled him deeply, but he could not examine it, for his Guardians were urging him onward. They led him to a place that wasn't quite as dark and remote as the place where he'd been hiding, and the lion-Guardian settled down next to him, folding its wide, white-feathered wings tightly against its back.
Do not fear, Master. It said, nudging him gently with its muzzle, a very feline gesture that offered comfort. We will be with you.
He was grateful for the lion-creature's support. He needed it, for the agony and the nightmares that it brought became more distinct, and more immediate. He cried out and pressed himself into the Guardian's soft-furred side. A dizzying array of images assaulted him, and most of them were violent and bloody, edged about with pain. Some weren't, and those he wanted to hold on to… the feel, and taste and scent of a woman in his arms, the bubbling laughter of a child.
Mine? He wondered.
Yes, the Guardian answered.
Why can't I see their faces? He asked, fear settling like a cold stone into the pit of his stomach. The creature did not answer.
Instead, it said, rest, Master. We will guard you.
He did as directed, and as time passed, the confusion ebbed, as did the pain. He became aware of things dimly; his body, lying in a bed. A hand holding his. Voices, whispering from somewhere outside the void. His Guardian nudged him forward.
You must hear them. Your mind has calmed, and you must wake.
Have I been sleeping, all this time? He asked.
Yes. Came the answer.
How long? He wondered.
I do not know. The Guardian answered.
That explained the nightmares at least. He sensed the Guardian's withdrawal, but still felt its presence. The others were there too, always had been, but the lion-like creature appeared to have been the one in charge. It had taken charge of him, at any rate.
Awareness returned gradually. Pain was first; it had never really left him, but it wasn't nearly as bad as it had been. He still ached, but now he knew the source of it; his leg, his ribs, his shoulder, and his head, all throbbed. Hearing came next, and the voices that had pursued him in his confused, jumbled nightmares now whispered in his ears. They were unfamiliar to him, but they offered comfort, so he took what they offered. He drifted still, but in a different place; this was a grey, in-between place…a place that did not hold him nearly as tightly as the void.
"Is he gonna wake today mama?" a child's voice whispered.
"I don't know baby. Doc says he might. He's been showing signs of it." A woman's voice answered.
"What kind of signs?" the child asked, curiously.
"Well, watch him. See how his eyes are moving under his eyelids like that?"
"Yeah," the child answered, adding, "I think I felt him twitch too."
"That's actually a good sign. It means he's dreaming. It also means that he might be trying to wake up."
"Oh," the child said.
Elaborating further, the woman whispered, "Doc says if we keep talking to him, and doing our best to let him know we're here…"
"You mean like when I read my stories to him?" the child asked.
"Yes. Doc thinks that will help him wake up."
The thought of this unknown woman and child talking about him like that, bothered him. He couldn't pinpoint why, exactly, but he didn't like it. But it wasn't as easy as he'd thought to actually open his eyes.
Well, start small then. Someone was holding his hand, the woman, he thought. He willed himself to squeeze her hand. The result was disappointing, more a twitch than a squeeze, and had taken a great deal of effort, but a gasp at his bedside told him that it had been noticed.
"He just twitched Teran!" Maiere whispered. Leaning forward, she squeezed her patient's hand and caressed the back of it, saying urgently, "come on, mister. Wake up! I'd love to finally know who it is I've been taking care of all this time."
He took a deep breath, then hesitated at a sharp pain in his side, grunting softly in reaction to it. The woman squeezed his hand again, the contact warm, firm, and supportive. He focused upon it and used it to pull himself up out of the darkness. He tried to squeeze back and was better at it this time, but Gods, he was so weak!
Concentrating again, he tried to open his heavy eyelids. It was hard; it felt like they weighed a ton, but finally he managed to open his eyes. His vision was blurred, and he blinked, trying to clear it. When it did, he was startled to see a young boy, peering eagerly into his face. Had he not been so weak, he'd have flinched back in reaction. As it was, the child's proximity was extremely disconcerting, particularly in his currently enfeebled state.
"Teran, move back a bit, honey. Give him some room." Maiere said softly, not missing the flash of panic in the stranger's eyes at Teran's eager interest. He moved his head slowly to look at her, and Maiere got a startling glimpse of his beautiful ice-blue eyes before he made a small sound and closed them, face contorted in pain.
"Oh, dear. Still hurts, huh? Well, I think it's safe to give you something for the pain." Maiere said, and was rewarded by another glance from him, this one undeniably grateful.
Maiere stood, went over to the IV and adjusted the drip, adding the pain medication that Doc Marlow had given her to use. Just enough to take the edge off, not enough to put him back under again. Her patient's eyes blinked slowly, drowsily, as the medication took effect, then closed as he went back to sleep. Real sleep, this time.
He sank into it easily, and curled up next to his Guardian, comforted by its soft, purring warmth.
You will wake again tomorrow. It reassured him gently. You will heal. A deep sense of joy from the creature followed that statement.
It was easier the next time he woke. His head still ached fiercely, as did various other parts of his body. Obviously, he'd been pretty seriously injured doing….something. What though, he could not recall, and this bothered him. He tried moving, carefully, not liking at all how weak he felt.
Moving his head slowly, mindful of its tender state, he tried to look around to see where he was. Upon doing so, he discovered he was in a bedroom, rather than a hospital room, which he found rather odd. Glancing to the side, he saw the IV stand and fluids, the tubing terminating into the back of his right hand. He tried lifting it and pain shot down his arm from the shoulder. He left it lying across his stomach.
Fresh air wafted through an open window next to his bed, ruffling the lightweight, cream-colored draperies. A warm gold and cream color scheme in the wallpaper complemented the curtains. Next to the bed, moved slightly to accommodate the IV stand, was a nightstand with an array of medical appearing items on it, which contrasted oddly with the very homey looking lamp that sat in the center of it. In the corner of the room, beyond the night table, leaned something very odd indeed. A weapon.
He studied it, disturbed at its filth-encrusted state. His memory moved sluggishly, and caused his head to throb, but it identified the type of weapon it was. It was a gunblade…his gunblade. There was more, he knew, but his head was pounding and he couldn't think anymore. He closed his eyes and swallowed, conscious of how dry his mouth was, and…moving his left hand over his ribs, and wincing at the pain…how thin he was.
The pain was getting worse, not only in his head, but other parts of his body; his left leg, his ribs, his shoulder…all setting up a cacophony of agony that had him hoping that the woman would reappear soon to remedy that.
She did, and smiled sympathetically at the look of undisguised relief that he greeted her with.
"Hurting again?" She asked. He hesitated a second, then nodded slowly. She frowned slightly at this. Granted, he'd only been awake for a short time, but she'd thought it long enough for him to have said something by now. He hadn't spoken a word yet on any of the admittedly few and still rather brief moments that he'd been awake. Perhaps he was unable to; aphasia was a common sign of brain injury.
"Well, the doctor will be in soon. He wanted to check on you and was interested in speaking with you if you happened to be awake." If you are able to speak, that is… she thought privately. He sighed at this, and Maiere smiled sympathetically.
"I know, but the medication puts you out, and it's kind of important that we…talk… to you before we give you some. Just hang in there, Dr. Marlow will be here soon." Maiere told him soothingly.
He nodded slightly, and gazed around the room again, shifting uncomfortably, visibly in pain. Maiere studied him closely, while he was awake and alert, watching his responses, his expressions. Feeling more than a little heartened by the bright intelligence that she could see in his eyes.
Dr. Marlow arrived shortly after that, giving his patient a long, considering look before asking Maiere, "So, he's awake. How's he doing? Has he said anything?"
"No, not a word. He's still pretty obviously in pain. He seems alert though, and…." She hesitated, searching for the right words, finally saying, "lucid? No, that's not quite right…um… there, I guess?"
"Hmm." The doctor said, approaching the man's bed and confirming, "You can hear me and understand me?" his patient nodded, slowly, eyes fixed on the doctor. "You obviously can see me." Another nod. "Can you speak?"
The young man licked his lips, glancing at Maiere, then the doctor, and clearing his throat. He tried; he opened his mouth and then frowned. Then he groaned as pain suddenly speared through his cranium, squeezing his eyes shut and collapsing against his pillow, putting his left hand up to his bandaged temple. He gritted his teeth and tried to breathe through it, but a band of pain across his chest prevented him from taking deep breaths. He curled his left hand into a tight fist and did his best to endure the pain, and the nausea that it had brought on.
"Not yet, huh?" the doctor asked kindly. His patient shook his head slightly, face twisted in agony. "Well, you've had a pretty serious head injury. Obviously, not too serious, as you are in fact awake and alert. But serious enough. You've been unconscious for well over a week, long enough that we worried about you ever waking up. There is undoubtedly some brain damage, which likely accounts for your inability to speak at the moment. It may be temporary, it may be permanent. The extent of your brain injury is impossible for me to tell as I haven't got the equipment to do a proper scan. There are some tests that I can do however, now that you're awake and apparently alert enough to hear and understand me, which will help us both to figure out what other kinds of effects, if any, your head injury has had. I know you're hurting right now, but if you'll help me out with this, I can give you some more pain medication and let you continue with your resting and healing process. Okay?" The young man opened his eyes and met the doctor's, then nodded his head.
"Very good. Well then," the doctor sat down next to the bed and held up a pen. "Focus your eyes on this pen, and follow it as I move it." The doctor moved the pen back and forth, up and down, watching his patient's eyes follow it faithfully, and encouraged as they tracked its path unerringly. "Very good. Now, I just need to check your pupillary response," he said, leaning forward and shining a penlight into each eye, watching each pupil contract in response to the light. "Very good," He said, "very good indeed. Now, I need you to raise your left arm as far as you can, and wiggle your fingers." The patient did so, and the doctor said, "now, do it for the other arm, but carefully, and stop when it hurts. I know that it was injured pretty badly, I just need to know that you can move it." The young man did as directed, grunting in pain and stopping with the arm barely twenty centimeters up from where it had been resting upon his stomach.
The doctor continued with his tests, verifying that he could move both legs as well and establishing that his patient's fine motor controls were okay, and that he could swallow without difficulty. Likewise with his hearing and vision; which proved to be normal. Only his speech appeared affected, and that, as he assured his patient, might resolve itself with a bit more rest.
"All right, I think that's all I need for right now, young man. Hopefully, you'll be able to tell me who you are at some point, but don't worry too much about that, just at present. Just worry about healing up. The rest will follow. In the meantime, I think it's safe for you to actually eat your dinner, and have a bit of water by mouth. You'll find that you'll get stronger day by day, and Maiere's fine cooking here will certainly help with that." The doctor told him, administering the pain medication as promised. The young man sighed in relief as the meds took effect, giving the doctor a grateful look.
He fell asleep soon after and drifted back into the sea of drug-induced dreams, curled up with his big, purple, winged lion, and let its purr soothe him.
Maiere left the bedroom with the doctor, quietly closing the door behind them to allow their patient to rest.
"Well," the doctor said. "He's doing well, all things considered. The aphasia is still a little worrying, but considering that he was deeply comatose for well over a week, he's doing remarkably well. I would still like to get him to Deling City General and get a scan done, just so we can get a better idea of exactly what kind of brain injury he's got. Unfortunately, getting him there, that's going to be the real challenge."
"Yeah, a trip like that, in his condition? He's stable but, you and I both know that his ribs haven't knitted yet, and the rough roads, the distance, the heat… moving him right now would do more harm than good." Maiere sighed. "One good bump could send a rib into his lung; aggravate his head injury, and be just incredibly uncomfortable for him. Unless we could fly him, and I don't know how we'd manage that..."
"Well, the signs I'm seeing so far are encouraging. It's possible that his extended unconsciousness was at least partially due to shock and blood loss on top of the head injury." Dr. Marlow said, adding. "I'm going into Deling City in a few days for more supplies. I'll bring this young man's fingerprints and other particulars with me and turn them over to the DCPD. Maybe he's already been reported missing."
"Maybe. Let's hope he has, and we can get him reunited with his family." Maiere said, sighing as she glanced at the closed door, thinking of the man sleeping on the other side. Feeling her heart ache for how lost he'd looked, when he'd first opened his eyes. And yes, how afraid.
Understandable, considering how disorienting even mild head trauma could be.
"Maiere, I want you to do something for this young man, while he's here. Something that might be a great help to him." The doctor said seriously.
"What?" She asked.
"I want you and your son if you don't mind, to interact with him as much as possible. Talk to him. Have Teran play games with him, that sort of thing. Engage and stimulate him, mentally. I'm not a neurologist, but I think that'll help his recovery." Dr. Marlow told her.
"All right," She nodded, already considering the types of games that she'd suggest Teran attempt to play with the man. Card games, certainly; simple and elementary ones, at least at first. Maybe she'd try him on her tablet to see if he could type, and maybe communicate with him that way, if he never regained the ability to speak. It was interesting however, how adept he was at communicating non-verbally. She wondered at that.
The doctor took his leave after that, and Maiere took a quick look at her patient/guest, finding him sleeping soundly. And peacefully, which relieved her. A couple of times, he'd appeared to have been having a nightmare. Usually, squeezing his hand and whispering something reassuring would help settle him down.
He looked so young, relaxed in sleep. Doc had guessed him at early twenties, but Maiere wasn't so sure. Youthful appearance notwithstanding, she had seen threads of gray in his hair when she had, regretfully, shaved it off in order to aid in caring for his injury. So either he was graying prematurely, which was a possibility, or he was older than he appeared. The only way to know for sure would be to ask him, but getting an answer to that question might have to wait a bit.
It was growing back now as soft, thick, reddish-brown fuzz that had very distinct glints of silver at the temples, particularly in the area of his still healing head injury. He was thin; it was surprising to her how quickly he'd lost weight while unconscious. The intravenous support hadn't been nearly enough for his metabolism, obviously, and they'd debated installing a feeding tube to get some denser nutrition into him. Not an easy thing to do without surgery, but not impossible. Fortunately, he'd awakened before they'd had to take that step.
After taking a quick check of the IV fluids and making sure everything else was okay, Maiere left the man to his rest. It was long past time for her to get dinner together.
He slept restlessly, mounting discomfort making him shift and move in an attempt to find a more comfortable position. He rolled over onto his left side and a stabbing reminder of his broken ribs moved him onto his back again with a groan. Fully awake now, he sighed, staring around at the darkened and empty room. The woman and her son, now satisfied that he was going to live, no longer kept vigil at his bedside or held his hand while he slept. He found that he missed that contact.
He lifted his left hand and studied the ring that rested on the third finger. Even in the dim light he could still see it's uniquely beautiful design; evidence that he had a wife and if his fuzzy, jumbled memories could be trusted, a child of his own. Somewhere. He might have thought that the woman….Maiere, he dredged the name out of memory with great difficulty… was his wife, the way she cared for him. But there was no spark of recognition when he saw her, and the only thing he saw in her eyes was concern for his well-being… and nothing more.
They would ask him questions; it was only reasonable that they should. But as he thought of the kinds of questions that they'd ask, and the information he'd need to provide, the more frightened he became as he came up….blank. On all of it.
He fought down panic as he tried, ignoring the increasingly painful throb of his head, to dredge up anything that would provide the information that these people would need in order to get him home. He cudgeled his poor brain to the point that he was nearly sobbing from the pain and frustration. And still…nothing.
His mind was a patchy mess full of holes and blank spots. The ring he wore provided evidence that he had a wife, but he could not recall her name or her face. He had a child, but didn't know if it was a son or a daughter or if he had one of each. He remembered fighting, he remembered using his gunblade, and wearing the uniform of a SeeD; He was a mercenary. But he could not, no matter how hard he tried, remember what his rank was, or his name.
"No…." he whispered. He could speak now at least, but it did him no good. He could not remember his name. He could not remember his name!
He closed his eyes and sank into his pillows, putting his left hand against his aching head, and wept silently.
Where am I? WHO am I?
"Dammit!" he whispered, slamming his balled fist ineffectually against the mattress, repeating "Dammit! Dammit! Dammit!" over and over again in an anguished whisper, his voice breaking in a sob on the last word. He didn't want to wake the entire household while he had a mental breakdown.
"Hey, mister? Are you okay?" a child's voice whispered from close by.
He snapped his head around to look at the child with a startled gasp, and was almost immediately blinded by an excruciating bloom of pain that seemed to fill his entire head.
He groaned and cursed softly, eyes closed.
"Hey! You can talk now!" the boy whispered excitedly, coming closer. Then he whispered confidingly, "but you really shouldn't ought to use words like that. My mama doesn't like it."
"Sorry," he whispered, opening his eyes to see that the child had seated himself in the chair at his bedside. "Did I wake you?"
"Nah. I had to go potty." The boy tilted his head and peered closely at him, then asked, "Were you hurting again? I heard you crying."
His cheeks bloomed with embarrassed heat as he answered, "yeah."
"Here," the boy reached for a box of tissues and helpfully handed one to the young man.
"Thanks," he said, taking the tissue from the boy and wiping his damp eyes and cheeks, then blowing his nose.
"I'll go get my mom. She'll make the pain go away." The boy said decisively, getting up from the chair.
The man was torn; he didn't want the kid to wake his mother in the middle of the night…come to think of it what time was it, anyway? But he really was hurting, physically as well as emotionally. And at least one of those could be remedied with medication.
Before he left however, the boy paused and asked, "Hey, what's your name anyway? Mine's Teran."
The man swallowed and looked away, answering softly, "I don't remember."
"You don't remember your name? Really? Like on those medical shows my mom watches sometimes?" Teran asked, amazed.
"I guess." The man replied, sounding tired.
"Oh." The boy said, and appeared to consider this, then said, "Well, if you can't remember your name, can I give you one?"
The man returned his attention to the boy, Teran, and shrugged slightly, "if you want." Well, they had to call him something. He found that he didn't really care what.
"Well…" the boy said, thinking hard. "I'm gonna call you Knight."
"Night?"
"No. KNIGHT," the boy corrected, spelling it out for him. "Because of your sword. Only a knight carries a sword like that."
"It's a gunblade," the man…now called Knight, informed Teran. The word engendered an odd thrill of familiarity within him, and he wondered at that. It wasn't actually his name, was it?
He didn't think so, but his pounding headache made it very difficult for him to think at all, and he fervently wished that the boy would hurry and get his mother over to administer more pain medication.
"Oh. Well, I'll be right back."
"Thanks," Knight said, closing his eyes and trying to relax. Fatigue dragged at him but his discomfort made him wakeful. Hopefully, once the medications took effect, he could once again fall into blissful rest. He needed that oblivion. Even with the nightmares that often plagued him, he managed to rest. Of course the lion-guardian helped by warding off the worst of them.
A touch on his arm drew him from the state of almost-sleep that he'd drifted into.
"Teran tells me you're hurting?" Maiere asked him. "He also says that you can speak now?"
Knight nodded. "Yes. I don't know why I couldn't before. I could think the words…at least once I'd gotten a bit more awake but…it was like they just got …stuck."
"Hmmm. Well, you've gotten a pretty bad head injury. Hard to tell what damage was done and how you'll heal. Only thing that will tell you that is time." Maiere said, checking the IV bags and administering the medication he needed.
Sitting down next to him after she'd finished, she asked gently, "Teran also tells me that you can't remember your name?"
"No. I can't." Knight sighed and looked away, pain ebbing away as the meds took effect. "He calls me Knight. I suppose you'll have to call me something…."
Maiere snorted softly, "My son has a real fascination for knights and dragons. To be honest, I'd been thinking of you as 'Rheon', at least until you woke and I could ask you your actual name."
"Rheon?" Knight asked, starting to feel drowsy.
Maiere smiled slightly, noticing his heavy eyes and slurring speech, and clarified, "It's Old Centran for lion. Because of your pendant."
"Oh. Well, I suppose there's worse things to be called than 'Rheon Knight'." He said, eyes closing and drifting back to sleep.
Maiere watched him sleep for a few moments, hoping that he could recover his memories as his brain healed. It sometimes happened like that, amnesia, like aphasia, was a relatively common side effect of brain trauma. Sometimes the patient was able to recover fully. Sometimes they were not. Only time and patience would tell.
Yawning softly, she finally stood up to leave, whispering, "Good night, Rheon."
AUTHOR'S NOTE: You know, I THOUGHT I was ready to post this...and forgot the linebreaks. Silly me. Hope you like it so far... It's weird but I think it'll be cool...hopefully I can pull it off...anyway.. Enjoy!
