Otherworld Year One: Chapter 2
From her chair beside the bed, the woman heard the front door open, and the sound of Remie's small footsteps going into the kitchen. She rose quietly, glancing down at the man before leaving the room to join her son.
"Did you get everything okay?" She asked, as she began to unpack the various healing supplies and food. "Yes, everything, except... Remie hesitated, then continued... "I think they charged me way too much... I'm sorry mom." She turned to him and gently cupped his chin in her hand, lifting his troubled face to hers. "You did just fine sweetie, I'm so proud of the way you always do your best to help me."
"I wish dad was here." Remie said softly, a note of yearning in his voice. "I do too honey... I do too." She replied, crouching down to embrace the boy tightly. "Why don't you go play outside for awhile? Supper will be ready in a couple of hours." He gave her a brave smile then and kissing her quickly on the cheek, ran outside into the bright afternoon sun. She watched him go, unable to fight back the tears that glistened in her eyes.
************
Less than an hour later, Remie bolted through the door, his face flushed, his large blue eyes bright with wonder. "Mom, come look at what I found!" He shouted breathlessly. "Sshh Remie!" His mother scolded, gesturing with her head towards the back room where the wounded man rested. "Can't it wait a moment hon? I'm busy here."
"But mom, I think they belong to the man, I found them on the beach." She stopped chopping the vegetables for the soup to look at him, and then wiping her hands on her apron, followed her son outside.
Sitting next to the doorway was a strange looking jug... uncorked and apparently empty, and propped up against the porch planks was a huge weapon of some kind... a sword she surmised. It looked like an antique, she thought, studying it. The top was adorned with intricate scrolls and turnings, and below that, a massive blade. Wicked looking, even in this dull, tarnished state.
"Remie! You could have really hurt yourself with that, and how did you manage to get it here?" She said, eyeing her son in exasperation. "I was careful... and yeah, it's really heavy, but I just drug it... I'm stronger than you think mom." Remie replied, his head coming up with pride. She had to smile at him then, he looked so much like his father at that moment. "Alright, but let's get this stuff inside, shall we? Before somebody sees it and calls the enforcer squad."
************
A sound woke her from sleep, as she sat up on the front room couch, blinking. Remie lay asleep in her lap, his storybook still clasped in his hand. She cocked her head, listening. Low sounds of movement, then a cry, choked with emotion... "Braska!"
She gently moved Remie off her lap and hurried to the back room. The man was thrashing in nightmare, his head moving rapidly from side to side, beads of sweat standing out on his forehead, as low whimpers and groans escaped him in a steady torrent. She went to him and pressed her hand against his forehead, frowning at the burning heat she felt there.
"What's wrong with him mom?" Remie asked from behind her in a hushed voice. "He has a very high fever honey, he's delirious. I'm going to stay up with him, you go back to sleep now." She answered, brushing Remie's dark hair from his sleepy eyes. "Okay." Came Remie's drowsy reply, as he turned and toddered back to the couch. She went to the bathroom and came back with a cool dampened cloth, bent over the man and placed it across his brow, then resumed her place in the chair.
His delirium continued unabated, as he twitched and mumbled incoherently, occassionally crying out... speaking names and words that were alien to her. Wanting desperately to comfort him somehow, she reached out and took his hand in hers... holding it with her palm open, her other hand stroking his fingers. Then another event quaked through him, this one more violent than the rest. His entire frame went rigid, as his back arched up off the bed, tendons standing out on his neck. Suddenly, he clamped his hand down upon hers, his vice-like grip threatening to break her hand. Wincing with the pain, she tried to pull her hand free, but was unable to extricate herself from his powerful grasp. The pain was becoming exquisite in its intensity, as she squeezed her eyes shut, biting her lower lip to keep from crying out.
Not knowing what else to do, straining through her pain, she began to sing to him... a song she often sang to Remie to help him fall back to sleep after a nightmare. She rocked back and forth in the chair as she sang, more for her pain than for the lullaby. At last his grip began to loosen, then relaxed, as his body sank back against the bed, his breathing becoming more regular. She was able then to pull her hand from his, and cradled it against her chest, closing her eyes in relief.
She stayed next to him all that night, her vigilance never wavering.
************
Auron's mind slowly ascended from its dark sea of oblivion, swimming up through the pain that lay beyond it, and now he floated just below full awareness. His mind wanted desperately to turn away from it, to escape back into that sweet nothingness where there was no agony, only dark silence. But he had given his word... so he gathered up the tattered remains of his spirit and came into the world once more.
He slowly opened his eyes, blinking... the surroundings swimming in and out of focus in a half-haze of milky whiteness. Confusion gave way to understanding, as he realized only one of his eyes seemed to be functioning. But the pain in his body was at a more tolerable level now, and he was grateful for that.
He squinted up at the ceiling with his good eye until he could properly focus, and then slowly turned his head to survey the room. The decor and furnishings were sparse and shabby, but spotlessly clean. Turning his head the other way he saw a woman asleep in a chair next to the bed, her head tilted back against the top of the chairback, her arms folded loosely across her lap. She was a full-figured woman who appeared to be in late middle-age, her hair gone mostly gray. But what struck him the most about her was the sweet gentleness of her face, apparent even in sleep.
Closing his eye, he tried to swallow and winced at the effort. His throat was on fire... dry and parched. A small cough escaped him, as he tried to clear his throat. The woman sat bolt upright in the chair at the sound, looking at him intently with her kind eyes. "Oh, you're awake... how are you feeling?" She asked, the tenor of her voice matching her eyes. Auron tried to answer, but couldn't seem to get his throat to work. "Wait, let me get you some water." She said, reaching for the glass that sat next to the bed. Auron managed to lift his head up to drink, the coolness of the liquid sweet on his burning throat. Then he finally was able to answer her question... "Better, thank you." His short reply somehow seeming inadequate to him.
"Excellent. Your fever seems to have passed." She spoke cheerily, smiling in satisfaction as she stood from the chair, then wincing slightly at the stiffness in her joints. "Don't move a muscle now, I'm going to bring you some broth. I'll be back shortly." Auron watched her bustle from the room, impressed by her energy and calm efficiency. He could hear her humming to herself in what he assumed was the kitchen, as the clanking sound of cooking utensils being used echoed down the hallway.
Auron tried for a moment to focus his mind on recent events, but was unable to clarify much in his mind. It was a nightmarish jumble of feelings and sensations... none of them pleasant. He decided not to press it, letting his mind drift lazily with the sounds and smells of the present. The only thing he knew with any certainty, was that he had arrived in Zanarkand... and apparently in one piece. That would do for now.
From her chair beside the bed, the woman heard the front door open, and the sound of Remie's small footsteps going into the kitchen. She rose quietly, glancing down at the man before leaving the room to join her son.
"Did you get everything okay?" She asked, as she began to unpack the various healing supplies and food. "Yes, everything, except... Remie hesitated, then continued... "I think they charged me way too much... I'm sorry mom." She turned to him and gently cupped his chin in her hand, lifting his troubled face to hers. "You did just fine sweetie, I'm so proud of the way you always do your best to help me."
"I wish dad was here." Remie said softly, a note of yearning in his voice. "I do too honey... I do too." She replied, crouching down to embrace the boy tightly. "Why don't you go play outside for awhile? Supper will be ready in a couple of hours." He gave her a brave smile then and kissing her quickly on the cheek, ran outside into the bright afternoon sun. She watched him go, unable to fight back the tears that glistened in her eyes.
************
Less than an hour later, Remie bolted through the door, his face flushed, his large blue eyes bright with wonder. "Mom, come look at what I found!" He shouted breathlessly. "Sshh Remie!" His mother scolded, gesturing with her head towards the back room where the wounded man rested. "Can't it wait a moment hon? I'm busy here."
"But mom, I think they belong to the man, I found them on the beach." She stopped chopping the vegetables for the soup to look at him, and then wiping her hands on her apron, followed her son outside.
Sitting next to the doorway was a strange looking jug... uncorked and apparently empty, and propped up against the porch planks was a huge weapon of some kind... a sword she surmised. It looked like an antique, she thought, studying it. The top was adorned with intricate scrolls and turnings, and below that, a massive blade. Wicked looking, even in this dull, tarnished state.
"Remie! You could have really hurt yourself with that, and how did you manage to get it here?" She said, eyeing her son in exasperation. "I was careful... and yeah, it's really heavy, but I just drug it... I'm stronger than you think mom." Remie replied, his head coming up with pride. She had to smile at him then, he looked so much like his father at that moment. "Alright, but let's get this stuff inside, shall we? Before somebody sees it and calls the enforcer squad."
************
A sound woke her from sleep, as she sat up on the front room couch, blinking. Remie lay asleep in her lap, his storybook still clasped in his hand. She cocked her head, listening. Low sounds of movement, then a cry, choked with emotion... "Braska!"
She gently moved Remie off her lap and hurried to the back room. The man was thrashing in nightmare, his head moving rapidly from side to side, beads of sweat standing out on his forehead, as low whimpers and groans escaped him in a steady torrent. She went to him and pressed her hand against his forehead, frowning at the burning heat she felt there.
"What's wrong with him mom?" Remie asked from behind her in a hushed voice. "He has a very high fever honey, he's delirious. I'm going to stay up with him, you go back to sleep now." She answered, brushing Remie's dark hair from his sleepy eyes. "Okay." Came Remie's drowsy reply, as he turned and toddered back to the couch. She went to the bathroom and came back with a cool dampened cloth, bent over the man and placed it across his brow, then resumed her place in the chair.
His delirium continued unabated, as he twitched and mumbled incoherently, occassionally crying out... speaking names and words that were alien to her. Wanting desperately to comfort him somehow, she reached out and took his hand in hers... holding it with her palm open, her other hand stroking his fingers. Then another event quaked through him, this one more violent than the rest. His entire frame went rigid, as his back arched up off the bed, tendons standing out on his neck. Suddenly, he clamped his hand down upon hers, his vice-like grip threatening to break her hand. Wincing with the pain, she tried to pull her hand free, but was unable to extricate herself from his powerful grasp. The pain was becoming exquisite in its intensity, as she squeezed her eyes shut, biting her lower lip to keep from crying out.
Not knowing what else to do, straining through her pain, she began to sing to him... a song she often sang to Remie to help him fall back to sleep after a nightmare. She rocked back and forth in the chair as she sang, more for her pain than for the lullaby. At last his grip began to loosen, then relaxed, as his body sank back against the bed, his breathing becoming more regular. She was able then to pull her hand from his, and cradled it against her chest, closing her eyes in relief.
She stayed next to him all that night, her vigilance never wavering.
************
Auron's mind slowly ascended from its dark sea of oblivion, swimming up through the pain that lay beyond it, and now he floated just below full awareness. His mind wanted desperately to turn away from it, to escape back into that sweet nothingness where there was no agony, only dark silence. But he had given his word... so he gathered up the tattered remains of his spirit and came into the world once more.
He slowly opened his eyes, blinking... the surroundings swimming in and out of focus in a half-haze of milky whiteness. Confusion gave way to understanding, as he realized only one of his eyes seemed to be functioning. But the pain in his body was at a more tolerable level now, and he was grateful for that.
He squinted up at the ceiling with his good eye until he could properly focus, and then slowly turned his head to survey the room. The decor and furnishings were sparse and shabby, but spotlessly clean. Turning his head the other way he saw a woman asleep in a chair next to the bed, her head tilted back against the top of the chairback, her arms folded loosely across her lap. She was a full-figured woman who appeared to be in late middle-age, her hair gone mostly gray. But what struck him the most about her was the sweet gentleness of her face, apparent even in sleep.
Closing his eye, he tried to swallow and winced at the effort. His throat was on fire... dry and parched. A small cough escaped him, as he tried to clear his throat. The woman sat bolt upright in the chair at the sound, looking at him intently with her kind eyes. "Oh, you're awake... how are you feeling?" She asked, the tenor of her voice matching her eyes. Auron tried to answer, but couldn't seem to get his throat to work. "Wait, let me get you some water." She said, reaching for the glass that sat next to the bed. Auron managed to lift his head up to drink, the coolness of the liquid sweet on his burning throat. Then he finally was able to answer her question... "Better, thank you." His short reply somehow seeming inadequate to him.
"Excellent. Your fever seems to have passed." She spoke cheerily, smiling in satisfaction as she stood from the chair, then wincing slightly at the stiffness in her joints. "Don't move a muscle now, I'm going to bring you some broth. I'll be back shortly." Auron watched her bustle from the room, impressed by her energy and calm efficiency. He could hear her humming to herself in what he assumed was the kitchen, as the clanking sound of cooking utensils being used echoed down the hallway.
Auron tried for a moment to focus his mind on recent events, but was unable to clarify much in his mind. It was a nightmarish jumble of feelings and sensations... none of them pleasant. He decided not to press it, letting his mind drift lazily with the sounds and smells of the present. The only thing he knew with any certainty, was that he had arrived in Zanarkand... and apparently in one piece. That would do for now.
