Chapter Two: Awake and Dreaming
In which, names are shared, a story is told, and fears arise.
I told you it was too far to travel, but you insisted on making the journey alone. Most of the islands are just too far apart for someone as young as you to go back and forth without assistance. I swear to you, one day that thick head of yours is going to get you into such trouble as I will not be able to help you out from, my sweet and foolish little boy.
My sweet, sweet Rauwin…
The sudden comprehension of thought startled him so that he shot immediately to a sitting position, from the feathery bed in which he lay. In that same instant he realized his mistake as the room swam before his eyes, unrecognizable as anything other than a multi-colored blur, and pain stabbed searing daggers into his head from all directions. Clutching his head between his hands, he let out a sharp but strangled cry of pain, and fell sideways onto the bed. Or at least, he had been aiming for the bed. Confused by the swirl of shapes and colors, he landed heavily on the wood plank floor.
Ever so slowly, as the room began to resolve into its true form, the pain receded, leaving him panting in relief, his mouth dry. Just as slowly, he began to look around the room, taking in the old wood paneling. A small closet, set into the wall on his left, stood open with a large jacket hanging from a hook. To his right was the bed he had fallen out of, a large lumpy feather mattress and a tangle of thread bare linen sheets, that haphazardly covered his naked form. The revelation of his nudity made him blush as his gaze continued to wander beyond the bed to the wooden chair and table, with it's cracked wash basin, which sat in front of an open window on the opposite side, and the figure of a woman standing in the doorway.
Noticing her for the first time he froze, eyes barely above the level of the bed. The muscles in his arms and legs tensed, ready for immediate action, even if his head disagreed. Minutes passed in silence, as neither he nor the tall slender figure by the door moved.
"I suppose you must be hungry." she said at last, taking a tentative step away from the door further into the room. Her voice was soft and low, her movements slow and cautious, as if she were approaching a small rabbit in the forest, afraid that it might flee. He still did not move. Though she was taking every measure not to startle him, he felt a fear he could not place. Some primal, or perhaps instinctual reaction sang throughout him, and yet at the same time he felt as if that were wrong.
A dozen questions raced through his mind, and at the prospect of food his stomach began rumble. More time passed in silence, and the woman's calm demeanor started to shift closer to apprehension, then fear. He smelled the change in her mood well before the change in her face, and he instantly felt embarrassed and apologetic. Here he was cowering behind a bed, shielded from the nose down, and she was just as afraid of him as he of her. Granted she stood tall for a woman, but he knew he stood much taller. His arms must have been three, even four times as thick as hers, and it occurred to him that he knew just how to strike her to keep her from ever getting up again.
That last thought must have registered in his eyes somehow, because the scent of fear rolled off the woman in waves, and the pulse in her throat visibly quickened. Out of shame he quickly tried to find something to say, something to break the silence and make it known that he meant this woman no harm. He plucked at the first thing that came to mind.
"I don't know where I am." he croaked, still not emerging from behind the bed, and realizing that his throat was still terribly dry. It felt as if he'd been eating sand.
The scent of fear disappeared almost instantly, and was replaced by pity, as tears welled up in the woman's eyes. His eyes narrowed sullenly, and he focused them on the bed before him, not wanting her to see his embarrassment. How timid he must look, like a lost child who missed his mother. But he was lost, wasn't he?
"Don't worry child," she said in almost a quiet giggle, closing the distance between door and bed. He wondered how much of that laugh was relief and how much of it was for the pathetic "child" on the floor. "You're on the shores of Kalidesh. Kelebrind to be exact. Jarl and his men plucked you, naked as a babe, out of the sea half a week ago, and brought you here. What were you doing out in that storm anyhow? Are you a fisherman?" She sat on the bed, pulling a bundle of linen off of the wooden chair and into her lap.
"Storm?" he asked curiously. In his mind's eye he saw a blinding flash of light, and shook his head vigorously to banish the thought, renewing dizziness and pain. "Fisherman? I-I'm not-" he tried to speak through teeth gritted against the pain, then stopped, taking in deep relaxing breaths. The hurt left him more quickly this time, and he began again. "I'm no fisherman." he said at last, but then realized that he wasn't quite sure if he was or not.
"Well if you're no fisherman, then what else would you be, swimming around that far from shore in the middle of a storm, other than a fool of course." she said, patting the bed with her hand, beckoning him to sit.
"Well, I'm-" he stopped as he was picking himself up of the floor. He concentrated as best he could, but try as he might, he could not call anything to mind regarding profession or who he was otherwise. Lost in thought he let the sheet fall absently as he continued. "I-I don't know what I am."
"One thing's for certain, you're a boy for sure." the woman said, gesturing towards his exposed midsection. Remembering the dropped sheet at last, he hurriedly snatched up one of the tangled bed sheets, blushing as he rushed to cover his manhood. She laughed then, muffled at first as if she were trying to hold it back until she could not contain it any longer. She laughed the way birds sang, and as lovely as she was, the smile on her face made her radiant. But it ended almost as quickly as it began.
She sighed almost sadly, her eyes glistened with the beginnings of tears that he was certain were from the laughing. She looked far away, as if in another time and place.
"I haven't laughed like that since…" she said to no one in particular, then turned to the boy wrapped in his sheet. "Well, not in a very long time." She looked solemn now, and somehow more stern. Eyeing him up and down she said, "You'll be wanting some clothes I imagine." She placed the bundle on the bed as she stood up, smoothing out her apron and with it the mirth she had displayed moments before.
"Thank you." he said quietly, not sure what he had just seen. As she walked away, he felt as if he should say more. Something about their interaction had saddened her, and he desperately wanted to set that aright. "What's your name?" he blurted as she reached the door.
"Armina, Armina Casterly." she said half turning from the hall. "What's yours?"
Panic rose in him again. He had forgotten everything else, now his name was out of reach as well. He was all but overcome by despair, every detail about him was a mystery even to himself. He didn't know who or where he was, or why he was there in the first place. He had no idea where he came from or what to do. It just wasn't right, it wasn't fair, it wasn't-
My sweet, sweet…
"Rauwin?" he wasn't asking himself, so much as the half formed memory in his head.
"It's a pleasure to meet you Rauwin. Branen will bring your meal up shortly." And with that, she left.
In the near silence of the empty room, the only sound being that of Mistress Casterly's retreating footsteps, Rauwin dressed himself with the clothes that had been provided. He was grateful for the heavy fabric of the red jacket, which he took from the closet. In the shock of the moment he hadn't realized how chilly the night air had become. After donning his new clothes he sat down in the creaking chair looking out the open window beside the bed.
The first sight to catch his eye was the sea, immense and surging, yet much more calm than he had expected…though to have expectations of a sea he had not seen before did strike him as odd. Still, in its relative calm, the sight of the dark waters evoked in Rauwin a confusing, yet all too real, feeling of dread. He quickly cast his eyes to the city below.
Closer to the sea than he would have liked to gaze, sat a grouping of docks, which had a treacherous look to them, no doubt only enhanced by the mantle of a starless night. Among the loose planks and dubiously erected supports, there stood ships of all shapes, sizes, and states of disrepair. These docks, like wooden fingers grasping at the waves, continued into the west almost farther than he could see from his window-seat. Be it distance or dark, the details of the furthest structures and their silent sentinels were difficult to make out, yet it seemed that the westernmost docks had experienced a better level of care than the rest, and were home to prouder and sturdier vessels than those before him. The progression seemed to mark the passage of time and the expansion of this booming port from its days as a humble fishing village.
Further inland, like a wood and stone buffer between him and his enemy, the sea, stood a wide array buildings. Like the docks, these structures seemed to increase in grandeur in the west, as wood and pitch gave way to stone and white wash, and lanterns adorned many more cobbled streets than the gravel paths below. Despite the lack of light, Rauwin was able to make out the shapes of figures moving along the hard beaten paths between buildings just beyond the window. Like children at play, men laughing raucously chased women who let out breathy teasing giggles, then disappeared into the solitude of some darkened alley. The sounds that followed shortly thereafter made the heat rise in his face, and he shyly directed his attention elsewhere.
Gazing out into this sleeping city, Rauwin's mind soon began to wander. Nothing about this place seemed familiar to him, save for the curious foreboding he felt for the sea. If he was a citizen of this port he should remember, shouldn't he? If he was not, then where was he from, and why did he come here? As his mind searched for answers it did not have, Rauwin grew tired.
"Kelebrind…" he said with a yawn, testing the way the name, so new to him, rolled off his tongue. "Kelebrind. Could this be my home?"
Resting his head on his arms, folded atop the windowsill, Rauwin watched this strange city, with its patch-work buildings and gently bobbing ships, and soon fell asleep.
* * * * *
Armina Casterly was out of breath before she even set foot on the stairs. There was something decidedly strange about that boy. She recalled the moment that his eyes had changed, like a wolf who had cornered its prey and was preparing to make the kill. It sent a shiver up her back, a tingle that stood the hair of the back of her neck on end. She rubbed her arms vigorously to chase away a chill that had nothing to do with the weather. The strangest thing about the encounter was how, just as quickly, the predatory look became something else entirely, something timid and lost. And when he finally spoke, it was with a boyishness that had caught her completely off guard. She hadn't expected such tones of hopelessness from someone who, only moments before, appeared ready to strike her down. In spite of all that, she had taken an instant liking to the boy, which she likewise was unprepared for.
Armina had wanted to be stern with him, to demand how he intended to pay for the free care she and her husband had provided for him; to tell him that since he was finally awake he could either pay for the room he had taken up for the past four days or move on. But she couldn't. Saints help her, she couldn't bring herself to be angry with the boy, not while he reminder her so much of her own son.
Warm tears slid down her cheek and fell from her chin before Armina even realized she was crying. Down the hall, floor boards creaked under foot, and she assumed that meant that the boy, Rauwin he had called himself, was dressing. Hastily she wiped the tears from her face, and continued moving down the stairs, afraid that if she lingered the sounds of her sobbing might draw him out of the room. She wasn't ready to face him just yet, she needed time to collect herself, time to see him as someone other than her long dead son.
Before finishing her flight to the bottom of the stairs, she took a moment to compose herself, fixing a fresh scowl on her face so her husband would have no cause to think something might be amiss. Not that he would say anything of course. Bran seldom seemed to care about anything at all. She thought that it may be an affect of her harshness towards him, but she was only being harsh in the hopes that it would bring out some emotion in him. No, it was clear that the only emotions he felt at all were reserved for the silver-eyed strumpet who nightly shook her parts for any dirty old man with an unbent copper to throw. With that thought, Armina felt her anger rising, and she began feeling altogether better. The heat of anger gave her something real to cling to, and brought her back to her senses, for the most part anyway. Feeling slightly refreshed, she stormed off across the floor of the common room to the kitchen behind the bar.
She threw open the swinging door, banging it against a side table with an audible clatter. Branen sat at another table, near the cooling kettles that held the remnants of the evening's stew, across from him was Jarl Tasslebrook. Both had full frosty mugs before them, and cards in hand. Bran looked confusedly at his cards, scratching his balding dome, while Jarl's face transformed from smug to wary as he spied Armina from the corner of his eye. Beyond Jarl's expression, neither of them seemed particularly moved by Armina's noisy entrance.
"So, you say one of your boys spied a drake just before you picked our boy out of the water." Bran said, probably in hopes that he could draw his opponent off his game with idle chatter.
"Mm-hm." was Jarl's only response, still watching the innkeeper's wife as she stalked over to loom above her seated husband.
"And it was a gold one you say, wings and all? A queer sight to be sure, 'specially that far out. From the telling, you wouldn't think they'd stray too far from their nests in the mountains…" he trailed off, concentrating deeper on his cards, unaware of the shadow that grew over him.
"The skin's worth a fortune, made o' solid gold if you believe the stories. An they say they be guardin' treasures of their own up in them mountains. That's what makes 'em so fierce…you know…territorial like." Jarl leaned back in his chair in a vain attempt to separate himself from the oncoming melee as much as possible.
"You don't say," Bran said, remaining oblivious to the impending danger. "I have half a mind to go up there and-" a sudden epiphany lit his face as he finally deciphered the trail to victory that the cards held for him. "Oh-ho I have you now you sea-brained old coot! Read 'em and weep, Queens high over-" as he set the cards on the table, the rest of his victorious declaration was cut off by a high-pitched yelp, his wife's fist firmly pinning his fingers and winning hand to the table.
"If you had half a brain at all you'd notice your wife standing before you, and, rather than prattling on to this dirty sea-biscuit about your absurd notions of drake slaying, you'd be seeing to what she wants you to do!" Armina shouted.
Jarl sank deeper into his seat, trying for all the world to disappear, contemplating the risks involved in reaching for his mug. In the end he thought better of it, remembering something he had heard in a bards tale about one of those woodsmen; that when confronted with a dangerous beast it was better to stand perfectly still making no sudden movements that may further attract its attention.
"I'm sorry, wife," Bran said, pulling his finger from beneath her iron fist, flexing them unconsciously, checking for broken knuckles. "what was it you wanted me to do."
"Well, since I have your attention all of a sudden, our boy is finally awake and probably hungrier than a dog in the shacks at the height of winter. I suggest you take a bowl of stew up to him, not too big mind you. He's taken up quite enough of our hospitality already. And when you're done with that, you can haul a few more barrels up from the cellar. I won't have those dirty fish-smelling brutes hanging on me one more night, asking why their cups are empty. And if its such a chore for you, have your good friend Master Tasslebrook help you. Its the least he could do to earn all he drinks up for free after we close down for the night.
And another thing: don't go entertaining any strange ideas about us putting up this boy for any longer than we have to. Need I remind you that the last poor soul you catered to ran off with almost a week's worth of earnings? I don't think the girls will be so forgiving if they have to go without pay a second time, I know I won't!"
"Yes wife." was all he said, as he got up from his seat gingerly cradling his injured hand. Armina turned to keep Bran fixed with her glare while he moved to the kettles and began lighting the fire under one of the stew pots. With Armina's back to him, Jarl seized his only opportunity to grab up his ale, and sipped it quietly.
Long minutes passed in silence as Branen fanned the flames, bringing the stew to a boil. Portioning out a bowl and a half loaf of hard bread, he set the food on a tray with a mug of his home brew and began walking for the door.
"Honestly, Branen Casterly," Armina muttered angrily as he pushed the door open. "you think even a man of your age would be able to see his own wife standing before him. I swear you grow more scatterbrained by the day!"
"Yes wife." was all he said as the door swung shut behind him. With him out of sight, Armina sighed tiredly and turned her attention to the stack of dishes waiting to be washed. Behind her, Jarl cleared his throat and jumped when she whirled on her heels to face him. Clutching his hat, turning the rumpled fabric nervously in his hands, he swallowed hard. He opened his mouth twice to speak, but, not quite knowing how to begin, he closed it and tried to start over again. It was obvious that something was bothering him.
"What is it you want to say, Jarl?" she tried to say it sweetly, but the frustration she felt was much more evident in her tone. Nonetheless, Jarl was inspired to speak.
"Well ma'am, I uh, I dint wanna say this to yer husband, you know how he can be with crazy ideals n' all. Well, you see…it's about the day we fished yer boy-"
"Rauwin." she broke in, suddenly feeling the weight of the day falling in on her. "He said his name was Rauwin. And he's not my boy."
"Uh-right, Rauwin. Anyhoo, something' 'bout the day we fished him outta the sea, well, it jus aint sittin' right with the boys an me." he paused to clear his throat, which was suddenly dry, and took a long pull from his mug. Armina looked on with an expression that told how dangerous it was to keep her from her work any longer than necessary. Jarl continued on in a rush. "Y'see me an' the boys been recountin' the day, an' with the drake that were struck by lightning, an' where we found, uh, Rauwin…well, he was right about where the drake shoulda been. Some o' the boys think, an' even though its queer, I'm inclined to agree with 'em, think that maybe this drake…well, that he turned into that boy upstairs. Like a were-woof, or somthin' like it…" finished, he stood there, turning his hat over in his hands, as Armina stood staring at him like he had sprouted a second head, one eyebrow climbing to the middle of her forehead She let out an exasperated sigh, and shook her head.
"Well, I tell you what Master Tasslebrook; I'll be looking out at the first sight of the full moon. If that boy sprouts wings, scales or a tail you'll be the first person I inform. That is, after my no-good lazy husband slays the beast and claims its treasure, making us rich beyond measure and taking us far far away from this rundown heap of an inn."
This time Jarl shook his head, though he had expect such a response for his concern. He shoved the hat onto his head and turned towards the door, turning back before stepping beyond the threshold.
"Jus' remember what I said, ma'am," he muttered hoarsely "There're stranger things in this world than you or I've ever seen and, saints willing, will ever see." With that, he turned and walked out of the kitchen.
Armina tried to dismiss what he had said, but something in his tone took her back to that look in Rauwin's eyes, like the eye's of a wolf. She shivered despite herself, and as she went to the wash-tub, scrubbing the dishes, she couldn't help but wonder if there wasn't something to the fears of the washed up old fisherman.
