Chapter 6

The Second Guest

My initial reaction to the sight of the body lying across the clearing from where I stood was to get as far away as possible before whatever had attacked him came after me. Self-preservation was forefront in my mind until I noticed that the red pool was not still. It rippled slightly, rhythmically, every few seconds. He is breathing, I thought suddenly and bolted to his side. But once I reached him I stopped dead. These were not wounds from a random act of violence, human or beast. His hands had been sliced open in strips. The cuts were inches deep, nearly to the bone and blood dripped steadily out of his slightly open mouth. He had been tortured.

Looking closer, I could tell the man was only unconscious but I did not know what it would take to rouse him. Deciding that it would be best to bind his still seeping wounds as quickly as possible, I tore a strip of white cloth from my apron and slowly leaned in to wrap his right hand. As soon as I touched him, his eyes flew open and darted up at me, but I could tell they did not really see for a look of pure terror washed over his features as he began moving backwards, attempting to flee. My heart began to ache for him as I realized what would happen, but I knew my interference would only frighten him more, so I prepared myself for his painful scream. I did not expect the horrible gurgle that was accompanied by a spray of fresh blood as he tried to push himself to his feet with his ruined hands.

I cried aloud in surprise before whispering, "Oh, you poor man, they have taken your tongue." I had no idea who "they" was but I could come to no other conclusion and my soft pity seemed to reach him. He had fallen on his back because of the pain from his hands. Again lying on the leaf-cushioned ground, he focused his eyes on my face and with relief I gave him a warm smile. I knew that I should keep speaking to make sure he stayed concentrated on me and not on the pain he was undoubtedly enduring. "Please," I began, "come with me to my mother's cottage, it is not far from here," but I ceased when he sat up and a vague look of recognition passed over his features as he tried to say something, only succeeding in producing weak groaning sounds and coughing more blood upon the forest floor.

Moved by his pain, I rushed to his side. No longer caring about his fright, I pressed my white apron to his mouth, making shushing noises and cradling his head with my free hand. His eyes widened in surprise, our faces were mere inched apart as I pleaded, "Please, let me take you to my home and bind these wounds. You will die if you do not come with me. There is no other shelter for miles." I paused, "Do you understand?" I asked this not just to get him to go, but also to discern if he also sustained some kind of head injury. He nodded slightly, but in the action swayed forward then back and would have fallen if I had not clutched him more tightly. He must be weakening from blood loss, I thought, but assured him, "You will be fine, it is not far. Can you stand?"

He tried to lever himself to his feet, but brushed his hands once again on the ground, gasping aloud. I cried, "Oh! No, no, I will support you. Do not use your hands," and grasped his forearms. Concentrating hard, he moved his feet underneath him and I did the same. We shifted to our knees and stood together. Still without speaking, I stepped from in front of him to his side, positioning his arm across my shoulders and wrapping mine around his waist, all the time keeping my eyes on his face. He had closed his own, and I could tell even the movement of the air past his gaping wounds caused him great pain. I gripped his forearm firmly and waited for him to find his center. The blood still trickled from his mouth. I imagined he was now swallowing much of it to spare me the sight of more. His efforts hardly made a difference, for my clothes were almost completely stained red from crawling about the pool. I knew his blood had also gotten in my hair even though its red was barely discernable from my own color.

He finally opened his eyes and turned his agony stricken face to mine. I gave him a reassuring smile and asked, "Are you ready?" He gave the same slight nod as before and we stepped forward together. It was slow going, even at first. I had only been walking for about two minutes on my way to the clearing, but I knew that it would take us much longer. With every succeeding step, he grew more tired, more unstable, and soon I was supporting nearly all of his weight and more often than not his chin was rested on the top of my head. I stopped to rest only a few times, I was filled with such urgency. I still do not know from where I pulled the strength to make that trek through my beloved wood, leaving a trail of his blood in our wake.

As we neared the edge of the forest he was also beginning to grow delirious, for he started trying to speak again causing more blood to ooze from his mouth and into my face, blurring my vision with a haze of red. Through the long trek he had been moving his feet slowly parallel to mine, but at that point he stumbled and we both almost went down. I gritted my teeth with the effort to keep upright and started dragging him. He let out an anguished moan as my hand began to slide up to his wrist, nearing the gaping slashes. I knew I could no longer support him and gently lowered his frame to the forest trail floor. "I cannot drag you any farther," I gasped. His eyes were closed and he did not respond, but still I went on, "But you can see my home from here. Wait and I will return with someone to help me." I turned quickly from him and dashed down the short trail to the front door, screaming for mother or Wen.

Wen came to the door first, flour still on her hands and apron, making her look like a specter from the next world. I shook my head, trying to banish all thoughts of death and cried, "Help me!" as I reached for her arm, pulling her a few steps down the walkway. But before I could turn back around, she grabbed my shoulders in alarm, "Lyn, my god, what happened? Where are you injured?" She began moving her hands, checking me for wounds.

"No!" I screeched at her, but tried to calm down and make myself understood, "It is not me. There is a man in the forest. I could not drag him all the way." Her eyes widened at my words. I then noticed Mother standing in the doorway, a worried understanding on her face. I stored that information away for later questioning as she directed, "Wen, go back with your sister. I will prepare bandages and one of the beds for him."

I had already turned and was dragging Wen towards the green before Mother had finished speaking, she matched my breakneck pace and in a blur we were at his side. He was now unconscious and breathing shallowly, his face was ghostly white and I knew he did not have long. Wen gasped loudly when she saw his injuries and I instructed her, "Do not touch his hands. Take him from the forearm and wrap your other arm around his waist." We hoisted him up and slowly returned to the cottage. When we entered I saw that Mother had somehow dragged my mattress from our loft bedroom close to the fire and was busy ripping old sheets into strips. She quickly stood and helped us carefully maneuver him to the bed.

My mind was racing wildly, as I scrambled into the kitchen and searched my herbal cabinet for anything I had made that winter that could aid him. I grabbed three or four jars and rushed back to his side, seeing the look in my eyes, Mother and Wen had backed away a little and started ripping more bandages. I had spent a few of the previous summers with the wise woman of Coedbryn and she had taught me as much as she could about herbal remedies. I employed all of my knowledge as I tended him, carefully soaking and wrapping every bandage.

It was well into the night when I had finished, Mother and Wen had long been in bed, but had left me the bathing tub full of soapy water. The temperature was tepid at best, but I gratefully washed his blood from my body, hair and face and I enthusiastically donned a fresh dress and skirted close to the fire to dry myself completely. When I finally became warm again, I went to the closet and took out a blanket. Placing it on the floor next to his mattress, I laid myself down and kept my eyes on his face until I fell into slumber.

When I awoke, it was still dark and I found myself staring into eyes more blue than the Bear's had been. His well-sculpted face was still abnormally white and his dark hair was matted and stringy from the blood, making it an indeterminate color. But his eyes, his eyes were the blue of my dream, a deep royal blue that reminded me of a mountain lake at midnight or the center of a dark lily. As a gazed into them I wondered who this stranger was and what trials could have befallen him that he had sustained such wounds.