Chapter 4: Healing
Feryl awoke hours later alone in the storeroom. Whatever healing potion he'd been offered before had long since faded, and finding comfort on the narrow cot was near impossible. By the lengthening shadows, the boy could tell the day was fading to night. He rolled over having to force himself to sit up. A few moments, he remained sitting on the edge of bed until the pain subsided enough to try getting to his feet. His chest hurt, everything hurt but it was a dull ache as opposed to what he experienced before. A pronounced hobble came from something strained in his thigh, and a foot cramped from something that had broken when Nekros crushed him underfoot.
Using the crates and wall for balance, he limped towards the window, daring to peek out into the darkening sky. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen the sun. He was expected to be 'home' well before the sunrise, and never allowed to leave until the dark of night.
Full daylight was painful to his eyes being so accustomed to the night life, but times his master allowed him out of the closet, he'd often try to find moments to watch the sun rise and set. This time of year, the sky was glorious in all its colors with purples and pinks intermingling with hues of red and orange. Clouds were wisps of color like ribbons across the horizon. In his dark world, the rising and setting of the sun brought color and vibrancy back to his life.
"You seem as though you've never seen the sun before." A girl's voice startled him. He hadn't heard her approach, too mesmerized by the setting sun and his own thoughts. She stood in the doorway with a tray of food, a soft smile on her curved mouth. How long had she been standing there?
A rush of strong emotion he couldn't begin to describe washed over him. Fear perhaps, but also excitement. Feryl never had friends, had no one to talk to except Nekros growing up. He never even met another person near his age. He blinked back at her, seeing the girl in a new light. Before he could only admire her from afar, now she was close enough to touch. In the daylight, the creamy white of her skin almost glowed, with the slightest tint of pink upon each cheek. Her blue eyes twinkled.
She wore simple homespun of a dress a size too big for her, with an apron that was dusted with flour. Colors of drab green and brown were in direct contrast to the vibrancy of her eyes. A servant's cap imprisoned her strawberry blond hair, leaving only a few loose curls to touch along a rounded cheek.
The girl let her smile widen, almost blushing at him when she realized he stared back at her. "I never met a Dark Elf before."
Feryl found he was suddenly very self-conscious, knowing she studied his face, compared the obvious differences between them. Her eyes were livid blue, while his went from deep red to crimson red depending on the light. She was as pale as he was dark. He shifted uneasily under her scrutiny.
"Is it true you can see at night?" She asked, fascinated.
Feryl nodded, and almost jerked back when the girl stepped forward. Her curiosity was unsettling, and she was peering at his eyes with intensity that threw him guard off. He was a novelty to her, which didn't make much sense being he certainly wasn't the only Dark Elf in the city. Supposedly there were others, but perhaps they were all too dangerous for anyone to approach this close. Another bold step of the girl implied she had no fear of him.
"And you can hear better too, can't you?" Her eyes were focused on the pointed years to either side of his head. There was no apprehension in her eyes, only inquisitiveness.
She reached up to touch what he assumed was an ear, causing him to panic. He nearly lashed out impulsively; instead he retreated until he hit against the wall behind to get away.
She found this humorous, and giggled. "I won't bite." She tried to stifle the laugh behind her hand.
"But I might." He snapped back in warning, feeling his face grow hot.
Her smile faded, and the girl took a chastised step back. "Forgive me." She said in a soft tone. "I suppose that was rude of me. It's just I never saw a Dunmer so young before."
"Dunmer?" He felt his face deepening to scowl. It sounded too much like some form of insult.
Her head tilted and she looked confused, the light brows knitting together in a lovely squint. "You know…Dunmer. A Dark Elf? Its what Dark Elves call themselves."
They do? He stared back, perplexed by this information. This was news to him. He'd never even heard the term before.
"In their homeland, in Morrowind." She explained to his silence.
"Morrowind?" Dark Elves had a homeland? There was a land filled with them? He couldn't even picture such a place in his mind.
"Its far east of here, and said to have a giant volcano called Red Mountain. Surely you've heard of such a place?" She was stunned of his ignorance.
He was stunned a bit by it himself. He had wondered what lands lay beyond the Imperial City and that of Cyrodil. Nekros forbade him maps, refusing to even answer questions. Feryl nodded, pretending to know what she was talking about. Why had Nekros never told of this? And for that matter, why didn't the girl seem more afraid of him? He was a dark elf…A Dunmer…whatever they called themselves. They drank blood, were vicious killers- why did this girl show no fear or concern?
"I brought you some stew." She told him, turning away to show him the array of various foods she gathered for his meal, most of which he couldn't even recognize. Everything smelled delicious. "Master Kendari said you're to eat however much you want, but to be careful. Eating too much might make you sick."
Of course, Merthisan would have noticed the body thin from starving, and Feryl was well aware of what happens if you eat too much after a long time of eating nothing. He'd experienced the awful retching, the stomach cramps from eating too much after starving for too long.
"Where is Master Kendari?" He moved carefully back to bed, almost regretting the long walk to the window now. Even the few feet back to bed wore him out.
"He is working at the forge right now. This time of day, if he has no students, Master Kendari will repair weapons, sharpen blades…that sort of thing." Lyra said, looking concerned at how slow he moved. "Shall I check your bandages?"
Feryl looked down at the wrapped cloth, gently easing himself back onto the bed. "Check for what?" They seemed fine to him. A few were stained with brown salve, but otherwise looked fine.
"To make sure you're healing properly." The girl explained. She seemed to not care now if he wanted her help or not, but motioned for him to lie back and she'd inspect the wrappings. "The potions should've done its job, but you still need to check how the bones are healing together properly."
Too weak to protest, he did as was told, and found his body flinching at the contact. Her hands were gentle, but so accustomed to abuse from Nekros, instinct caused him to flinch at any unexpected touch. Fingers probed his chest, then moved to flex and pull the fingers of his hand.
"Does it hurt?" The girl asked him softly, misinterpreting his squirming. No, it didn't, but he was expecting them at any moment to turn painful. He could pick up the faint scent of perfume on her, and grew all too aware of the whisper of her light touch tending him.
He wet dry lips, shook his head.
"Is your name really Feryl?"
"What?"
"Your name…is that your real name?"
"Why do you ask me that?" Feryl scowled. Of course it was his name, what else would it be? Merthisan had asked the same question.
Her faint brows rose up mockingly, unimpressed by his temper. "Because Feryl is Old Common for a stray dog, that's why."
Feryl tensed, now understanding a bit more about his master. Feryl was a perfect name if you're someone's pet. If he had a real name once, that as well as anything concerning his identity was lost to him now. "Yes, my name is Feryl." One name was as good as any other. Wasn't that was Nekros often told him? "What's your name?"
He already knew what it was, but felt she might want to be asked, since names were so important to her. "Lyra Facian." She told him. The girl seemed as though she was to say more, but master Kendari appeared in the doorway.
"Ah, you're awake!" The sword master entered room, dressed more casually than before with a leather apron over a basic white tunic and doeskin breeches. The smell of smelt came off his skin as he neared the bedside, taking note of the food eaten, and bandages redone. "And Lyra's taken good care of you I see."
Feryl nodded silently, still trying to comprehend his situation. He still felt a strong urge to find someplace dark to hide, to bolt to freedom. Common sense, however dictated he remain where he was. Somewhere in the darkened streets, Nekros was no doubt waiting for him.
When master Kendari sat on the edge of the bed to inspect the healing injuries himself, the boy felt almost dizzy with fear and trepidation. He had, after all, stolen a valuable sword just the day before. The swordsman seemed to have completely forgotten.
"Easy now." The warrior murmured, being quick and efficient. His blue eyes narrowed in inspection and a low grunt of pleased satisfaction affirmed he was nearly healed. To Feryl's surprise however, Kendari clasped his forearms and pulled them out straight to look at the healed hand now free of splints.
"This is healing nicely…" Merthisan said, but his attention was to wrists and forearms. Feryl frowned, leaning forward to see what he was looking at, and saw nothing unusual. Skin was slightly mottled with bruising, but otherwise looked normal.
The swordsman gave a light chuckle, "See here?" He touched the tendons at the wrist. "I can tell you've never practiced with a sword before."
Feryl bit his lower lip, twitching when the touch shifted to palms. The warriors rough hands scraped over the skin, squeezing and flexing fingers. The contact made him cringe, though oddly he sensed the man would not harm him.
"You've handled a knife though, haven't you?"
How could he tell? The Dunmer boy nodded once, and tried again to see what the experienced fighter saw. The slender fingers were small compared to the sword master's hands. Nails were filthy, crusted in dirt, with the gray hue of skin appearing even darker compared to the human's.
"You know," Merthisan spoke casually, "You're quite the natural when it comes to swordplay." His blue eyes looked up into the boy's deep red, trying to find some reaction or lie. "Have you ever fought with a weapon before?"
Training had encompassed little in the way of fighting, but Feryl had daily lessons in stealth, acrobatics, agility, and speed. Training encompassed learning how to throw a knife with deadly accuracy. But fighting?
"Not really."
Master Kendari made a low grunt in his throat, turning his attention to the uneaten food on the tray. Only a few bites from the bread and some of the stew had been eaten. "You should eat more." He said, moving to stand up. The swordsman spoke to the girl Lyra. "Make sure he finishes the stew, and let him go back to bed. I'll walk you home tonight." He turned back to the young elf. "We'll speak more of this in the morning."
The girl gave a quick nod as the sword master left before turning to her new charge. "Hurry up and eat then." She smiled, handing him the bowl. "Or shall I feed you?"
Feryl scowled, unnerved by her closeness. "I can feed myself." And shoved a mouthful of stew in his mouth to illustrate. The food was excellent. He wasn't sure what was actually in the thick soup, but the broth was savory and warmed him. Fresh baked bread had a chewy crust, with fruit cut up as dessert. He hoped they didn't expect him to finish everything.
Lyra seemed to study his every move. Blue eyes were intent, mesmerized by the novelty of seeing a dark elf. The boy tried to ignore her, wishing she'd leave soon. He considered she might be waiting for him to finish to take the tray back to the kitchens on the first floor. He tried to finish quickly.
"Who was the man that beat you?" She asked suddenly.
Pausing in mid-chew, Feryl had to force himself to swallow the suddenly bland meal. He was uncertain how much information to give her, being that Nekros killed anyone who knew his real identity. "My …master." He said carefully.
"What is his trade?" She persisted.
His mind raced, considering possible answers but knowing the truth was too dangerous to reveal. "A thief." He said quickly, shoving another mouthful in. If he finished the food, she'd leave, or that was his hope.
"So you're a thief too?"
He paused again, growing frustrated with her questioning. He had, in essence, been a thief for Nekros on more than one occasion. He also was lookout for some of the jobs, keeping tabs on city guards or anyone who might alert the watch. Hadn't Master Kendari explained he'd stolen a sword the night before? "Sometimes." He murmured with cheeks full.
"Where are your parents?" The girl asked, sitting with knees pulled up to her chin as she balanced at the end of his bed. Arms wrapped around legs, and she remained only an arm's reach from him. He nearly choked on a bite of bread before forcing it down.
"I don't have parents."
"Oh," Her voice softened, her gaze dropped. "You're orphaned."
Feryl had never thought about family, except for the few occasions he wondered of his origins. Nekros had always told him he was 'found' on the streets. He had no memory to speak of. Her assumption brought up the sudden realization that they were most probably dead. They might even been killed by the master assassin.
He set aside the bowl, no longer hungry. He pushed the tray a few inches to indicate to the girl he was finished, and yet still she remained.
"Why have you never tried to run away?" Lyra asked him.
He shifted uneasily, wondering why she wanted to know. "And where would I go?" No one would take you in, boy…You're a Dark Elf….They can't be trusted….You're lucky I took you in when I did…Nekros' words were like poison.
"The Shrine would take you, or one of the guilds." She gave a light smile. "You're young yet. You could find another master. How old are you? I would guess twelve or maybe older?"
He had no answer for her. For him, there was no measure of time or age. He'd been with Nekros for six years, and couldn't remember how old he was when the assassin had caught him. "I guess so." He replied. Fists clenched from growing tension.
"You don't know how old you are?"
By her tone, he knew this was something else denied him. Did she know her age? Her tone shifted into something more guarded. "Why is it you know so little about yourself and world around you?"
Feryl turned away, knowing he'd made a mistake. In his search for answers, he exposed his ignorance and now felt stupid and foolish. "I don't know…" That seemed to have become his mantra, he thought darkly. That caged feeling was growing again, and he had nowhere to hide.
"I'm sorry." Lyra said kindly. Her hand touched his arm. The unexpected contact made him flinch and he jerked away without thinking. She stiffened, looking almost hurt, possibly interpreting him as not wanting anything to do with her. She knew why he was there, had seen the results of what his 'cruel master' had done to him, and neither the girl, nor the sword master could understand the truth of it. He moved away from her needing distance, choosing a few feet to sit near the bed's headboard. Thankfully she kept the space between them this time.
"Your master. He's the one that named you Feryl…didn't he?" Lyra's tone had turned grim, and her brilliant eyes seemed to darken with the sympathy he found there.
The elf looked away, his elegant features pinching. "One name is as good as any other." He muttered, but found he was trying to convince himself more than her. At her silence, he glanced back to find her expression filled with sympathy. For some reason, it angered him. "I don't need your pity." He told her coldly, a sudden anger bubbled up.
Pity is for the weak.
"Perhaps you do." She murmured softly.
Temper flared again, and he felt a sudden rush of anger/fear/frustration. "It serves me nothing." Feryl spat. Briefly, he considered trying to leave, but where would he go?
Lyra sighed. "It might serve you to gain your freedom-"
"Freedom?" He snapped angrily to cut her off. "Do you think that if freedom was ever an option that I wouldn't have taken it?" The words had spilled out. Feryl realized the years of wanting his freedom had come like a rush, but never daring to think of such an option. Such a choice meant death. For that matter, did he truly have the choice even now? Even the hall walls of the school would not keep Nekros from entering if he wished.
This girl knew nothing of the assassin and what waited for him once he's left the safety of the school. The thought made blood turn cold, and he dug fingernails into palms. The pain reminded him of what he was. "Just get out."
He expected her to get angry, or at fall into tears, but she did neither. Lyra lifted her chin, as her face softened. A sad smile caused her mouth to twitch as if she meant to speak. No words came. Without another word, she gathered up the tray and retreated from his room. He didn't even watch her leave, too mixed up in his thoughts now.
Anger was his first and foremost ally. And anger was completely and unequivocally directed to his master. Only two days out of his captivity, and he recognized immediately that his life was not like others. Lyra obviously did not sleep in a locked closet, nor did she get beaten for a mistaken look or word spoken out of turn.
She wasn't frightened of him, not in the least.
What's more was that Nekros was wrong about Dark Elves. They were obviously not considered the cruel monsters he'd been told. If Nekros was wrong about Dark Elves, he was wrong about him. Or was it all lies? Was his whole life a lie?
Feryl curled up on the small cot, feeling small and alone.