Chapter 3
Ianto opened his eyes gingerly and tried to determine where he was. Finding himself in unfamiliar surroundings was quickly becoming a bad habit. His open eyes allowed him to ascertain only that he was lying half-naked in bed covered in several layers of blankets, and above him lay the spectacularly exciting view of a wooden ceiling. His shoulder ached, but not nearly as much as he would have expected, and it seemed to be nicely wrapped in a tight bandage.
Ianto struggled to sit up, and his head swam a little, telling him that the lack of pain was not entirely natural. Thank goodness for drugs, he thought, suddenly remembering the week he had spent pleasantly numb and sedated after the Brecon Becons incident. There had been times when Owen broke out of the habit and did not behaved like a reasonably caring physician.
Once his vision cleared a little, Ianto looked up and immediately found his gaze locked with that of an enormous black raven sitting on a perch right between the bed and a curtained doorway. That must have been the single largest corvine Ianto had ever seen, easily twice the size of the crows and ravens one normally encountered in the British countryside. The bird clicked its beak quietly and fluttered its feathers, but otherwise did not move.
Discounting the raven, the room looked quite ordinary and rather reminded Ianto of a uni dorm both in its size and its state of upkeep. The bed took up most of the space, while a tall wooden wardrobe and a behemoth dresser huddled against one of the walls. On the opposite side of the room, there was a single window paned in some sort of barely translucent material that only let in enough light to see by, but did not allow one a view of the outside. A sturdy night table stood by the head of the bed just to the right of the window, and the little remaining space seemed dominated by a simple wooden chair. Ianto noticed that most of his things, with the sole exception of the gun, lay haphazardly on top of the dresser. They were randomly intermixed with other unidentifiable objects that presumably belonged to his host or hosts. His clothing was also there, strewn carelessly on the back of the chair.
Hating to see the suit treated in such an unbecoming manner, Ianto moved to get up and hang it properly, but the bird opened its beak and emitted a loud screech. Ianto paused and looked at the raven, which gazed back at him with seeming defiance. He shifted again experimentally, and the bird spread its wings and cawed menacingly once more. Apparently, his hosts did not trust him enough to leave him without a guard.
Ianto settled back into bed, and the raven seemed to once again relax on its perch. He took a moment to admire the shine of the smooth black feathers and the obsidian length of the threatening beak. It was really a very beautiful bird. "'Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou, I said, art sure no craven, ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly Shore. Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian Shore,'" Ianto recited aloud, having nothing better to do.
Thankfully—or unfortunately—the raven did not quoth, "Nevermore". It did, however, cock its head to the side and gaze at Ianto with curiosity. He guessed that it might enjoy the cadence and the rhyming of poetry and recited the entire poem from the beginning to the end before moving on to Annabel Lee. This effectively exhausted Ianto's knowledge of Poe, and he was in the process of choosing something else for the bird to enjoy, when a strange sound from beyond the curtained doorway caught his attention. A minute later, the young man appeared at the threshold, carrying an improvised tray made from sticks tied together as in a raft. The raven flew up from its perch and, excitedly cawing, settled on his shoulder.
The host—or the captor, as Ianto was after all under guard—set the tray on the night table and, without a word, reached towards Ianto's shoulder. His entire demeanor screamed annoyance at having to take care of an injured stranger. This, in turn, annoyed Ianto. After all, he was injured in an attempt to save the young man's life. Granted, the bloke quickly repaid him by saving his life in return, but there was still something to be said for basic gratefulness and politeness.
The young man unwrapped Ianto's shoulder and carefully washed the wound with warm water. Ianto almost did not want to know the extent of the injury, but finally gathering enough courage to glance at it, found it to be not as bad as he had feared. For one thing, it already began to heal, and he realized with a start that he must have been unconscious for more than one day. Never meeting his patient's gaze, the young man finished cleaning the wound, soaked a bandage in some dark liquid, pressed it to the site of the injury, and adroitly rewrapped the shoulder in a series of dry bandages. Then he stood up and said a few words, which Ianto felt were not addressed to him. Sure enough, the raven leapt from the bloke's shoulder, unhappily flapping its wings back to the perch. The young man then took the tray and disappeared behind the curtain. After several minutes of pottering with something in the space beyond, he returned into the room, silently placed the tray now set with a bowl of cooked meat and vegetable bits, a teapot, and a tiny Japanese-style cup on the night table, lit a few candles, and went back out again. This time, there was only a little noise followed by the strange sound that preceded the young man's entrance, and then silence.
"Well, looks like it's you and me again," Ianto said to the raven once it became obvious that his captor would not return any time soon. After returning to the perch, the bird sat with its feathers fluttered, looking more than a bit like a pouting child, but upon hearing Ianto's words, it smoothed its feathers again and tilted its head. "Sorry that you have to guard me for your master. Let me just grab something to eat, and then I'll try to entertain you again."
Ianto was not really hungry, but he felt that he ought to eat and drink at least a little in order to keep his energy up and, hopefully, promote the recovery. He nibbled a bit on the meat and the strange vegetables—which he dubbed "potatoes" even though they were juicier than their namesakes from Earth—and fed the rest to the raven. The bird would swoop down, quickly take a proffered piece right out of Ianto's hand, and fly back to the perch. More than a few times, Ianto wondered if he could distract the raven enough to escape from under its watchful eye, but then he did not really want to get the bird in trouble with its owner, and even if he did escape, where would he go?
After supper—and it was supper, as opposed to an earlier meal, as the light from the window gradually dimmed until only the soft glow of the candles remained to illuminate the bedroom—Ianto recited a series of Shakespearian sonnets to the receptive audience of the raven, which watched him benevolently with a sated expression from behind half-closed eyelids. He stopped only when his voice grew hoarse, and the minty herbal tea in the teapot came to an end. The bird opened its eyes then and cawed in protest. "Sorry, mate," Ianto apologized, trying to clear his throat. "This is it for today. Let my voice rest a little."
The bird still looked at him expectedly for a while, but then suddenly jumped up from its perch, made a swoop over the cluttered dresser, and dropped something in Ianto's lap before innocently resuming its original place as if nothing had happened. Ianto held up the object delivered to him by the raven. It turned out to be a string of intricately carved wooden beads each decorated with a different symbol somehow infused with every color of the rainbow. It was very pretty, and Ianto wondered if the young man had a wife or a girlfriend living with him.
"What do you want me to do with this?" Ianto asked, holding up the necklace. The bird cawed and launched into another circle around the room, picking up a stray object from the dresser, dropping it on Ianto's lap, taking the string of beads from his hand, dropping it on the floor somewhere behind the chair, and returning back to the perch all in seemingly one smooth motion. Fairly soon, it evolved into a kind of game, where the raven brought him different items and he would exchange them for other objects by pointing at them. The game actually required quite a bit of concentration on Ianto's part since, being unable to move from the bed, he could not see most of the trinkets the bird dropped on the floor and had to rely heavily on pure memory. He was also very impressed with the raven's intelligence, not only for having thought of this game to begin with, but also for consistently refusing to bring over any object that could be construed as potentially dangerous, including any of Ianto's personal belongings. Most of the things they played with were various decorative items like necklaces, broaches, colorful ribbons, and hairclips.
Just as a feather adorned with a string of iridescent glass beads fell on the top blanket, a strange sound came from somewhere outside, and instead of grabbing the delicate leaf-like broach out of its playmate's hand, the raven sped towards the curtain and disappeared behind it, cawing gregariously on the way. A minute or so later, Ianto heard several voices, and when the raven reappeared, it was once again perching on its master's shoulder. The young host was accompanied by a man and a woman, both clearly nearing their sixties, but both remarkably well preserved.
The woman had long black hair with only a few silver strands here and there. She was wearing a beige garb made from soft leather and draped over with a colorful shawl. The fringed hems of the sleeves and the shirt softly swayed with her every movement, and the bright beads of a wide belt glistened in the candlelight. She seemed like the image of a Native American wise woman, and the only things setting her apart from the archetype were the slanted bright blue eyes the exact shade as both of her male companions'.
As remarkable as she looked, however, the older man she had by her side was simply astonishing. He was dressed in unimaginable clothing that seemed to somehow mimic the very movement of the oak-like branches Ianto had seen during his hike through the forest without having anything remotely resembling a leaf in the design. He had long, completely white hair with a few tresses gathered into tiny braids held together with flower-like ornaments. His brilliant eyes seemed to bore into Ianto's soul, examining him with suspicion. And upon his shoulder, perched a snow-white owl about the same size as the young man's raven.
All three of the natives shared a vague similarity of facial features, and Ianto wondered if the older couple was his captor's parents. The young man made a clumsy half-bow as he invited the visitors to enter with a welcoming gesture, but for all Ianto knew, that was the proper respect people showed for their parents in this culture. As they stopped on the threshold, the host's eyes darted anxiously around the room. Ianto had to stifle a smirk. The room had been far from tidy to begin with, and the little game he and the bird had played for the past hour or so did nothing to improve its condition. The young man blushed and kicked something under the bed hastily, muttering what Ianto assumed was an apology.
For their part, neither the older man nor the woman seemed to pay any attention to the room's complete disarray. The man continued to stare, while the woman walked to Ianto's bedside, knelt beside him and said, "Zhai'helleva."
This was the first time anyone talked directly to him today, and Ianto found himself warming up to the woman. She certainly had by far the best bedside manner of anyone currently present. "Zhai'helleva," he returned what he thought was a greeting.
The woman rewarded him with a kind smile and said something else, pointing at his injured shoulder. Ianto could not understand a word, but did not pull back when she reached out and began unwrapping the bandage with professional efficiency and admirable economy of movement. The woman examined the wound, nodding a little, which Ianto took as a good sign. She seemed to exude an air of competence, and Ianto felt that he could rely on her opinion more than on the young man's. Not that the latter was bad at treating the injury either, as was confirmed when the woman asked him a question and nodded again, looking pleased with the answer.
Finishing her examination, the woman looked Ianto in the eyes and said something else. He did not know what she wanted, but it did not matter; her professional demeanor has long since convinced him to trust her. She reached forward to touch his forehead with both hands and closed her eyes. For a minute, Ianto thought that she might be praying for him, but then he felt an odd sensation of something creeping inside him, into the very core of his consciousness, deeper than anyone has ever been. Panicking, Ianto moved to shove her away, when suddenly she paled and leapt back on her own, staring at him with wide eyes as if she had seen a ghost—and actually knew that.
"Kethra!" both men cried out to her. The woman stood a yard from the bed, which was really as far as the dearth of space allowed her to flee, her hand pressed over her heart and her chest rising and falling heavily. It was jarring to see her dignified composure so utterly broken.
"Kethra?" the older man repeated, putting a steadying hand on her shoulder and following the word with a question.
At the touch of his hand, Kethra, as the woman must have been called, finally shook herself out of her shocked state and inhaled deeply. Then, turning to face the older man and gesturing in Ianto's direction, she said, "Leshya'e Kal'enedral."
"Lesha'Kaladral?" the men again cried out in unison. And now, all three of them stared at Ianto, as he tried his best to return their gaze, hoping that whatever Kethra had identified him as was not considered bad by these people.
A moment later, a sort of resolution seemed to settle on the older man's face, and Ianto once again felt mental fingers boring into his consciousness, but this time the man was too far away to push back, no matter who much Ianto wished to. The probing only lasted a minute, and the man turned to the other two natives and nodded, confirming Kethra's diagnosis. He stated something with confidence, but Ianto picked up only the word "Lesha'Kaladral". Then the three natives set out to discuss something for a few minutes, during which Ianto felt progressively more relaxed. His captors seemed more perplexed than hostile. They did not expect the appearance of a "Lesha'Kaladral"—or a "Leshya'e Kal'enedral", since Kethra seemed to pronounce it slightly differently than the men—and were now at a loss as to what they should do. As for what the word actually meant, now that it did not seem to be anything threatening, Ianto did not actually care. He sincerely doubted that it translated as a "newly undead alien from a different world," while anything else would not really be accurate.
Finally, the older man turned to Ianto and, for the first time, addressed him directly. "Zhai'helleva, Lesha'Kaladral." He said something else, too, all in the extremely polite tone of an official greeting.
"Zhai'helleva," Ianto replied, slightly bowing his head, when the old man paused for a breath. "My thanks to your people for your medicine and your hospitality." That sounded very formal, and the old man returned the bow, seeming to understand the spirit of the statement, if not the words.
At this point, Kethra cleared her throat and said something, addressing both the old man and Ianto, although only the former could possibly understand her. Then she stepped towards the bedside once again and knelt in the same spot as before, holding out her hands towards Ianto with a question. It sounded polite, but he also sensed a note of insistence in her tone. She intended to get inside his head again and asked for permission, but her voice also implied that this was for his own good and he would be an idiot not to comply. A great part of Ianto revolted at the very idea of letting her or anyone else in. His thoughts were the only thing he held entirely to himself, and more than anything, an overwhelming sense of privacy compelled him to keep them hidden from anyone's prying eyes. However, the rational part of him helpfully pointed out that Kethra seemed to be some sort of a medicine woman and would likely use her powers only for healing purposes. Besides, there was really no indication that she was capable of deciphering his actual thoughts. Kethra repeated the question a bit more firmly, and Ianto nodded.
It was over faster than he expected. After Kethra finished, he could not really feel anything different except for a withdrawal of her mental presence and the calming influence it had over him while she was doing whatever it was that she did. Kethra washed his shoulder again with warm water that the young man fetched at her request and re-bandaged it tightly. While she was working, Ianto realized that the dull ache he had felt since waking up was now gone and smiled at her gratefully, saying, "Thank you." She seemed to understand and smiled back. Afterwards, Kethra handed him a vial from a pouch at her belt. Since she did not make any gestures to indicate proper dosage, Ianto assumed that he was supposed to down the whole thing, which he did immediately. It tasted horribly bitter, but Kethra nodded encouragingly and took the vial back when he was done, gently helping him to lie back on the pillows. "Zhai'helleva, Leshya'e Kal'enedral," she intoned.
"Zhai'helleva, Lesha'Kaladral," the old man echoed with a surprisingly kind smile.
Ianto honestly could not tell if he fell asleep before they went out the door or a bare second after. Either way, it was a deep, healing sleep, so whatever infraction he might have committed against his personal code of etiquette, it would just have to be righted with an apology later on.