The Story Hands
Chapter 11
Poor Peter. I hope he'll be okay. It doesn't make sense for another child to injure him so badly!
The young man, of whom Wendy had mentioned, had already taken the little boy into his house. He neither motioned for Adele to follow, nor did he invite her in.
Irritated by his lack of social skills, Adele muttered under her breath, "Yes, thanks, sir. I'll be glad to come inside." She did drop her bad mood after deciding that Peter needed someone's help, and she knew she wouldn't do the job properly.
His house was small, quaint, and much like any other unimpressive peasant home. There were several rooms, not many – and not very big, that inhabited the tiny structure. The walls ascended and gave way to the ceiling only several feet above Adele's head (a sad fact, for she wasn't the tallest around) and were lined with poorly constructed wood. Furniture crowded the main room – all made of trees that had thrived in the Sherylwood forest.
But, unwilling to focus too intently on examining the room, the orphan turned her violet eyes towards James. The young man had calmly set Peter down onto a small kitchen table.
He uses a kitchen table to work on? How very reassuring for poor Peter. But, either way, it's better than nothing.
Attempting to force amiable qualities unto her self, Adele approached, her eyes never straying from the boy in her care. "He was injured by another child. I'm sure that you know how to fix him?" She kept her voice in a gentle, and hopefully, kind tone.
"Don't worry, ma'am. I'll fix him up."
Soft spoken. Narrowing her eyes, and turning to face this man, Adele continued, "How long have you been fixing people, exactly?"
James shrugged; content to not speak. He pushed a strand of common, and not to mention rather dirtied, brown hair from his face. He then bent down, carefully stripping Peter's clothes.
Having never experienced an ounce of medical knowledge, Adele gasped in disgust. "What are you doing to the poor boy?"
Again, James ignored her. Instead, his voice was full of diligence that only determination could bring. "Do you know where to find any bread?"
"You haven't answered my question." Crossing her arms, in an extremely undignified manner, she continued, "So, I should not worry about yours." Besides, if you're hungry, feed yourself!
Sighing, but suppressing his rage, James strode past her. He hurried to the kitchen, in which Adele heard much impatient mutterings, until the young man reappeared with a small slice of bread. He had a frown stretched across his countenance, as he muttered, "Alright, I found some bread, hopefully it's enough. Now, if you don't mind, find me some milk."
Adele laughed bitterly, her eyes flicking to Peter. "I want you to help the boy! Are you so cruel as to refuse help unless you are paid in food?"
James ran a hand through his hair, dark brown eyes flashing in impatience. "You have issues. Number one, you won't listen to my instructions – which could save this boy. Number two, you obviously don't even appear to want to save this boy -"
"Untrue!" Adele's voice rose in a howling protest, her eyes narrowed in annoyance. "You, sir, have no honor – accusing me, a lady, of such a thing. Of course I want to save Peter!"
Sighing, and grumbling (not the best of words) under his breath, James turned towards the brown-haired girl. "If you want to save this boy then you need to get me milk, right now."
Adele paused, her pride demanding she refuse; her concern demanding she find the substance of which he demanded. It only took several seconds before pride gave way to concern and Adele marched out the door.
The moment she stepped from the house, the old woman – who Adele had encountered on the streets only the prior day – appeared at the doorway. Wendy, in tow behind the woman, was whimpering, "He looks really bad, Agnes!"
Their eyes locked for a moment, within that moment disgust and hate passed from one gaze to the next. It was the equal concern for Peter's well-being that sent both women sliding past each other, no words exchanged.
Adele had to plead and beg for milk. People seemed unwilling to give away anything, and so, she finally settled for trading her shoes for a jar. She knew it had taken longer than hoped, but raced back to the where Peter lay, pleading silently that it wasn't too late.
She burst into the room, holding the jar and examining the happenings. Peter's clothes had been fully stripped. Agnes had a handful of moist moss that she pressed down unto the child's wounds. Her voice muttered irritated comments. "Where is that girl? We need that milk now."
James sighed, not responding, but appearing equally frustrated. He wiped his hands on his legs and continued shredding the bread in an iron pan.
"Here you are." Adele had walked across the room, refusing to look either of the grumpy inhabitants in the eye. She handed the small jar to James, adding, in an uncharacteristically soft voice, "He still okay?"
There was no response, though she soon forgot to expect one.
Instead, she watched as James took the milk and poured it into the iron pot. A fire, Adele hadn't noticed that they had made one, flickered in a nearby dirt spot. Carefully placing the pot over the fire, James waited. He tapped his foot in impatience, glancing nervously towards Peter every now and again.
It was several moments after that the bold young man actually reached his hand into the steaming pot, wincing at pain from the heat, and stirred slightly. He then dashed to Peter's side, withdrawing some more of the oozing substance.
"I'll take over from here," he muttered softly to Agnes, while casting a quick glance back to Adele. "Find a way to get her out of here."
Agnes turned, and in the least hidden manner, growled, "Alright, you've worn out your welcome. Get out of this house. Now."
Clenching her fists and tightening her jaw, Adele shook her head in the utmost defiance. "I'm not leaving! As long as Peter is here, you two will have to suck it up and deal with me."
"You may as well add a stuck out nose," Agnes growled, "seeing that you are being extremely childish and bratty. In order to fully heal the boy, we need concentration."
"Well," Adele's teeth gritted tightly together, creating a searing pain that spread from her jaw into her cheek bones. Wincing, she muttered, "I won't speak anymore."
"I don't care if you speak or not." Agnes strode to Adele, locked her hand around the younger girl's wrists, and began to drag her towards the door. "As long as you're outside, we won't hear you."
Adele fought the grip, but found that the woman was far stronger than expected. Or maybe I'm just weaker. I haven't slept well in a while, and I certainly haven't had a decent meal for what seems like ages.
She was flung outside of the door, with a large slam, and left to stand. Clenching her fists, and preparing to pound, Adele cried out, "Let me in! Peter needs me in there!"
No response.
Turning, in a rather indignant manner, Adele caught sight of Wendy talking to several of the children in the distant fields. Scratching her hands in irritation, she did feel slightly less annoyed. I suppose I'm not the only one who was removed from that room… But… Then again, she's just a child! I'm an adult; and they should treat me as one.
It was then that a voice whispered, breath slightly stirring the hair behind Adele's ear, "It is time."
Jerking herself to face whoever had just spoken, Adele hissed, "Look, I don't know what sort of prank you're planning on pulling, but-"
No one stood behind her.
She circled the grounds around her for several moments, eyes narrowed in fear. Though, of course, her pride would never allow her to admit to such an idea. Shaking her head wearily, Adele clutched her forehead. I didn't make it up. I know what I heard… Sighing, she reconsidered her determined thoughts. Then again, I've had a lot happen to me lately. Maybe, out of pure exhaustion, I did hear it. It certainly isn't the weirdest thing that's happened to me.
She recalled the moment where she, along with Tommy, had been dragged into a world that… she could control. "Maybe none of this is real. Maybe this is all a dream… or a nightmare."
"Listen well… in order to return, you must place your hands on your eyes. Hurry along, we have a schedule to keep."
Adele froze, again twirling around. Her eyes narrowed into irritated slits as she gasped, "Where are you coming from? Who are you?" So, it's not made up. That fact was hardly startling, considering the events of the past several days.
A voice seemed to sigh from nowhere. "Do you not remember? In two days time, I said I would come for you. It is time for your training to begin. You must save your country."
Adele snorted, feeling pain rush to her tired mind. "You're lying," she addressed nothing in particular as she continued; "I can't even take care of a boy. You think I can save all of Raydolia? You're a fool."
"You lack faith in yourself." Again, another sigh filled her mind. "We will work on that. But, for now, you must come with me. Place your hands on your eyes."
Defiant, Adele dropped to the ground, intertwining her legs and staring at the wall before her. "Good-bye, Modrain… or whoever you are."
The voice echoed persistence, refusing to let her be. Adele could hardly worry for Peter, or focus on anything except the incessant pestering.
Feeling tiredness drain her resistance, Adele finally gave way. "Alright, alright. You want me to play hero? I'll do it." Irritably, she tugged her arms from her lap and dramatically slapped her hands over her eyes.
Nothing happened.
"Okay… Now that you've achieved my appearance of a fool, do you plan on getting me there?"
The voice, amused, spoke again, "You must do that yourself. I am only the reminder for you to arrive."
"What?" Adele growled, though she didn't move her palms from her eyes, "Isn't it enough that I'm doing this?"
"We have no direct link to you. In fact, you are the link from our dimension and yours. So hurry along and get there already."
Adele impatiently gritted her teeth, feeling a familiar ounce of pain return to her jaw. "What do I do? At least show me how to do this?"
"Think of The Story Hand tribe."
Squeezing her eye-lids tighter together, and pressing her hands further into her face, Adele allowed her mind to roam.
Come on, stupid Story Hand Tribe… Just appear already!
Iliana 11: I'm tinkled pink by your consistency in reviewing.
Lord of the Flies is a good book, and I'm proud that my story made you think of that. Anywho, I imagine that you would find interest in the concoction James created, no? It's an old medical remedy people used to use to reduce blood from spilling out… if you're curious! I can't believe I forgot to mention Adele's age! She's seventeen… And, I promise to insert that bit of information in here somewhere… Thanks for reviewing so early!EstrangeloEdessa: You think the hand scratching is an important plot point? Hmm… I wonder…. Adele's nature leads her to naturally distrust people. I'm trying to create specific personality traits… Though, her lack of trust could be for a reason… Murderous as always, hmm? Tommy may die, but he may not. I had a feeling you'd enjoy Peter! ;D Thanks for the review, friend!
Backroads: I note that your reviews were a tad less enthusiastic than usual. Did you find this chapter more to your lickings? Yes, it is rather important to pay attention to Adele's new found abilities. The story centers around them! So, do you believe Peter will die?