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Markus awoke to a splitting headache. He sat up quickly, and immediately discovered that not only his head, but his entire body was bruised and aching. He turned his head from side to side slowly and painfully, attempting to take in his surroundings, but his left eye was swollen nearly shut, and holding it open made it water too profusely to see anything. From what little he was able to see, he could tell that it was dark. The feeling of warm straw beneath him indicated that he was no longer in the square, but he couldn't imagine how he could be anywhere else. Wondering made his head hurt.
Keeping his eyes closed, he slowly felt around and discovered that he was on a straw mattress. As soon as he was sure of this, he slowly began to lower himself back into a position conducive to sleeping. Even his gradual, labored movement made his head throb and his bruised muscles sting, and he longed to return to painless slumber. Just before his head had come to rest on the mattress, however, he heard something which made him stop abruptly, to keep his ear open.
Muffled voices were coming from somewhere nearby, and one of them sounded very familiar. But how could it be possible? He strained to listen, attempting to ignore the pounding in his left temple. There seemed to be a wall separating him from the speakers, but it was apparently rather thin, because he could distinctly make out the voices of two speakers. One of their voices seemed to be coming from a young man, but it was completely foreign to him. He was soon certain, however, that he recognized the second voice. Somehow, he had found himself back in a house with his grandfather.
He hesitated for a moment, considering his state of pain and discomfort, but his curiosity won out. Shaking with the effort, he opened his eyes slightly and climbed out of the bed onto his feet. The room he was in was very dark, but he suspected now that it was his own, and if it was, he could find his way around in it well enough without the assistance of light. He felt his way along the wall and, sure enough, found a door right were he had expected it. He pushed it open and stumbled out into the main room of the house, lit as usual by the hanging lantern.
“Markus? What are you doing up?” Don'Ardo asked from a chair by the table, clearly startled to see him.
“How did I get here?” Markus replied, blinking the tears out of his swollen eye.
“You should be resting to recover. I will tell you later how you got here.”
Markus was, as a general rule, not persuaded by his grandfather's advice. He frowned and turned his attention to the third person in the room, who was sitting in a chair opposite his grandfather. He was sure that he had never seen him before, although his clothes bore the ragged appearance of those worn by most of Hollyn's citizens, and appeared to be in his twenties—probably only a bit older than Markus himself. He was a bit shorter than an average Hollynin, but had a compact, sturdy-looking frame. His short, brown hair looked somewhat untidy, and his skin bore the color and texture of one who spent a great deal of time outdoors. His eyes were perhaps his most stunning feature, however. Their brown color did not make them stand out, but they somehow conveyed a sense of patience and kindness which Markus was not used to seeing.
“Who are you?” He asked the stranger bluntly.
“I am called Fritz,” the stranger replied with a small smile and a nod. “I understand that your name is Markus, my friend.”
Markus could think of no reply to this. He had few friends, and even they were unlikely to address him as such. For a complete stranger to call him friend, then, was unfathomable in his mind, which was quickly growing weary with confusion once again. He feared that it would be unable to handle many more strange surprises in the near future.
“Well... what are you doing here?” Was his best excuse for a response.
“I brought you here, out from underneath the merciless feet of our fellow men in the square.”
“But—what? How did you know to bring me here?”
Fritz chuckled and his smile widened, to Markus' increasing frustration.
“I followed you to the square earlier. My home is nearby. And your grandfather is correct, friend. You need rest.”
“Stop calling me friend! I have never seen you before!”
The pounding in Markus' head was increasing along with his anger, and he was beginning to feel dizzy. Fritz's smile faded slightly, but he looked more concerned than angry.
“Very well Markus, but I hope that we shall become friends.”
It was too much. It seemed that Markus' fear was becoming a reality, and his mind was simply giving up on him because it could not manage what it was taking in. The last thing he saw before darkness overtook him once again was Fritz jumping to his feet to catch him before he hit the ground.
* * *
“He took a hard blow to the head. I hope that he has not suffered any lasting damage from it.”
“Ah, my grandson. My own actions and those of my father have brought this upon him, and his fate will surely be the same as his father's. I have hoped many times that he would somehow be spared, but it is not to be so.”
“You have grown forgetful in your old age, Don'Ardo. You knew once that such hopes need not be abandoned.”
“How is it that you hold fast to such hopes? For one so young you know much about what is old.”
“Such wisdom is not hidden from the young, unless the old refuse to reveal it, and the young refuse to seek it. Have you told Markus of the hope you once had for him?”
The mention of his name caught Markus's attention and beckoned him back to consciousness. He had been hearing the exchange of words as if he was still separated from them by a wall, but now they became clearer. He opened his eyes and raised his head slowly, this time, remembering the pain that had accompanied his last awakening.
The conversation seemed to have ended abruptly just as he had begun to really hear it, and now he saw the speakers sitting in silence. Don'Ardo was still sitting in his chair, but now his head was in his hands and he appeared to be exhausted. Fritz was watching him with a sort of expression that Markus had rarely seen—pity.
“What were you talking about, and why am I in your bed, grandfather?” Markus asked groggily. He still felt a twinge of annoyance and confusion, but was feeling much more calm now, overall, and his headache had faded substantially.
“We wanted to keep an eye on you,” Don'Ardo answered without raising his head. Fritz turned his gaze to Markus and smiled at him once again.
“I am glad to see you awake again so quickly,” Fritz commented with genuine relief in his voice. “I believe you will make a full recovery.”
Markus merely blinked. He still had no idea what to make of this man, and his mind was unable to formulate any acceptable response to his words. His frequent recent losses of consciousness had finally left him feeling defeated and somewhat detached.
Don'Ardo slowly raised his head and looked mournfully at Markus, apparently not entirely pleased with Fritz's announcement. Markus was puzzled by this and meant to ask his grandfather to explain his behavior, but before he was able to do so, Fritz spoke again.
“I am about to go on a journey, Markus, and I want you to join me.”
Both Don'Ardo and Markus looked back at Fritz in surprise. He was still smiling slightly, but looked much more serious now. He rose from his seat and extended a hand to Markus, who was now sitting up and staring at him with his mouth slightly open.
“Come with me, Markus.”
Without pausing to consider what he was doing, Markus accepted Fritz's hand and was pulled to his feet.
“Alright, I will,” he said, still not really thinking about what he doing or saying, or why. Don'Ardo nodded and watched the two of them walk to the door. As they opened it and walked through, he wave and whispered,
“Goodbye, Markus.”
2 comments:
Note to readers:
Everything I've posted so far is still essentially my first draft. I may end up making substantial changes to it before it's all said and done.
It continues to be very good, Zach! I hope you will include me in your future additions to the story. I'll look forward to receiving them via email.
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