Darkness 2: Saved
#2 of Darkness
It's still dark, in the world and in my mind.
How long was I out?
Who saved me?
I see him now, sitting across from me. He hasn't noticed I'm awake yet. He's carrying a sword, so I think startling him would be a bad idea. There's a fire in between us, which he keeps poking with the sword, which looks old and rusted. There is something rusted about the entire appearance of this man, this man who saved me. He has short, unkempt ginger hair and a moustache too, a small thin one, that he's obviously tried to cut but hasn't done very well, leaving it uneven and bristly. His face is hard, like iron, but iron that has weathered and become rough. He has hairy muscular arms, the left of which has a long scar running all the way from the elbow to the wrist. The scar is clearly visible, even under all the hair, and I know that if I had the strength to do so, I would be unsettled. The scar is one smooth line, which means it was made by a single cut from a sharp something. It doesn't seem to hurt him, though he uses his other arm to poke the fire with that sword. He's wearing armor, also rusted, and a rusted helmet lies by his feet.
Suddenly he looks over and sees me. He quickly grabs his sword, and points it at my throat through the flames. The tip of the blade is about an inch from my neck. The blade is so rusty that I know that even if the stab didn't kill me, tetanus surely would. The man speaks, in a voice as rusted and corroded as his armor and weapon, as though it had been unused for a long time, and had gradually been forgotten about.
'Me name's Mulvaney. Adam Mulvaney. If yeh want to live, yeh'll sit still like a good little boy and answer me questions as best yeh can. Understood?'
I nod, too terrified to speak for the present. I can feel the tip of the sword at my throat getting warm from the flames. The flames crackle and hiss, as though alive, licking the rusted blade with their scorching red tongues.
'First, what's yer name?'
'A... A... Achoo!' I ejaculate, unable to contain my sneeze.
'Eh?' says the man. 'Got a cold, have yeh? That's bad, fer someone in yer condition. Not to worry.' He makes a couple of strange motions with his hands and I get hit with the spiritual equivalent of a hot bath and two packets of Lemsip Max. I don't like Lemsip Max, so this effect isn't only surprising; it is also very, very unpleasant. I gag, and nearly retch.
'Eh, steady on!' says the man. 'Have yeh not been healed before at anytime, then?'
Assuming that the 'healing' the man is referring to is the Lemsip attack I just suffered, I shake my head.
'No,' I say, 'At least, not at anytime I can remember.'
The 'healing' may have been nasty, but it was also extremely effective. My cold had completely gone, as though banished like an evil spirit, and I can feel my strength returning, bit-by-bit, but sadly not bringing my memory with it. I huddle close to the fire, eager for warmth and light on this cold, wet night, full of mystery and darkness.
'Oh? Got amnesia have we? What can yeh remember from-' The man asks, and then checks himself. 'Don't try to distract me like that, lad,' he says, waving the hot sword around to emphasize his words. 'Yeh'll tell me your name, now.'
'A... Ashe,' I stammer, 'but my name's just about all I remember. Could you please put that away?' I say, gesturing at the sword, which is now glowing slightly, and burning my throat with its heat.
The man shakes his head. 'No.' he says firmly. 'I'll pull it away a wee bit, give yeh a bit of breathing room, but I'm nae gonna just put it away. Yeh think I value me life that little, that I'd let a possible Werewolf under me guard, just because the poor sod was a little uncomfy?'
I say, as he withdraws the sword, that indeed his life is worth more than that, which instead of pleasing him, draws a frown from his rough features.
'But it ain't, lad, but it ain't, and there's the thing. Don't waste yer flattering words on a wretch like me. Now, onto question two.' He points the sword at me again from amongst the flames, which dance around the rusted iron, caressing the blade with their warm touches. The blade is now red, and looks like some red serpent, crouching in a bed of red grass, waiting to strike at a moment's notice. 'Do yeh have any strange wound on yeh? Like a bite, or some such?' he asks urgently.
I have no idea. I check my still sodden clothes, looking all around me for some sort of bite mark.
'I can't see anything,' I reply, hopeful that the answer I am giving is satisfactory. Unfortunately it seems not to be, as the man frowns again.
'Do yeh feel dizzy at all?' he asks.
I am in luck, for this is the only point thus far in our conversation where my strength has returned to such an extent that I don't feel dizzy, so I am able to answer truthfully.
'No, not at all,' I reply, and to my great relief, the man relaxes, letting the sword point drop, disappointed at the escape of its prey, into the heart of the flames, which hiss and sputter as though indignant at the man's mercy.
'Thank the Light; another has been spared,' he says to himself, making another funny gesture in the air. 'Looks like I won't have tae kill yeh after all. I have to say, I'm relieved. I didn't relish the thought of having yer blood on me hands, even if it was only yerself or me who could live.'
I don't know what to say to this, so I say nothing.