Darkness 3: A New Life
#3 of Darkness
Though our initial conversation could not be said to have gone well, in the next few weeks I built up a grudging respect for Mulvaney. He had such toughness to him, which I can't remember having seen in anyone before. I know this from being able to observe him closely, because in the days that followed, Mulvaney allowed me to live with him in his little camp, and though Mulvaney claimed that my protection was purely to stop me 'from becoming' one of them', I felt that he enjoyed himself taking care of me. He would always give me the larger pieces of the bread and meat that he bought, and would smile to himself as he watched me eat, slowly but surely regaining my strength. He was a plain man, as well as a rough one, and the few copper coins he managed to earn from doing odd jobs in the city during daylight hours were always entirely spent in buying us food and water. Consequently, the small camp which he and I shared was Spartan at best, with only the fire which burnt constantly at night, two sleeping mats (Mulvaney had fashioned mine out of some of his old clothes), and a small canvas, supported on four sturdy wooden poles, which kept us dry when it rained, and it rained often and hard. I wanted to help earn some money too, but I was still weak, and Mulvaney said that he couldn't trust me out on my own.
Between doing the rounds during the day, tending to me, and keeping watch at night, that man barely slept at all. In the brief moments that Mulvaney could not hold out against sleep, he would gently shake me awake, and tell me sternly that if I heard absolutely anything during my brief stint as the night watch, regardless of how quiet or commonplace, I was to wake him at once. Though I heard many sounds on my post, I could never bring myself to wake my stalwart guardian from his precious slumber.
I don't know how it came to be, that the first few days of our companionship he was known to me as 'the man', then 'Mulvaney', and finally 'Adam', though I call him Mulvaney in this narrative. Gradually, he became the rock around which my life was centered, and I began to depend on seeing his face, strong and comforting, during my sporadic descents into the darkness of my mind. I was still weak, and would quite often black out without any prompting. These blackouts were like fainting, but rather than enclosing my mind in total darkness, shadowy figures and scenes from my shattered memory would appear out of the blackness. I didn't know why these images had such an effect on me, but whenever these occurred, I began to weep like a small child. During these fits, Mulvaney would come over and clasp my hand between his two strong ones, or during the worst of my fits, would embrace me in his arms and tell me over and over again that I was safe, until I lapsed into sleep. Eventually though, even my dreams became haunted by these strange figures, where even Mulvaney could not reach. He was forced to guard our camp, and listen to my sobbing and cries for help, lost in the darkness of my mind.
However, as I grew closer to Mulvaney, first the fits lessened in strength, then number, then died altogether. I still had occasional nightmares, but these were nothing to the horrors of my previous sleep. Gradually, Mulvaney began to become like a father to me. It was he who used the term first, and I had to ask him to explain what the word meant, my grasp of words still being patchy. Once I understood, however, I thought privately that Mulvaney had no need to ask for permission for this title, since he had already done as much as any father would for his son.
My life gradually slipped into a routine: I would stay at camp, recovering. Mulvaney would run his various errands, and then return home with the food he had bought. We would eat, and then I would go to sleep whilst Mulvaney kept watch. Days turned to weeks, and eventually my strength was completely returned. However, my time spent doing nothing at camp had robbed me of whatever little fitness I may have possessed, and even running for short periods now caused me to be out of breath.
Despite this, it was fantastic to be able to go where I wanted, and explore the city of Gilneas. During the daylight hours, the streets were filled with the hustle and bustle of daily city life, and it was invigorating to be able to be a part of it. Of course, having no money, I was unable to buy anything, but I was happy with what I had already, and quite content to just take in the sights and sounds. Sometimes, when I wanted to be alone, I would take a walk by the river that wound through the city, and sit watching it, reflecting the sunlight and scattering the light into a million rays, each of which sparkled like a precious jewel. While I sat, I would often try to remember things, like where I came from, and how I had got to Gilneas, if I had ever been out of the city. These sessions always ended in vain, though, as all I could ever recall were small flashes that were no use at all.
The one thing Mulvaney insisted on during my journeys into the city was that I returned to the camp before sundown, on account of the werewolves coming out to hunt humans after dark. The camp turned out to be in the garden of one of the deserted houses. Once, I asked Mulvaney why we simply didn't live in the house itself. He gave me a stern look and told me that the family that had lived in the house had all been killed by werewolves, and that the house was sealed off as a mark of respect.
At that point, I had never seen a werewolf. I knew what they were, Mulvaney having explained to me, but I still didn't know what they really looked like. Without any experience of them, these werewolves became the new terror of my nightmares, where huge black wolves devoured the shadowy figures that had so long terrorized me, and howled at me till I awoke. Though personally I had confined the werewolves to my dreams, it was obvious that for Mulvaney it was very different. He had faced werewolves a couple of times, he told me, and the experience was truly terrifying. When I asked him what had been the worst part, in a bout of curiosity, he told me that when he got close enough to the wolf, he could see in its eyes the man it had once been, screaming and pleading for mercy. I wished afterwards that I had simply held my tongue, for now the wolves in my dreams had huge eyes, and human screams mixed with wolves' howling the whole night long.
At one point, I had a strange suspicion that the werewolves were an invention of Mulvaney's, and stayed awake, pretending to be asleep in order not to arouse suspicion. However, two hours into the night, I heard a terrible scream and buried my face in my mat, trying to block out the bloodthirsty howling that ensued and carried on for ten minutes. I had nightmares that night.
Despite my renewed strength, I was still doing nothing to help Mulvaney. This was a fact that preyed on my mind day and night. I felt like a dead weight, a millstone around Mulvaney's neck and worse, since I knew that he would rather starve himself than let me die if the money ran out. When I thought of this, which was as infrequently as I could manage, I became morose, and tried to eat less in order to give Mulvaney more of the food. He took the food back without complaint, but I sometimes saw him looking at me curiously, though he never said anything.
It was a sunny Friday morning when Mulvaney woke me up early, and spoke to me:
'Ashe, it is a joy tae see yeh up and moving. But I know that whatever I do, whatever precautions I may take, no matter how fiercely I protect yeh, one day yeh will meet one of them werewolves, and yeh must know how to defend yerself.' He looked upwards, as though seeing some great vision beyond the dirty leather canvas that covered our heads. 'This kingdom is crumbling. Our own citizens are turning against us, and the wall that keeps us safe has been damaged beyond repair. Soon this whole creaking monstrosity of an empire will collapse, and unless we're careful, it'll collapse right on our heads. We must have faith in the Light, but meanwhile there are some more constructive things we can do to help ourselves.' He looked at me. 'Have yeh ever held a sword before?'
I shook my head.
'I don't know' I said.
'Then it's time you did, lad. It's time you learned how to fight.'