by Blair Drake
He came to a sudden halt and grabbed his companion by the shoulder. He certainly felt like a flesh and blood man. Rylan’s eyes widened in alarm. Recalling what the man had so recently been subjected to, Jasper immediately released his grip and softened his tone.
“Why was that crowd attacking you, Rylan?”
The man lowered his gaze, but not before Jasper caught the shame that flooded his face. Jasper frowned and wondered at the cause.
“The thing is, what they said was right,” Rylan finally admitted in a defeated tone. “I’m a failure, a healer who’s lost most of my power. I’m no good to anyone. Look at me! A wizened up old man who has aged before his time. The best thing I could do is die.”
Jasper was taken aback. He held up his hands. “Whoa! Back up a moment. Surely you’re being a little melodramatic. What are you talking about?”
Rylan stared at him, his expression heavy with sadness. After a long moment, his shoulders slumped on a leaden sigh. “To understand, I’d have to start at the beginning and it’s…complicated. Ye probably don’t have the time.” Even as he said the words, Rylan shot him a hopeful look. Jasper was quick to reassure him.
“Of course I have the time. What else do I have to do beyond working out how the hell I got here and how I’m ever going to get back?”
Rylan frowned in confusion, and Jasper waved his words away.
“Forget about it. You think your story’s complicated. You haven’t heard anything, yet.” He shot the man a wry look. Once again, his attempt at humor seemed to miss the mark. He hurried on.
“How far away is your house? You’re bleeding and favoring your leg, and that swollen eye needs medical attention.”
Rylan glanced at him, but continued walking. “I’ll be fine. Yer the one with the nasty cut. I’ll take a look at it when we get home. Once upon a time I could have promised ye it wouldn’t leave a scar. Now I’m not so sure.”
Jasper didn’t comment. He was in the seventeenth century. He could only guess at the kind of medical aid on offer. He’d be lucky not to get a bad infection. A scar was the least of his worries. Still, he took comfort in the fact that although he had no clue what had happened up on the Academy’s rooftop or how he’d ended up here, at least he’d found someone who spoke his language and who might be able to help him find his way home.
They continued walking in silence. Jasper shortened his stride to make it easier for the injured Rylan to keep up. The slower pace gave Jasper a chance to reflect on all that happened. Every time he thought about it, his head filled with disbelief.
How could I be snatched from the rooftop of the Academy and sucked into this alternate world?
It didn’t seem possible, and yet here he was... Then there was the odd thing that happened to him in the middle of the fight with Drakor. He’d broken a man’s forearm with his bare hands. How is that possible? If he hadn’t witnessed it himself, he’d never have believed it. It was just another strange and inexplicable happening in this strange and foreign land.
They followed a well-trodden path that meandered through dry yellow grass that came up as far as their chests. Grass seeds snagged in Jasper’s school pants, prickling his skin.
“How far is it to your house?” he asked.
“About three miles.”
Jasper started in surprise. It was a fair distance to travel on foot, especially in the dark. Their only illumination was a faint glow from a tiny slice of moon. He glanced at Rylan. “What were you doing out here, so far from home?” he asked.
The old man pursed his lips. “I was in the forest foraging for supplies. Medical supplies. Mine were getting low.” He shrugged and kept his eyes focused on the ground. “My healing powers aren’t as strong as they used to be, but I still help people out, despite what they say.” His tone was almost defiant.
“Tell me why they attacked you,” Jasper said quietly.
Rylan sighed. “A long time ago, I was a powerful healer. I come from a long line of them. There was nothing I couldn’t fix. But things changed and now I am… Well, ye can see what I am.”
Jasper shook his head. “I don’t understand. Why would they attack you just because you’ve grown old? It’s hardly your fault you can’t work like you once did. In my world, people grow old and retire all the time. They don’t work after that at all. No one blames them for slowing down. It’s just the way things are.”
Rylan stared up at him for a moment, as if trying to process what he’d said. A few seconds later, the man gave another sigh, as if Jasper’s words were completely beyond his understanding. They continued walking.
They arrived at Rylan’s house just as the night fully descended. The modest building looked more like a mud hut with a thatched roof than the kind of house Jasper was used to, but even so, it was much like the other houses around it. He accepted that in the year 1675 he was hardly going to find modern architecture.
Rylan put his shoulder to the thatched panel that served as the front door and pushed. It opened without resistance under his weight, and he gestured Jasper inside. Jasper looked around at the rough-hewn timber walls with cracks so wide in places, the wind easily found its way in. The floor, though newly swept, was some kind of hard-packed clay. The only light came from a small fire burning in a stone fireplace.
“Take a seat, boy, and let me take a look at yer face. That’s a nasty gash, but it shouldn’t take long to heal. Soon it should be as good as new.”
The only place available to sit was on a small bed that looked like it might not hold Jasper’s weight. Still, Rylan urged him down and he gingerly perched on the edge of it. Rylan came closer and inspected Jasper’s wound.
“Do you think it might need stitches? Is there a hospital nearby?”
“A hospital?”
“Yes, somewhere I can see a doctor. My cheek is hurting. I need pain relief, and if they’re going to stitch it, I’ll need local anesthetic.”
Rylan shook his head and muttered beneath his beard. “Ye speak in riddles, boy. The best I can do for ye is use what powers I have left to heal ye. Now, lie still while I collect a few things. I can’t promise this won’t hurt, but it won’t hurt for long. I’m sure a big strapping boy like ye will do fine.”
Jasper stared at him in dismay. “You mean, you’re going to treat me here? In your house?”
Rylan frowned. “Where else would I treat ye?”
Jasper looked around him at the primitive setting, but didn’t respond. And then another thought occurred to him.
“How are you going to keep the wound clean? What about infection? You said it’s going to hurt. What are you going to give me for pain relief?” He fired the questions in growing desperation. Rylan’s expression remained unconcerned.
“The only assurance I can give ye, boy, is I’ve been doing this kind of thing for many years, and I’ve treated my fair share of knife wounds. Now, sit tight and I’ll get the things I need. I’ll be right back.”
With that, he turned and disappeared from view behind a burlap screen that concealed another part of the room Jasper hadn’t noticed. He heard Rylan muttering to himself and the sound of things being moved around, and then the old man reappeared, brandishing an armload of jars and pots and cloths. Nowhere did Jasper see anything that looked like a needle or anesthetic. Still, this was the seventeenth century.
What can I expect?
The knowledge he’d fallen through time filled him with bewilderment tinged with fear. What am I doing here? It didn’t seem possible he could be thrust back so many centuries and to a different planet, no less. How am I going to return? The unsettling questions kept circling around in his head. Even more disconcerting was he had no answers.
Rylan returned to where Jasper remained perched on the bed and set out his pots and jars. After a gentle order that Jasper sit still, the healer picked up a cloth and gently dabbed it against Jasper’s wound.
“Ouch!”
The protest came out involuntarily, and he immediately apologized. On
ce the wound was cleaned, Rylan reached for one of the pots he’d set on a nearby shelf. Jasper braced himself for whatever was to come. A whimper of distress escaped his tightly compressed lips.
Rylan’s head snapped up from where he was focused on his jars. “What is it, boy?”
Jasper shook his head, helpless to explain. The healer’s expression softened and comprehension filled his face.
“Don’t worry. I promise, this won’t take long. I’ll be as gentle as I can be. Ye’ll be as good as new before ye know it. Trust me. I know about these things.”
Jasper wanted desperately to believe him, but there was no earthly reason why he should. The man told him he had “healing powers” – whatever that meant. The truth was, they were a long way from the clean and sterile environment of a hospital with state of the art equipment and professionally trained staff at hand. Jasper didn’t dare let his thoughts linger too long on what lay ahead.
“Just get it done,” he managed through gritted teeth. His fingers curled around the rough wooden edges of the cot and tightened until his knuckles showed white. Rylan noticed.
“Ye need to relax, boy. Close your eyes and drift away. Trust me, I know what I’m doing. I’ve seen worse. Now, do as I say and let’s get this over with. Then the pain will go away. I promise.”
Jasper stared up at him, disbelieving. There was no way the pain was going to go away any time soon. He had a deep laceration running along the top of his cheek. Even with the best case scenario, he was going to be in pain for a couple of weeks. And he wonders why I can’t relax?
Still, with a gargantuan effort, Jasper did as he was told and resigned himself to living through the worst moments of his short life. Closing his eyes, he once again tightened his hands on the sides of the cot and waited for the horror to begin.
Rylan poured something thick and cold along the wound. Curious, Jasper opened his eyes, expecting the cold to be followed by pain, but there was nothing. Next, the old healer sprinkled on something smelling like mixed herbs. It made Jasper’s nose twitch. A few other odd spices were tossed into the mix. The whole time, Rylan muttered and murmured in a language beyond Jasper’s comprehension.
And then the healer laid both hands upon his cheeks and cradled his face. Jasper yelped in anticipation.
“Sit still, boy!” Rylan ordered.
More mumbling and muttered incantations. Rylan’s tawny eyes glowed with golden light. Jasper’s cheek began to burn. He squeezed his eyes shut and clung to the side of the bed, biting down on the pain. He didn’t want to cry. Not in front of Rylan. Not in front of anyone. He was seventeen, almost an adult. Adult men didn’t cry.
So he stifled his moans and clenched his jaw and bit his lip until he tasted blood. Slowly, the pain eased, the heat diminished, and he could draw breath again. Rylan turned his head, looked at him, and nodded once, as if satisfied with what he saw. Then he removed his hands and moved away.
“It should heal fine,” the man explained in a matter-of-fact tone. “I don’t think it will even leave a scar.” He smiled in satisfaction. “Seems I still have some of my powers, after all.”
Jasper stared at him, bewildered. Already his cheek felt better. Rylan continued without pause.
“You need to keep it clean for the next day or so. Sometimes these things can turn bad if they get dirty. Understand?”
He threw a grin in Jasper’s direction, and Jasper found himself grinning back. He could barely feel the pain.
“Yes, I know what you mean. Where I come from we call it getting an infection.”
Like they’d done before, Rylan’s eyes filled with a curious light, his gaze intent on his patient. Jasper noticed most of the swelling on the old man’s face had subsided, leaving only the faintest shadow of a bruise. Jasper didn’t know what Rylan did to heal his black eye, but it was nothing short of magic. The thought made Jasper squirm uncomfortably.
Still, Rylan continued to stare at him. “Tell me more about where ye came from, Jasper Walker.”
Chapter 3
The heat from Rylan’s eyes seared Jasper and he wanted to look away, but it was like a magnetic pull, like an invisible string keeping them joined. Without warning, Rylan reached out to him. Jasper flinched and then stared in shock as Rylan’s fingers closed around Jasper’s school pin. Until a few hours ago, he’d never seen the pin before, but after the fight with Drakor, he sensed the pin held some kind of significance and had fixed it to the lapel of his school shirt. To his surprise, as Rylan approached, the pin glowed red, just like it had at the fight.
“What the heck...” Jasper stared down at the pin in confusion. What’s happening? This place is too weird. I need to get out of here…
Oblivious to Jasper’s wild thoughts, Rylan stroked the pin with his gnarled finger. The bright glow shone straight through his skin, illuminating it as an orange kind of pink. Jasper continued to stare, speechless with disbelief. Something weird was happening, and he’d had just about enough. He wanted to turn back time, to wake up from this nightmare, and return to the way things were. To be back at the Academy’s dining hall, have his breakfast, go to class. Even the tedium of his final weeks of school were preferable to this.
“I knew it was ye,” Rylan breathed, his face and eyes alight.
Jasper shook his head impatiently. “Who? What are you talking about, old man? I’m Jasper Walker. I’m no one. Until a few hours ago, we hadn’t met. Stop talking like you know me. You don’t. Now, I appreciate all you’ve done for me, but if you don’t mind, I need to return to where I came from.”
“Ye’ve traveled from far away, across many strange lands,” Rylan murmured, ignoring him.
“Yes, I have come a fair distance. Further than I could imagine, I’m sure. I live on an island off North America. At least, that’s where I go to school. But you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you because you haven’t even heard of North America.”
Rylan lifted his gaze, and Jasper gasped at the intensity in the golden tawny orbs. He was filled with fear, and his heart pounded. What the hell’s going on?
The man lifted a cupped hand toward Jasper’s uninjured cheek. Instinctively, Jasper pulled back. With his chest heaving, he stared at Rylan. It took him a few moments to realize his face didn’t hurt.
He reached up to his wound and gingerly touched it. Nothing. There was no longer a jagged cut there, just smooth skin. He pressed harder, bracing himself against the pain. Once again, there was nothing out of the ordinary. No rough edges. No bumps. No pain. Not even a twinge.
“I see yer has cheek healed nicely,” Rylan murmured, following the direction of Jasper’s hand.
Jasper frowned darkly, unwilling to believe the man might have told him the truth. There was no way Jasper’s deep facial wound could be healed in a matter of minutes with a hodgepodge of odd-smelling potions and a few muttered words. Narrowing his gaze at Rylan, he defiantly pushed himself away from the bed.
He wished for a mirror to see for himself. Weird. A few hours earlier, his cheek was sliced open. Now it felt as good as new. What did he do to me? How did he make the gash disappear? He spun on his heel and disguised his fear with anger. He glared at Rylan.
“Who are you?”
The old man regarded him calmly. “I believe I introduced myself already. I’m Rylan Griffin. I’ve been waiting for ye.”
Puzzled, as Jasper stared at the man, his anger slowly drained away. It was replaced with turmoil and confusion. This man had just healed his face as if it were nothing more than a scratch. Now he talked in riddles.
How can he have been waiting for me? Jasper had no idea he was coming there, let alone that he’d meet a frail old man with a long white beard and strange, golden glowing eyes.
“You talk nonsense, old man,” he replied, his tone still defiant. “Say your piece and speak the truth, or by God, I’ll…”
“Ye’ll what? Don’t ye understand?” Rylan shook his head, and without waiting for an answer, continued. “For many years,
I prayed to the gods. I begged them to release me from this prison. One day, I woke to find an old book beside my bed. I knew it was put there by them. The book told how they’d send someone, a wizard with the power to set me free. I didn’t know when it would happen, but I was told I’d recognize ye when ye arrived. And I do.”
Jasper stared at him, more and more bewildered. The old man was crazy, a complete nut job. If Jasper hadn’t experienced the man’s extraordinary healing powers, Rylan’s story would cause Jasper to laugh outright.
Some of Jasper’s incredulous thoughts must have shown on his face. Rylan sighed in quiet resignation. “I can see ye don’t understand. I’ll show ye what I mean.”
Jasper’s curiosity was piqued. “Show me what?”
Instead of replying, Rylan disappeared behind the burlap screen. Jasper heard rustling, and then Rylan reappeared carrying a thick, heavy-looking book. He moved a pile of clothes from the only chair and drew it up beside the bed Jasper recently vacated. He urged Jasper to sit back down. Slowly, reluctantly, Jasper took the few steps required to make it back to the cot.
“This is the Book of Griffin—the book I told ye about. It records the history of my people back to the year 1229.”
Jasper stared at the book in Rylan’s hand, hardly able to fathom how anything could be that old. The hard cover was coated in thick dust. Through the filth, Jasper saw strange drawings and text that meant nothing. Suddenly, he was filled with a sense of foreboding, a feeling that if they went any further, he couldn’t turn back.
Am I ready to face whatever it is Rylan is hinting at? Am I ready to have my world and everything I believe in, turned upside down?
A sudden vision flashed through his mind of a beautiful girl with long black hair. She was kneeling by a river, singing. The sound of it was like nothing Jasper had ever heard, and it touched him beyond words. Somewhere, deep inside him, he knew her. She was familiar to him—maybe more. He didn’t know her name, but he felt her loneliness as if it were his own, and he couldn’t bear it...for her...for himself.