I woke to the sound of a knock on my door.
It's probably just the wind, I thought, rustling and turning in my bed to ignore whatever caused the sound.
It happened again, a much slower and deliberate rhythm this time, as if the patience of whoever was knocking was wearing thin. "Thoma, are you awake?" I heard a deep, muffled voice come from behind the thick wooden door. I recognized it as my father's voice, but knowing how late at night it was, I couldn't think of any reason why he'd want to talk to me.
As I looked out my small window, I could see the light of the full moon casting a silver glow on the gently swaying tree tops that surrounded our house. Judging by that alone, I knew that there were still more than a few hours until dawn, but that my mother likely wouldn't be home for at least another two days.
I remember they had a heated conversation earlier that week about a few-day mission she had to go on, but I couldn't immediately recall when she said she'd be home. What I didn't realize, however, was just how vital that information would have been.
I took a deep breath and sighed heavily, already fearing whatever would come of this late-night interaction, and got out of bed, rubbing my eyes with my knuckles. After lazily walking over to the door, I opened my eyes only to find a bright lantern shining in my face, making me squint through my already heavy eyelids.
"What time is it? Is something wrong, Dad?" I asked, trying my best to shield my eyes from the bright light. "It's a little past midnight, and no, nothing's wrong. At least, it won't be for much longer," he said cryptically as I struggled to understand what he meant. "Come, there's something we need to do," he said as he pushed my door open and forced me away from it.
He briskly walked to where my cloak was hanging and grabbed it off the hook, wrapping it around my shoulders. "Can you at least tell me where we're going?" I asked bluntly as I felt my body jerk from his pulling the cloak's open seams across my chest as he clasped the small brooch near my clavicle. He squatted down to be at eye level with me and put his hands on my shoulders.
"I need you to listen to me very closely, Thoma," he began, staring into my eyes with an almost frightened look as the pendant around his neck glinted in the lantern's light. There was something about it that drew my attention, but whatever it was quickly vanished.
It wasn't like him to be fond of jewelry, although the green crystal inlaid in silver around his neck was a gift from my mother that he wore often. But, for whatever reason, I could almost feel something was different about it.
He wasn't a particularly kind man, at least not to me or my brother, but he wasn't one to scare easily either, and the look on his face was something I'd never seen, not even once. It was strange to see him in such a state, but I knew that I couldn't dwell on those thoughts for long, since he immediately lowered his head.
"There's something wrong with you, and we need to get you to a healer quickly before it gets any worse," he said, gripping my shoulders a little more tightly before looking back up at me. "What do you mean something's wrong with me? I feel fine, Dad, and if something's really wrong with me, then Mom can just fix it when she gets back," I shrugged, not knowing that my reply would cause him to react.
"You're a fool for thinking she could fix what's wrong, Thoma, but I know someone who can; someone far more powerful than she could ever hope to be," he replied bitterly in a tone of voice I'd never heard him use before. The pungent smell of wine on his breath made me wrinkle my nose a little, forcing me to try to back away a little, but he held me firmly in place.
He's going to force me to go with him to see this person, isn't he? I felt my stomach sink in realization immediately.
"Dad, I-I'm scared. Why can't we just have Mom do it? I'm sure she can fig-..." I cut myself off when my father's face twisted angrily for a brief moment, then quickly reverted to a pained smile as if he was suddenly back in control of himself. "There's no need to be afraid of him. I promise he's going to help you, but we need to move quickly if we're going to be on time to meet him," he said in a much calmer tone as he gestured to the door.
I knew I wasn't going to get any truthful answers out of him for the time being, so I nodded my understanding and followed his commands. As we walked down the stairs, I could see there was an empty bottle of wine on the table, and judging by what he'd said earlier, as well as the time of night when he decided to pull this little stunt, I could tell there was more going on than I realized.
As we approached the front door, I noticed the horse from the stables had already been prepared for what looked like a two-day trip, with only two small satchels attached to the saddle. I looked up at his face to see if there was any sort of answer I could get, but the strange smirk on his face told me everything I needed to know.
Nothing's wrong with me, there's something wrong with him. I've never seen that look in his eyes before, I noticed his plump cheeks bunching up near widened eyes as his fist slammed into the side of my head.
That was the last thing I remembered before darkness overcame me.
When I woke up, I found there were ropes tied around my hands and ankles, my shirt had been taken off, and there were candles at various points of strange markings in a pattern on the floor in front of me. I blinked a handful of times, already feeling the swelling begin to throb as I regained consciousness.
Where am I? I thought through blurry vision and a hazy presence of mind as I struggled to sit up.
With a small grunt of exertion, I managed to push myself up and sit upright, using my knees to try to rub my eyes in hopes of clearing my vision. Blinking another few times and trying to ignore the pain that riddled the side of my face, I did what I could to understand my surroundings.
The candles and strange lines on the ground were in a much more deliberate shape than I initially understood. Each one was placed at the apex of an octagonal ring, which I was right in the middle of. Above me, I could see hams of different meats and shelves of cheeses, though I had no idea what their purpose was.
Wherever this is, it looks more like a storage shed than anything else. Is this where the healer is supposed to be? I wondered, trying to figure out what was going on.
"Ah, you're finally awake. I was wondering how long it would take you to wake up," an unrecognizable voice came from behind me, making me flinch in surprise. I did what I could to face the source of my surprise, only to find a weathered old man sitting on a stool just a few meters behind me, with his calloused hands, which quickly raised in a placating gesture.
The top half of his face was covered by a sheet of cloth held by a thin leather band, with slits cut out for the pair of glowing, sickly-green eyes laced with black tendrils staring back at me. His beard was haggard and unkempt, and there was a considerable amount of dirt beneath his fingernails that I could see even from where I was sitting.
What surprised me the most, however, was that this old man was sitting with one leg loosely crossed over the other and leaning back, reminding me of the painting my father had of himself, which hung in our home.
"Wh-who are you? Why am I here?" I asked, trying to scoot as far away from him as I could. "Calm down, there's no need to fear me. I'm a friend of your father's, though I didn't expect him to bring you here in this state," the old man said with a voice that didn't match his features, revealing a set of rotten teeth as he grinned in an attempt to appear more friendly.
Needless to say, it didn't help.
"I apologize for startling you, as that was never my intention. I only meant to make you aware of my presence," he continued, getting up from his seat. I could hear the decades of wear on his joints crackle as he stood, but he showed no sign of being in any sort of pain as he walked over to the edge of the circle, where he got down on one, crackling knee.
Is he even human? I thought, as the sound reminded me of when I'd tear off a chicken leg at dinner.
"Can I have my shirt back? It's cold in here," I asked, trying to disguise the fear-filled chills running down my body as being cold. "We both know that's a lie, Thoma. Do you think it's wise to lie to your elders?" the old man asked, prompting me to shake my head in disagreement.
How does he know I lied? I wondered quietly.