Brother, where art thou?

Author’s note:

Many thanks to Erulisse and Selene Aduial for beta reading this story.

Chapter 4:

The stranger

Isiwen looked sceptically toward the dark clouds hovering over the river. It will not take long before a storm breaks loose; she thought and hurried on to empty the fish traps her husband had laid out the day before. While bending over the third trap she sighed. Not much this day, but better than nothing.

They led a simple life here and she never complained, but the fish traps and their little vegetable garden were sometimes the only food supply they had. Then a smile crept back on her face, when she heard her husband curse loudly. Chopping wood was not one of his favourite tasks.

Picking up her basket she whistled a merry tune, yet she stopped dead in her tracks when she rounded a boulder and saw a body lying in the shallow water. For a moment she stood frozen, fearing that the stranger was dead and, at the same time, afraid that he was not and would jump up to scare her any moment. Then she shook her head angrily.

This poor fellow did not look like he was about to get up any moment, rather he looked as if he was in dire need. Quickly she crossed the distance to the motionless form while calling over her shoulder: “Maren, Maren come quickly!”

While she discarded her basket and bent down, the sound of chopping ceased and hurried footsteps, down the gravel path, could be heard. “Isiwen, where are you? What happened?” the young man running toward her called back, worry evident in his voice.

“I’m here, come quickly,” Isiwen answered, crouching impatiently beside the motionless body.

When Maren arrived at the riverbank he stopped and stared, shocked, at the scene in front of him. There, half-hidden in the shallow water, lay the body of a stranger. The body was face down so Maren could not detect any features.

Overcoming his initial shock, he kneeled next to his wife and tried, with an intense gaze, to detect if the stranger was still alive. “Is he dead?” he asked tentatively not able to see the stranger breathe.

“I do not know,” Isiwen answered and stretched a shaky hand out to touch the body.

After a pleading look directed at her husband, Maren sighed and together they dragged the body from the water onto dryer ground. The dark-haired young man looked dreadful.

His clothes were torn in many places and the visible skin was sickly pale, yet something looked out of place. The stranger was very tall and lean and he had long black hair plastered around his head.

Carefully Maren turned the limp body onto his back and after carefully brushing the hair aside to look at the face he gasped in surprise. “He’s an elf” he stated and looked aghast at his wife. Isiwen knelt already next to the young elf and searched for a pulse.

“Yes,” she answered, “and barely alive.”

“I wonder who he is and what has happened to him,” Maren mumbled, indicating the wounds that could be seen through the ragged clothes.

“Anyway,” Isiwen stated her old confidence back, “let us bring him inside and tend to his wounds. The poor lad is ice-cold.”

Maren smiled. Isiwen had always been a caring and gentle soul. To see someone suffer was nothing she could bear.

Carefully he lifted the lithe body into his arms and turned toward the house. The poorly filled basket forgotten, Isiwen hurried after her husband.

Running past him, she opened the door to the small cottage to allow her husband to enter with his precious burden. While she was rustling about to gather the needed items, Maren lowered the cold and stiff body of the elf carefully onto the only bed in the little house and began to remove his clothing.

Isiwen hurriedly gathered her herbs and set a kettle over the fire to boil some water. When Maren removed the shirt of the stranger by cutting the remains away he gasped again.

The elf’s upper body was covered over and over with bruises and cuts. Letting out a deep breath he carefully touched along the ribs and could easily locate many cracked and a few broken ones.

He looked at his wife, as she appeared at his side with the steaming bowl and many herbs to clean the wounds. “I´m no expert, but these are no battle wounds. It looks as if someone has beaten him!”

“And then tried to kill him,” Isiwen said with sorrow in her voice indicating at the deep bleeding imprints on the elf’s wrists, inflicted from a rough rope.

Maren shuddered. He had met elves only on a few occasions. His cousin was a ranger and they often met with the firstborn. A year ago he was present at such a meeting and remembered clearly his awe when he had looked at them; strong and wise, but also gentle and caring. He had always felt uncomfortable around these ancient beings and now he had one in his house.

With a sigh he began cleaning and binding the wounds. It proved to be a tedious task, because every cut looked infected but at least had stopped bleeding. Maren doubted that much blood was left in his pitiful looking body.

A chill ran down his spine as he felt the much-too-low body temperature. He was by no means a healer, and he knew nothing about the healthy state of an elf, but this didn’t look or feel healthy at all.

The shallow breathing and the frantic pulse indicated clearly the bad condition the elf was in. And if he thought he had by now seen all that had been done to the elf, he shook his head again, when he removed the torn leggings. Both legs were broken and in dire need of setting.

Now he was at a loss. He had absolutely no idea how to do this. Certainly he would do more wrong than right. But what option was left to him? After taking a deep breath and receiving a reassuring nod from his beloved he took up an herb-drenched towel and carefully cleaned the dirt from the breaks.

This took him nearly half an hour and he was drenched in sweat when he finished. Already he dreaded the next step. With utmost care he laid his hands on the left and right of the broken bone and quickly straightened the leg to align the bones.

Isiwen quickly placed two wooden sticks next to the break and bound them tightly to keep the leg immobile. They repeated the process on the other leg.

Not knowing if he had done anything right Maren´s hands began to tremble. He shuddered inwardly as he imagined the pain he was causing. Now he was very grateful that the elf was unconscious. He did not know how much time had passed until all wounds were cleaned, the cuts closed and the bones hopefully rightly set.

What frightened him most was the total lack of response from the still body. No moan, no jerking away, no other sign of life. With shaking hands and weary to the bone, Maren leaned back in the chair all the while looking at the dark-haired being.

Who could he be? He studied the bruised face. How old may he be? He shook his head, it was impossible to guess.

He tucked an extra blanket around the pale body, leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. His wife had fallen asleep an hour before at the kitchen table.

When he woke up again he blinked in surprise when he registered it was already morning. He had only closed his eyes for a moment. Guiltily he looked at their guest and recognized, relieved, that the elf was still breathing.

Wincing while he tried to sit up straight he heard the soft rustling of his wife making breakfast. Isiwen stepped behind him, planted a kiss on the top of his head and massaged his stiff shoulders. “Good morning, love. Have you slept well?” she asked teasingly.

When Maren only groaned she smiled. “I have already changed his bandages and while doing this I discovered a big bump on his head.” Maren nodded. “No wonder he is unconscious. I hope it’s not a serious head injury, because the limits of my healing art are widely overstepped by now.”

Isiwen smiled again. “You have done well. If he survives, he owes you his life.” Maren nodded, shocked by the mere thought. He must survive. He had to. Elves were not supposed to die.

He stood and stretched his muscles and gratefully received the cup of steaming hot tea Isiwen offered him. Again he looked at the elf. “I only wish we could do more for him.”

Isiwen nodded. “He looks so young and certainly someone is missing him,” she said stroking the pale cheek.

Maren laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Now we can only rely on his will to live. I have heard elves have amazing healing abilities.”

Isiwen nodded. “Yes, hopefully he is not too far gone already.”

……………………………………

Over the following days nothing changed. Isiwen and Maren continued to change the bandages and tried to feed their patient some broth, but the elf remained unconscious and unresponsive.

Almost every wound refused to heal properly. The couple was at a loss. What was wrong? Why could they not detect any improvement? On the contrary, the elf’s condition grew worse with every passing day. He had lost much weight and his skin looked almost transparent.

“We must do something, or I fear we will lose him,” Isiwen stated with tears in her eyes and nearly frantic with fear. Maren nodded equally frustrated over his inability to help.

“You are right. I will try to reach a ranger’s camp. They will know what to do.”

Torn between the wish to help the elf and worry for her husband Isiwen breathed heavily. Yes, the rangers would know what to do, or could contact one of the firstborn. Knowing that this was the best course of action she nodded.

“Be careful and make haste”, she whispered while helping her husband to get his belongings, and ready his horse for the journey. She was less than happy to be alone with their patient, but there was no other choice.

As Maren mounted their sturdy horse and waved goodbye, Isiwen knew that it was at least a two days ride to the next ranger station. Calling for help and the ride back, she would be at least five days alone with the stranger.

Inwardly she hoped that he would not awake. Then she shook her head. If he would wake she could ask the questions so long delayed. Maybe she could do so much more then.

Winding her shawl tighter around her she returned to the little hut and closed the door firmly against the chill wind suddenly coming down from the mountains.

Adding a few logs to the low burning fire she sat again next to bed, but the stranger looked the same as ever; pale and unresponsive, unmoving and unconscious.

“Please hold on lad, do not die on me. Help is on the way,” she whispered more to still her agitated nerves than to her patient.

To be continued………