Chapter one.

The world was blurry when Rowan opened his eyes, and it took quite a few times blinking before the blear of colors gradually took shape. Faces were staring down at him with concern etched into their lines, and unfamiliar sounds and smells drifted in from some distant location. This wasn’t right.

            Closing his eyes again as if to make some unwanted dream take its leave, Rowan lay still and patiently waited for his mind to clear. A burning headache was throbbing at his temples, and even without moving the boy could feel a strange ache pulsing from what seemed like every muscle in his body. What had happened to him that had landed him here? Rowan couldn’t remember a single thing that had occurred recently; the only thing he was truly sure of at the moment was that wherever he was, it was not his home.

            Shifting a bit despite the pain, Rowan parted his lids and peered up at his onlookers again, squinting. One was a boy who looked to be hardly older than himself, and the other was a much older, broader man. Neither of them looked the least bit familiar.

            “Where..?” Rowan began groggily, trying to concentrate on the ceiling above him and finding it abnormally difficult. The rafters didn’t seem content to stay in one place, and instead they looked to be jerking unnaturally back and forth in rhythm with Rowan’s throbbing head.

            He closed his eyes again, sensing that someone had seated themselves on the side of the bed but not caring enough to look. Instead, he only listened to his own labored breathing and the buzzing in his ears, wishing that he hadn’t woken up in the first place.

            “Ezkriël il atta,” a voice said softly in the background, the words undistinguishable to Rowan. A moment later, another voice responded.

            “Iníe. Nuevren van syetil..”

            Frowing softly to himself at his inability to understand what was being discussed, the boy felt gentle fingers lightly brush against his temples and immediately felt drowsy. The touch was warm, soothing, and the next thing Rowan knew he was slipping off into a peaceful rest.

 

~*~*~

 

“You cast a sleeping spell on him?” Ferran asked, looking at his companion, River, with slight curiosity.

“He needs to rest.” replied River, confirming the other’s guess. “He took the translocation rather harshly, and it is important that he heals before we stress his mind any further.”

With a gentle nod, Ferran glanced back down and smiled softly at the boy who lay asleep below. He’d waited so long to see this child…he’d imagined this moment every day since Cala had disappeared. This boy had lived in his mind and thoughts for over seventeen years now, and finally seeing him was almost unbelievable.

 Ferran was a large man of about fifty years old, with rusty hair, a short, spiky moustache, and a small beard that went about halfway down his throat. His face was wrinkled and his eyes almost always smiled, and overall the man looked very friendly. Indeed, little seemed threatening about Ferran, and little was threatening about him.

  On the other hand, River was young – no more than nineteen – with bright blue eyes, jet black hair, and a cleanly shaven jaw and lip. His demeanor was kind and gentle, but it was also rather quiet and isolated. His smile was never wide or cheeky, and his manner of speech was considerably more formal than Ferran’s. He was a good man, civil and helpful with good intentions and skill, but he was by nature a loner.

 Neither of the men bore any resemblance to each other whatsoever.

“One of the worser cases of translocating I’ve seen,” Ferran pointed out, a sigh accompanying his words.

River nodded. “He fought against it much more than I expected. I almost thought we wouldn’t succeed.”

“Pity he did,” muttered the older man, “I hate to think how he’s in pain.”

“He’ll be fine soon,” answered the younger, “he only needs rest. It’s good that we got to see his level of resistance, too; I’m impressed. Evading a summons for the time that he did is no easy feat.”

Ferran agreed, his face betraying a look of admiration as he gazed upon Rowan. “Let’s hope he keeps that up. Magical resistance is a good trait ta have.”

“Undoubtedly,” confirmed River.

“And the language?” Inquired Ferran, knowing that Rowan could neither speak nor understand the native tongue.

“I picked up some lotten berries earlier in the week. I’ll prepare some tea with them and serve it to him when he wakes.”

Ferran’s eyes widened a degree upon hearing this and he asked, “Lotten berries? Where’d you find those?”

Lotten berries were one of the rarest species of fruit in this area, being both difficult to grow as well as extremely overpicked. They were magical berries, and upon consumption the user was “tuned” to the entirety of the first language he heard. No one was completely sure as to how the berries did this, but most speculated that botanist wizards had created the species and grown them in the first place.

“I have my sources.” River said with a ghost of a smile creeping onto his features, “Granted, there were a few minor difficulties…nothing I couldn’t fix, however.”

Ferran chuckled softly. “I should have suggested that Cala teach him. It would have been simpler if she’d taught him when he was growing, but I suppose it would have also been rather odd for those around them.”

River looked at the older man, but he remained silent.

“Ah, Cala. I wonder how she’s faring. I’d like to see her again sometime before I pass on.” Ferran’s words betrayed a hint of sadness and his gaze continued to reach out toward the boy who lay asleep. In his heart he knew that he’d probably never see Cala again, but at least he still had some hope left. He’d always have some hope left.

“I’m sure she’s well, Ferran,” whispered River, “I’m sure she’s well.”

Neither of the men made another sound for a good while after that, and instead they both only calmly watched Rowan sleep. He looked so serene in his slumber; so different to how he would probably look when he awoke in a few hours and became aware of his surroundings. Ferran was almost sure that the boy would be surprised, confused, and not to mention, overwhelmed. The next 24 hours were going to be more than just a little difficult for Rowan.

“We should let him rest,” River finally said, breaking the silence.

Ferran nodded and muttered softly, “Yeah.”

Rowan needed good sleep, and their chattering was likely to be some degree disruptive. With a last glance at the boy, Ferran turned and slowly walked out of the room, hearing River stand and follow behind him. It wouldn’t be long now and he’d finally be able to officially meet the child.

Author's Note

Please review this in as much depth as you are willing to. I want to know all the problems and everything I can do do improve this chapter. Let me know what you think and what you want to see in future chapters, too. Thanks~!