Chapter two.

A succulent aroma greeted Rowan as he awoke; strange yet delicious smells which taunted his senses and coaxed a rumble from his stomach drifted all around him. Eyes parted halfway and the boy glanced around, confused at first and then afraid. The memories from the previous evening – if it had even been an evening – came back to him, and the boy sat up in the bed with a wary glance around.

First he noticed that he was still in the same small room with the wooden roof and the dirt ground that he’d been in the last time he was awake. Then he noticed the heaping plate of food and the cup of steaming liquid resting on the bedside table only a couple feet away. Lastly he noticed that the pain he had felt throughout his body before was now completely gone. Rowan felt healed and strong, and his mind was clear and no longer buzzing and spinning.

Nevertheless, that didn’t answer the question about where he was. What were the possibilities? Some rustic hospital? A long-lost relative’s? …Had he been kidnapped?

            Rowan figured that the last option was highly unlikely, considering that no one was in the room guarding him and there was a large window – which looked to be merely a rectangular hole in the wall – only a few meters away. This knowledge soothed his fear a small amount, but it couldn’t completely annihilate it. Rowan had awoken in some place he’d never been before; it was only natural that he was afraid.

            This fear was also what helped him make up his mind to ignore his hunger and not eat the food, since for all he knew it could be poisoned. Before Rowan ate anything from that plate he was going to find out where he was and why he was here. He needed answers.

            Sliding off the end of the bed, Rowan was slightly surprised to realize that he was clothed in some sort of robe. The material was smooth and comfortable, but it was entirely unfamiliar and horribly hard on the eyes. Similar in appearance to a crudely made dress and coloured a mild tan, the robe hung loosely tied around his body. Rowan neither had the slightest idea as to how he came to be wearing it nor did he want to know.           

            Trying not to pay attention to how he was dressed, Rowan quietly walked over to the window and pushed the curtain aside. The sight before him was entirely unexpected.

            Instead of the neat little houses and yards of his neighborhood or the skyscrapers and office buildings of the city, Rowan stared out at what looked to be a village from centuries in the past.

Small huts crudely made from logs, sticks, dirt, and stones were scattered randomly about the area, every one of them single-story. Pens leading from some of the houses contained chickens and pigs and sheep, and dirty children were running around with smiles spread across their faces. Men worked on repairing houses and fences, women chased after their children and collected hens’ eggs, and a few young boys demonstrated their whittling skills to some friends.

Rowan was thoroughly shocked.

Staring out at the scene in front of him, Rowan could hardly bring himself to believe it. There were still places like this in the world? It was so…different.

After watching a small girl fall into a muddy puddle and burst into a fit of giggles as her mother collected her up with a scowl, Rowan lifted his gaze to take in the landscape. Rolling grassy hills flanked the village, the foliage starting and growing in abundance right where the last few houses were built. A forest began a ways away, the deciduous trees bearing leaves of the brightest green Rowan had ever seen, and a small stream twisted its way over the ground. Various bushes sprouted up here and there, and in the distance farming plots could be seen with all their produce growing in neat lines.

This place was nothing short of unbelievable.

Finally having seen enough to the point where his curiosity was just about to go crazy, Rowan turned and walked quickly to the doorway. The only thing that the boy knew was that wherever he was, it was far from home.

 

 

~*~*~

 

            River looked up from the herbs he had been sorting to see Rowan standing in the doorway, looking quite confused and unsure. The other boy was standing there in an awkward, almost scared, silence, glancing around him in what looked like a nervous manner.

“Good afternoon,” River greeted with a warm smile, “did you sleep well?”

Rowan’s hazel eyes met with River’s, and he opened his mouth to speak but said nothing. River arched a brow.

“I guess..” He began calmly. “Um. Who are you?”

Due to the tone of the other boy’s words, River assumed that he didn’t want to seem rude or accusing quite yet. It probably wouldn’t be long before he began to disregard that courtesy. “My name is River. And before you ask, you are in Yalding Village.”

“Oh…” Rowan’s words trailed off and he hesitated again before asking, “um, where’s..Yalding?”

River recalled that the boy had no knowledge of towns and villages in this world, and he paused for a moment as he thought of how to explain the situation to Rowan. He couldn’t very well just tell the other that he was on a different planet; even if he did, he doubted that Rowan would believe him.

“It is far from America,” he explained with a sympathetic smile, “but don’t worry. You are safe here, your mother knows that you are here, and there is no reason to worry.” Those were all more or less lies, but River wasn’t worried about ethics at the moment. He just wanted to do whatever he could to prevent Rowan from freaking out.

There was a pause as Rowan took in what he’d just been told.

“I…what?” Rowan seemed to be faltering for words. “Why? And..how?”

“That will all be explained in time,” assured River, “but for now, don’t linger on those questions. I cannot give you the answers.”

Rowan stared a moment longer, and then he shook his head. “No,” he began, his courage rising, “you owe me an explanation. I just wake up in some random place that looks like it’s come out of a history book, dressed in equally as ancient clothes, and I’m expected to settle for no answers?”

River thought about simply remaining silent, but he finally sighed, “The region is Yërsa and the village is Yalding. That’s all I can give you.” He knew that the names would mean nothing to the boy, but he figured he’d give them to him just to satiate his craving for answers.

Of course, Rowan didn’t register either name at all and just stood there a moment before proceeding with another question. “Alright...Why, then, am I here?”

“You are needed here,” River replied calmly, and upon sensing that the other was about to question him further he continued with, “that’s all I can tell you for now. I promise everything will become clear soon enough, however, if you will only be patient.”

Rowan looked as if he were about to protest further, but at that moment another person walked into the small room; Ferran. As Rowan noticed the other man he became silent once again, watching the stranger with curious, suspicious eyes. Ferran smiled at him.

 

~*~*~

 

“Good morning, sir Rowan,” Ferran said warmly, but the boy said nothing. If anything, he looked almost puzzled.

“He cannot understand you,” explained River. “He has not yet had the tea.”

“Ah,” nodded Ferran, glancing back at the boy. Rowan was watching the two of them with the most confused expression Ferran had observed in a long time. It was understandable, too; he and River were conversing in Cerían, which was not a tongue Rowan understood.

Thinking about this, Ferran wished that he too was bilingual like River. He wanted to talk to Rowan and introduce himself to the boy, and only the language barrier was preventing him from doing so right now. Seventeen years he’d waited to meet the boy, and now that he had the chance, he had to wait even longer.

“Did he only wake up recently?” Ferran inquired to River, although he continued to watch Rowan.

“Yes,” replied River, “and he came directly in here to question me. I’m surprised he didn’t even touch the food beforehand; he must be starving.”

Ferran nodded, finding it slightly odd how River knew whether or not Rowan had eaten. His friend’s senses were far too sharp for his own good, or so Ferran thought.

“We should get him ta eat now,” commented Ferran, “and drink that tea up. Sooner he can talk, the better.” Ferran grinned, his moustache curling with his lip.

“Yes,” agreed River, looking at Rowan. Now the boy looked to be getting frustrated with the foreign language being spoken in front of him. “Get the food, will you? It’s by his bedside.”

Ferran turned and sauntered into the room with no more than a nod, picking up the plate of food and cup of tea and then returning to the dining room. Setting the meal on the table, he stepped back and said to River, “It’s a bit cold.”

River stepped toward the plate and touched the rim lightly, probably trying to be subtle about his usage of magic so as not to provoke Rowan any further. Ferran was glad for this; Rowan didn’t need to know that he was in a world of magic until he had grown a bit more comfortable with being away from home in the first place.

When River finished with both the food and tea he stepped away, saying something to Rowan that Ferran could not understand and then gesturing toward the food. Rowan stepped toward the table but paused, speaking to River and looking quizzically in Ferran’s direction. River spoke again, sounding apologetic, and then uttered a sentence in which the only word Ferran could understand was his own name. Judging from that, he figured he was more than likely being introduced, and he smiled at Rowan and offered him his hand.

The boy took it and shook, saying, “Rowan” as he did so.

Rowan then sat down and scooted his chair closer to the table, eying the plate in front of him in an untrusting manner. River sat in a chair next to him and Ferran sat beside River, busying himself with sorting River’s herbs; Rowan seemed to be having some trouble with his meal, and Ferran didn’t want to make him feel uncomfortable by staring.

 

~*~*~

 

There were no utensils. The two men, whose names Rowan had learned to be River and Ferran, had provided him with food, but not a single utensil. There weren’t even chopsticks or a skewer or anything! Staring down at the mouthwatering dish, Rowan thought about how to go about eating it. He could always simply use his fingers, but what if he offended them by being rude?

“Um,” he muttered, looking at River, “do I just...use my hands?”

River stared at him for a moment as if confused, and then realization struck his features. “Oh!” he exclaimed, “Sorry! I forgot that your kind uses objects to aid in eating.”

Rowan arched a brow, “My kind?”

“No matter,” assured River, “but would you like me to find you something to use?”

Rowan shook his head, “I’ll just use my hands, thanks.” He was a bit more uneasy now that River had used the term “your kind”, but he was too hungry to pay it much thought at the moment. Setting the matter aside for now, Rowan grabbed a sausage off of his plate and began to devour it. It was completely and totally delicious.

The entirety of Rowan’s meal went quite fast, including the bitter floral-tasting tea. When he was finished and content, the boy felt much more strong and confident than before. Now he wanted answers.

“Was it good?” River prompted, his accent strangely different than before. Whereas before he had sounded almost foreign, he now spoke with smooth, flowing, beautiful words that Rowan strangely enough understood. Rowan was sure that it was not the same language as before, and yet still he could understand.

Nodding cautiously, he said, “Yeah, thanks,” and was surprised that his own accent sounded much more ornate as well.

River beamed. “Great!” He exclaimed, exchanging a glance with Ferran that looked almost triumphant.

Rowan simply released a light, short chuckle, stopping when Ferran stood and came closer to him.

“Rowan,” he spoke as he took the boy’s hand and shook it, “I’m honored to have fin’lly met you. As River has already told ye, I’m Ferran.”

Shaking the older man’s hand, Rowan wondered for a moment how he had suddenly come to understand Ferran. Before this, every word spoken by Ferran had sounded strange and foreign, but now it was just like he was speaking a more smooth-sounding form of English.

“Er, yeah, nice to meet you too,” Rowan agreed, deciding not to ask about the language issue. There were more important questions to be asked right now.

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~!