Giordano

a young man, depressed and homeless stumbles into a maical forest

 

Giordano hugged his bundle to his chest aware that he was alone and nightfall was approaching. He lay with his eyes open wide as his senses succumbed to his imagination. The shadows of the trees looked like macabre giants in the moonlight. He fancied hearing the crunch of footsteps behind him; it could be a robber or something much worse. The hooting of an owl made him tense, the chirping of a cricket startled him. He continued tormenting himself like this until the chambers of sleep called his name.

            The next morning was chilly. Giordano ravenously ate his breakfast; three loaves of bread and some cheese. After he had eaten he set off to look for fresh water. He realised that the further north he went the harsher the undergrowth seemed. The trees stood gnarled and fierce-looking, their sparse branches sticking out like a scarecrow’s arms.

To the north there were the mountains he had heard so much about. ‘Jade peak’ was rumoured to be inhabited by creatures no man had ever seen and lived to describe. A thick mist hovered above those mountains, giving them a frosty, uninviting appearance. Giordano wrapped his clothing tighter around him and continued his search, in spite of the increasing cloudiness in the air. He thought he saw a shallow brook behind a grove of trees.

Laughing like a madman he quickened his pace to a run. When he reached the grove he stopped his, eyes darted around looking for the shallow brook he had seen from the distance when he failed to find it he shouted “show ye self o foul deceiver”. He threw himself to the ground in frustration and pounded the earth, as if blaming her for his predicament. “Shall I die of thirst? He asked himself.

Three days ago Giordano was the son of a respected borough council. Then was the sudden arrest and execution of his father who was found guilty of plotting unrest. Now he was as penniless as the blind beggar on Bread Street. After this misfortune he had tried to visit his fiancé’s parent’s home but was given a message by a gruff manservant that the engagement was broken off because of the stain on his father’s name. So, heartbroken and empty he had run off into the wild forests of Danby.

Giordano lay on his back with his neck leaning a little to the left like an injured bird. Self pity flooded his mind and brought tears to his eyes as he reflected on how he had taken all his privileges for granted. He gazed off into the dismal grey skies and wondered whether the clouds were as lonely as him. Suddenly, a rising of birds formed darkness in the sky and Giordano realized that they flew from behind him, the east. He jumped to his feet and looked around apprehensively. He heard several voices in the distance. His heart thumped harder and harder. ‘What should I do? What should I do? What …’   

The voices got louder and he could hear the breaking of brushes as whomever or whatever came closer. He made his decision there and then. He ran further and further into the forest. He felt the adrenaline pumping throughout his body as he ran, the wind slapping his face but he didn’t care. Running was what he did best; running away from all his problems. Without warning he slipped and tumbled down a mound. The last thing Giordano remembered was a sharp pain to the back of his head. Then as he lost consciousness he felt a sort of tranquility come over him.

 

Giordano tried to open his eyes but his eyelids were heavy and unwilling. He turned his head, testing for neck injuries. 

“He is awake, sister,” whispered a breathless voice. Giordano forced his eyes open and looked about him warily. A petite lady in foreign garb was standing above him and behind her was a delicate looking girl with wide eyes. When he tried to speak he found that he couldn’t form his words properly. “Where am I?” he asked incoherently. “Shh”, the woman told him. She walked over to a wooden pail in which she dipped a piece of cloth. She wrung it out, and then gently placed it on his forehead. “That will help ease the fever”.

            “Fever?” Giordano looked up at her anxiously; his mother had died of fever. “You got a few bruises when you fell; one was infected when we found you. Do you remember what you were running from?” Giordano tried to remember but could not. “I don’t think so,” he said. “All the better for you then”, she replied. Giordano saw a strange look pass over her face when she said this. Thoughts came to his mind; unpleasant thoughts that had been waiting to surface. “Who are you?” The younger one looked as if she was about to say something, but the elder one silenced her with a glance.

            “I am Cybele, sister of Tian,” she said briefly, indicating her sister. With that she was back to cleaning his wounds. “Thank you Cybele for your kindness towards me.”

            For the next three days Giordano was in and out of sleep. He would wake up without having any idea what time it was then Cybele would give him berries that she picked or some other sweet fruit. On the third day he sat up on the bower in which he had been sleeping. He stood up uncertainly, yet aware that both Cybele and tian were watching him. He was feeling unconfident as if walking was new to him. He walked over to the opening, looked back at Cybele then hesitated. Cybele nodded at him to go on.

            He crouched to get out of the den. He blinked as his eyes got re-accustomed to the sunlight. Then he realized that he had not said goodbye to the sisters. He spun around ready to re enter the den … behind him was the mound that he had fallen from. As he struggled to internalize what had just taken place he felt a light tap on his left shoulder. He froze, not wanting to see who or what was behind him.

“Pretending that there is no one here will not make me disappear Giordano.”

Giordano recognized Cybele’s voice and turned to face her. She had transformed into her true fairy image. She stood tall and proud in her olive colored skin with long eyelashes framing her hazel acorn eyes. Her hair long and wild and beautiful curled unnaturally at the ends and shifted colours in the sunlight. All this was observed by Giordano, quietly. She held out her hand to him, beckoning for him to join her. He knew that it was not a meaningless gesture. It was his future he was gambling with. Knowing that inside him something had already changed, he did not hesitate and grasped her smooth hand in his rough one as her lost himself in her loving gaze.

“I know what they did to your father.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “He did nothing wrong and they killed him.” Giordano flinched unwilling to look back to that horrid day.

She continued, “Together, we can make things right again.” He nodded quickly, “Yes, we can.”

Author's Note

what do you think. of the character? should i write more?

Reviews

[Samuel Dickens]

You definately should write more, bettyboo. You've got a good start to an interesting story, and it would be a shame not to finish it. Some editing is needed, but you display good writing skills and an excellent imagination--everything needed to write fantasy stories or any other genre for that matter.