Chapter One - Emerson

Rowan awakens in a seemingly abandoned hospital with no recollection of who they are. With the help of a few strangers, they are sent on a quest to regain their life... Though, it is a dangerous task.

       Cold... So cold... I feel my life slipping away like sand between the fingers of some unjust deity. I need to wake up, I need to...

       My eyes shoot open and I gasp for air, my lungs burning as if they had just been set aflame. I see nothing but a ceiling, accented by peeling paint and stains of what I hope to be water. My hands grope for something to hold, anything.

        Where I am I do not know. Perhaps I am already dead, or waking up from some vivid and horrible dream. I cannot remember much, in any case, save flashes of darkness and the echoing sounds of blood curdling screams. I slowly rise from the warm cot which I lay on. My wrists ache and my legs feel weak, though I compel my body to move, not without struggle. My joints pop and the cot creaks, disturbing the silence.

        As I look around the dusty room my eyes adjust to the light of the candles. Dim as it is, they were used to nothing more than blackness.

       Lit and unlit candles, tomes, papers... Nothing unusual of a study or a work space. The medical supplies, however, catch my eye. Needles, blades and other surgical tools, even jars displaying specimens unknown to me. I must be in some sort of infirmary... But why? In my vague memories I do not recall any sickness or injury, though I could be wrong. I am here for a reason, after all... At least, that is what I would have thought not a month ago. Everything happens for a reason. But the recent turn of events has definitely altered my morals in that respect.

       I hear a thump from the neighboring room. The wall rattles, glass jars clink against one another, a scalpel falls from its respective rack. My heart skips a beat as I turn on my heel. I now face an archway leading into darkness, only illuminated by a single, dim chandelier at the end of a long corridor. I can see dust afloat in the air like a thick fog.

        I take a bold and broad step forward, my feeble legs wobbling under the heavy weight of my body. Were I smaller or perhaps a spry and youthful child this may not be so difficult. I may not be so heavy, such a burden on my poor legs... I take one more step, then another, and soon I am lumbering out the room and into the thick blackness. I see many doors and many unlit candles lining the walls, moldy papers and blood stains strewn about the cold floor. This is certainly no hostel I am familiar with...

        “Hello?” A voice echoes from a small branch to my right. It is a narrow offshoot with only two doors to speak of, and one is broken in. I take cover behind an old crate of rotting wood. “I won't hurt you...” That same, sickly sweet voice calls to me.

       Hesitantly, I stand to see a man dressed in the dingy garb of a doctor. His body is slim and his face is old, his hair matted and gray.

        “Please do not be alarmed,” He begins, straightening his posture. “I tended to your wounds whilst you slept. They were bad indeed. You, nearly dead, came to me in the dark of night, bleeding and mumbling of beasts.” I simply stare at him. Beasts? What slander does he speak? “You were... Pale as a corpse, and soaked from the rain.” He waves a hand, beckoning me to follow. I stay put, and he gives a look of disapproval. “Please, we cannot stay, lest they hear us.”

       “They?” I ask him, wary still.

       “The withered.” He steps toward me, at which I step back. My foot lands in a fresh puddle of blood which sends shivers up my spine.

       “Stay back...” I threaten, waving a hand in dismissal.

       He seems unamused, his expression stoic. “Humor me. You are weak. If you cannot fight me you surely cannot fight them. And I am an old man.” At this he chuckles.

       He's right. With a sigh of resignation I bring myself toward him, he simply nods in a reassuring manner. He then turns and saunters with the gait of any elder into the room adjacent to the one I awoke in. I follow suit. “Shut the door behind you,” He instructs. I step into the room and the atmosphere... Changes. The once heavy air is now light and warm, and the room smells of sunshine, not death and dust. I shut the door, and he promptly bars it with a rod of rusted metal.

       I take this brief moment to look around the room. It is small and cramped. Shelves of books encroach over the racks of weapons and the cages that once held chickens or perhaps some other edible fowl. A brazier burns in one corner, candles burn atop a post in another.

       Emerson speaks up after taking a step back, “I am Emerson, if there are to be introductions.” He bows his head to me.

       “I... I believe my name was-” I pause, “Is... My name is Rowan.” I swallow. Was that truly my name? I cannot recall. But this name will do, at least until I can remember.

“Rowan... An interesting name, indeed.” He hums thoughtfully, before he heads toward a desk, littered with books, papers, candles, and other baubles. “Pray tell, where do you come from? I reckon you come from a different world.”

       I nearly burst into laughter, but I manage to stifle it. “A... Different world? What do you mean by that? I am from this one... I was born here and I will die here.” I am unsure of myself now, however. Perhaps this man has truth to his word, to what he says and what he thinks.

       He offers a weak smile before returning to his stony gaze. “Azariah. You are Azariah.” He retrieves a book from a drawer. It's small and bound with leather. The cover is dusty, and wrapped around the width is a lather strip. “One who is able to see them. To see the beasts. And they see you all the same.” He extends the tome to me, but I reject it.
       “Azariah? You're mad.”

       “Am I any more mad than you, Rowan?” A cackle escapes his dry, pursed lips. “You heard them... You saw them. They tainted your blood.” He states, though I find it hard to listen. “They brought you to this world... This reality.”
       “I...” I find nothing to say, no retort, no quip. I simply gaze at him.
       “Look at the scars on your midriff, look at them and tell me what you see.”

       My scars?... I lift my shirt up just past my stomach to find the scars he mentioned. They are black as rotting flesh, and in some strange... Pattern of sorts. I quickly throw my shirt back down, my eyes wide. 
      “The taint is in your blood, yet... You have not withered. I wonder why this is.” He unties the leather, and it falls to the floor beneath his feet. “Perhaps you share the blood of this world and thus you correlate with it, whereas others would battle with it.” He scans through the pages of the book at a speed I could never attempt. “You are quite a mystery.”

       I stand in utter awe. I do not want to believe him. I want to think that this is a dream. That I am not really here and this is simply my mind fooling me.

       I open my mouth to speak, but I am interrupted by a thud just outside the door, followed by a blood curdling shriek. Emerson drops the book, petrified. “No... No... They found us... How did they find us?...” He babbles before lunging forward. He grabs my wrists and pushes me past him, toward a small window. “Go! You must find the First!”

       Without much thought, I throw the creaky shutters open, then undo the small latch that holds the window shut. The door begins to tremble, which only hurries me along. I clamber out of the window and into the bitter cold. My feet find a narrow ledge between this story and the ground. I hit the dry, dead grass. Another shriek is heard followed by the snapping of wood, and a shout. Emerson...

        Off I go, not daring to look back in fear of who, nay, what may be following me. My bare feet are light on the earth, which tears and stabs at my flesh. I scurry through these empty fields, the cold air whipping through my hair and burning my eyes.

       I find myself surrounded by towering and twisting trees, which makes me halt, nearly falling forward. “Trees...? Where did...” I glance around in confusion.

       I press forward, however, only now I am cautious and careful of where I dare put my feet.

       The trees are intimidating, the charred bark black as night and the leaves all but dead. The canopy leaves me in darkness with only the light from whatever rests on the other side of this copse as my guide.

       In the excitement of running and the adrenaline that wracked me so, I had all but forgotten the pain that plagues my body; the aches in my knees and the cricks in my wrists. But it is back, and a groan escapes my lips, my body's way of expressing a need for care and rest. But I cannot stop, not now, not here.

       The edge of the thicket brings me to the outskirts of some city, or perhaps the ghost of one would be more appropriate. The street lights remain lit, yet the homes appear empty, with broken windows and cobwebs in the doorways. Tis an eerie sight to behold, though the thought of what happened here is even more disturbing. Perhaps the happening bled into this world... Or this world bled into my own...

       My feet meet the broken cobble of the street. It feels cold... Yet it is soothing to the cuts and scrapes on my soles.

       The city is silent. Nothing can be heard, not even the winds or the trees. I walk slowly down this quiet road, both admiring and fearing the decaying buildings that line the streets. They are certainly beautiful in their own ways, but also mysterious as spirits of the past. Wilted vines scale some walls, while others are crumbled, but most are intact and yet to be taken back by nature.

       Tick-tack, tick-tack... What is that noise? It sounds like footfalls, yet... Before I can find the source, I am knocked off my feet and sent flying into the ground. I yelp from pure shock, but the impact makes me scream from pain.

       Someone... Something holds me down. If my face were not pressed into the ground I may have been able to see who... Or what.

       “Do not move.” I hear a voice... Deep yet remarkably feminine. The tone is stern with a hint of authority behind it. Perhaps she, given it is a she, is a guardian of this barren land. “Or I will not hesitate to kill you...” I am flipped over onto my back, now facing up, with my arms pinned by my sides. Above me is a figure, assumed a woman, with a knee against my chest and a beaked mask over her face. She holds a lantern in one hand and some sort of knife in the other. “Where do you come from? You are not one of mine, nor are you a monster.”

       “A... Monster?” Emerson had told me of the Withered, but... I had assumed those were people simply infected by some plague or another.

       “Yes, a monster...” She eases off of me, and I take a deep breath. I would thank her for releasing my windpipe but I fear what she would do if she took it the wrong way, so I stay silent for the time being. “You have not been here long enough, then, to have not seen anything.”

       “I... I know of the withered but I... Had assumed that they were simply sick people.” I manage. The woman sighs, shaking her head in... Disappointment? She then rises to her feet, before pulling me from the ground. I take a deep breath before I hold out a shaky hand. “I'm... Rowan.”

       “Onderi.” She responds, ignoring my gesture. I let my hand return to its place at my side. “How did you get here, exactly?” She questions, whilst at the same time removing her mask. I don't answer immediately, too busy admiring her features. Her skin is an alluring ebony, her eyes like two embers against the sky. She then snaps her fingers, drawing me back to reality.

       “Oh... I...” I shake my head slowly, looking down in shame. “I do not remember. I awoke in some sort of ward beyond the trees, where a man named Emerson hel-”

       She cuts me off. “Emerson? You met him?...” She rubs her temples. “That man is an elusive one. My people have been searching for him since the dawn of this horrid age. But you... You just happened to find him.” She seems upset, perhaps even angered. "What did he tell you?”

       “He told me of the Azariah... But that is all, really.”

       “You are hiding something. Tell me more.” I lift my shirt to reveal to her the scars, and her honey eyes widen. “You... You are one of them... One of the Azariah, but... I have never seen this before. What did Emerson say about it?”

       “He said that I... Correlated with this world. I... I am not sure I understand what me meant by that, though.”

       “This is bad. I cannot be seen with you... If the others were to find out they would kill the both of us. Burn us at the stake, like witches.” She stumbles backward. “You are tainted with their blood. You carry their disease...” Her voice wavers and stutters. She truly seems frightful. “You are this world...”

       I stand there, stricken with silence and confusion. I am this world?

       "It would be wise if you left."

       "I... I need to ask of something. What is the "First"? Is it a place... A person? Emerson told me to find it, but... I don't know what it is..."

       Onderi pauses a good minute, a finger on her chin thoughtfully. "The First... Why in the God's name would he ask you to find her?"

       "Her?"

       "She was the first Azariah. The first to come and the first to die. She rests in a tomb far, far to the North, past the mountains and the ruins of Kazar." She then takes a step back. “Leave, now. Go North if you wish to reach the temple. You may find haven there among the believers. Just... Do not show them your scars.” She pauses. “And... You may need these.” She offers me the knife, which is more akin to a short sword, and the lantern. “Should you encounter anything on your journey.”

       I nod my thanks. “I will remember this... Onderi.” I tuck the knife into the waist of my pants, which are simple, loose fitting trousers made of a soft cotton. My top is similar, only with more tears in the fabric. “Goodbye.”

       I set off, and the woman watches, before she begins to cover her clothing in dirt, to make it seem as if she was roughed up. After all, she needs a reason for the loss of her lantern and knife.

Author's Note

Is it too lengthy? Too short? Let me know if you'd change anything!