Return of the Stormcriers

CHAPTER 43 - MOURNING BREAKS

Matt's eyes slowly cracked open, squinting against the overwhelming brightness of the sunlight that bathed his face, warming his features. He became painfully aware of the throbbing lump on the back of his head that gave a constant pounding to his skull, seeming to vibrate his very thoughts with its intensity. The familiar feel of a lumpy straw mattress beneath his back reminded Matt of home, but this did not feel like his room.

  But if this was not his room then where was he? He could not remember what he had been doing before he lay down, he must have hit his head with considerable force. What had he hit it upon? A familiar mustached face entered his blurry field of vision, looking down at him with obvious concern.

Vincent. He would know what happened.

  Matt sat up quickly, his head swimming at the sudden movement. Vincent's large hand grabbed his shoulder, steadying him before he fell back onto the bed.

  "Easy there, easy," the large merchant cautioned softly, you took quite the blow.

"Blow?"

  All at once the memories of the battle came rushing back into his mind, threatening to overwhelm his emotions. He reached up to swipe away tears as they began to form in his eyes. He looked around his surroundings for the first time since he regained consciousness,  recognizing the room as one from the second floor of the Empty Net that he had cleared on his way into the building. The roar of combat had stilled in the restaurant below, leaving only the suffocating silence of death. So much blood, so much death, then...something else. A dream? A vision? He had felt something while he was unconscious; something important. But what was it? It flitted around the edges of his memory, tantalizingly close yet eluding his grasp like trying to slow a stream with your fingers. What had he dreamed about?

It does not matter yet, he rationalized. There would be time to ponder on dreams later.

How many of his companions had been lost? At the very least Clay had perished in the assault, he had seen his body lying lifeless among the wreckage of the room. Was Jason still alive? The soldier had sustained horrific injuries while protecting him from Moonshadow yet had been aware enough to speak with him until the darkness had overcome Matt's senses. Had the others reached the soldier in time to save his life?

  "I never expected to meet you all the way out here," Vincent said warmly, placing a large hand on his shoulder and pulling Matt from his dour thoughts. "It is good to see you, Matt."

  "It is good to see you too," the words fell slowly from his mouth, nearly individually as they passed his parched lips. Matt felt as if he had not spoken or drank water in days, he felt like a parched man who had just escaped from the desert. It was good to see Vincent. Just the sight of the large merchant filled him with warm memories of home; of his past life that seemed so far removed from his present.

  "Your new friends are very protective of you. It was only for the fact that they recognized my name from your stories that they agreed to let me tend to you," the mustached merchant chuckled. "You must have given a pretty apt description of me." He patted his girth soundly with that familiar twinkle in his eyes. Relief coursed through Matt's veins before the man had finished speaking, making it hard to concentrate on the rest of his words. There were other survivors from his group.

  "Are they alright?" He asked Vincent, struggling to contain himself from springing to his feet and going to find them.

  Vincent's face grew somber. "I am afraid some of your number fell in the battle."

  "Who?" Matt asked, afraid to hear the answer.

  "I am not familiar enough with your group to know them by name."