Back To The Past

Chapter 4

AN:Made this chap long enjoy!

He was lying on his stomach. The softness of the bed under him was the first thing he registered, before the sting on his back or even the too rapid beats of his heart. His head was pounding.

He wished he had stayed unconscious.

There was a tinkling noise beside him, a rustle of clothes and then the barest brush of sure fingers on the raw skin of his back, taking the sting away.

He tried to evade the hand that wrapped around his chest to pull him up, but it was as if there were stones hanging from his limbs, preventing him from moving.

A cool vial was pressed against his lips, and another hand – how many was there? – stroked his throat until he swallowed the foul-tasting mixture it contained. The action was repeated with two other potions, until one of them u him him back to sleep.

A sunbeam hit his eyes, gently leading Zane away from the sleeping realm.

The young man stretched tentatively. His muscles rippled, sore, but devoid of any overcoming ache. The skin of his back felt uncomfortably taut, his entire left arm was itching and his limbs were stiff from lack of use, but he was not burning up anymore and his mind was clearer than it had been in ages.

He spent the next few seconds enjoying this surprising absence of pain, letting the thin ray of sunlight warm his face while he listened to the soft whistling of the wind.

Then, reluctantly, he remembered. The fighting,the Shadow Knights,the Stone, and the runes. . . His memories after that were a jumbled mess, clouded by fever-induced hallucinations, but if his current situation was anything to go by, he had been found and taken to a healer.

By miracle, perhaps?

Except that. . . Something felt wrong. Worry replaced relief, chasing away the last remnants of sleep clogging his head.

He sat too quickly. A bolt of pain shot through him and his head spun madly. Zane did not wait for either sensation to fade before looking around him.

Thankfully, he did not sense anyone. A couple of months ago, after it had threatened to get him killed one time too many, not being able to sense his enemies like he used to, he would train to gain the ability back,  Sometimes, after a particularly tiring day, he still needed to use it to sleep at night just in case of an attack, but he was no longer parinoid without his ability. Which was good, because he was almost certain he had not mastered it he'd be dead.

He was lying in a narrow bed, inside what looked like a small, rudimentary tent. There was another bed facing his, but beside a wooden table littered with Potion-making tools, no other furniture could be seen.

He heard no footsteps, no sound beside that of his own breath rushing through his nose, but suddenly, a shadow fell over the ray of light that had been filtering through the entrance of the tent, Mabey his sensing skills were a bit off. A twany cream hand gripped the thin layer of cloth to push it open.

Zane's heart jumped in his chest. Quickly, he felt the bed around him, trying to locate his sword. It wasn't anywhere to be found, and he had to struggle against a degree of panic he had not felt in a long time.

Cursing his own weakened state, he tried to sling his legs out of the bed, but the limbs took their time answering, and then it was too late.

In the entrance stood a man Zane had never seen before. His pace faltered when he caught sight of him, as though startled to find him there, giving Zane the opportunity to observe him.

The man was in his early twenties  – or perhaps late teens, it was hard to tell. He was tall, lean, and the fluid way he walked suggested an undeniable sinewy strength. His ecru, aristocratic face, with its high cheekbones, narrow nose and chiseled jaw, screamed of high birth. shoulder length, moonlit-silver white  hair held in a small ponytail on the back.

Zane only spared a glance at those characteristics. What caught his attention were the man's eyes. Sharp, they were of the most breathtaking shade of green he had ever seen. They had the colour  beryl silver, so vibrant they almost seemed to glow and. . .

" Scrîðan , êower wuldor faru cuman êower." the man said – and of course his voice had to be deep and smooth, calling for immediate, mindless focus with the smallest intonation – hands raised to show he was unarmed.

Zane blinked. "?" he tilted his confusedly.

The man blushed, sighing he lowered his hands. Then, in three slow, assured strides he crossed the distance separating the two of them.

"Donna astyrian," he said softly.

Before Zane could flinch back, he pressed a hand on the young man's chest and pushed him against the pillows.

Zane let him. His breath was short and his mind was spinning.

"I don't. . ." he rasped. "I don't understand. Who are you?"

The man took a step back, frowning. "Ic donna forstandan," he replied. "Geagan beufan. . ."

A book appeared in his hand. His eyes found Zane's, and for a second, the young man forgot to breathe.

"Wéþan," the stranger said slowly.

Then, he pointed his fingers right between Zane's eyes.

Instantly, the Zane tried to scramble out of the way, ignoring the tearing sensation that pierced his back. Unfortunately, he was still weak. All he managed was to get his legs tangled in the sheets before the man whispered, "Dael Tung."

A beam of pale-blue light hit Zane on the forehead. Beside giving him a slight vertigo, the spell seemed harmless and the young man sighed in relief.

The man swiped his hand over the book and it vanished, and with a satisfied smile. "Can you understand me now?" he asked.

A hand pressed against his temple, Zane breathed deeply, trying to get his heart under control.

"Yes, I can," he replied after realising that his companion was waiting for an answer.

The man's green eyes glinted with amusement. "You need to focus on your words," he said. "You're still speaking your language."

Zane looked at him, puzzled. The disorientation from earlier grew more pronounced, creating a dull ache at the base of his skull. Then, something clicked into place, his vision blackened for a second and in a rush, he found himself knowing a whole set of new words.

Pain spiked violently through his head and Zane gasped, clutching his hair as darkness consumed him once more.