Tales of Greater Zesipia

The Hermit: Part Two

The dwarf, drenched and dishevelled, slams the door shut and sighs audibly. He slides his back against the door. His sack, holding the lone mongoose corpse, falls to the ground with a limp thud. He focuses on the boy before him, wordlessly rocking back and forth on his heels, in the middle of the mud brick hut.

Eyes wide, the child surveys the surrounding room, guided by the light from lanterns placed throughout the room. A straw bed covered with a blanket of stitched pelts lies in one corner. On the opposite side, glowing embers scattered in a small firepit radiate heat and dry a line of pelts strung above it. Corpses of more vermin—field rats, savanna foxes, and grassland hares—hang off the wooden support beams. The rain aggressively pounds the muck thatched roof which, despite the occasional drip, is doing an adequate job to keep the room dry.

The dwarf lunges towards a table carved from a large rock. He extends his arms around the awkwardly shaped stone, hulls it across the room, and pushes it flush against the door, grunting and struggling the entire way.

Turning his attention once more to the boy who is now shivering and realizes the child is only wearing a simple waterlogged sleeping gown.

"You... You're gonna need... New clothes," the dwarf says, wrestling to deliver complete sentences. "You'll... Becomes sick." He snags the pelt blanket from the mattress and hands it to the boy.

The boy takes the blanket, wraps himself in it, and slips off the gown.

"There was... Something... Outside?" he asks.

The child nods and turns his attention to a window next to the door.

"Is... Outside, now?"

The boy shakes his head.

The dwarf exhales. "What... What was it?"

The child opens his mouth, as if to say something, but no sound escapes. He furrows his brow, sucks air into his diaphragm, and attempts to speak with more conviction. Nothing.

"You've lost... Your voice?"

The boy nods, a frown crossing his face, and tears welling in his eyes.

"I've... forgotten my words... And you... Can't speak..." He shakes his head at the situation.

Crossing the room to the firepit, the dwarf grabs a dried clump of manure mixed with peat, and tosses it into the embers. The dried vegetation combusts, releasing a satisfying warmth across the hut.

"I guess... You're from the town... Ashakada?"

The child nods slowly while retreating backward from the dwarf.

"We'll take you... There tomorrow..."

The boy freezes, slams his hands to his ears, and viciously shakes his head back and forth. "Nuh-uh... Nuh-uh..." he repeatedly moans, sounding like an upset cat.

"What?... We need... Find your parents..."

"Nuh-uh... Nuh-uh... Nuh-uh..."

The dwarf holds out both hands towards the boy. "Okay... Okay... Please stop..."

"Nuh-uh..."

"Ok... I won't make you go... Go to Ashakada... You can stay here..."

The child lowers his hands from his head and gradually ceases his wailing.

"Let's sleep... We can figure... Things tomorrow..."

* * *

A sulphuric and pungent aromatic cloud swirls around the darkness. He cannot see it with his eyes, yet his mind can visualize the diffused smokey trail.

He growls, but hears nothing. Instead, he feels it rumble throughout his immaterial being, cerebral and not physical.

This is a tomb, he realizes, and he has been imprisoned here for eternity, aching for freedom. But he is not alone. His confinement has a strange duality. He is both an immortal prisoner and a casual witness. The forever captured does not suffocate from the caustic fumes, yet the temporary visitor, horrified, gasps for fresh air.

Clink. Clink.

A metallic echo, originating from outside, rings throughout the space.

Clink. Clang. Clink. Clang.

It becomes more persistent.

Clink. Clang. CLINK! CLANG!

Closer and louder still.

CRACK!

Light breaks into the void and, as fresh air rushes inside, a vacuum ejects the captured through a tiny breach and liberates the immortal. The visitor remains trapped inside, yet the duplicity allows him to experience both perspectives.

A tall thin muscular man raises a pickaxe in the air. He wears a chaotic network of leather scraps that hardly covers his body. Drenched in sweat, he radiates heat absorbed from the naked sun. With a grunt, he slams the point of the pickaxe into the newly created fissure, opening it further.

From inside the crack, the spectator sees the invisible vapour circle and envelop the muscular man. It streams into his the nostrils and down his windpipe. The cloud bleeds into his internal membranes and absorbs into his bloodstream.

"Hack! Hack" the man coughs, falling to the ground.

At this moment, the prisoner and the witness become whole. The two entities merge, joined by a third, to become the man, struggling to breathe on his hands and knees, convulsing, heaving, and choking.

He attempts to scream.

* * *

"Ahh!"

Awake, groggy and disoriented, the dwarf finds himself slumped in the chair. The bizarre dream swiftly dissolves, distracted by a relentless scream. It comes from the boy stretched out on the crude mattress. With his eyes closed he appears to be asleep, yet he shrieks, shaking and trashing.

The dwarf rises from the chair, goes to the boy, and grasps him by the shoulders. He shakes the child until his eyes bolt open and he ceases his screaming. His eyes bulge, panicked, upon seeing the dwarf, flush faced and hair damp with perspiration.

A fevered dream, perhaps?

He puts his hand to the boy's forehead. It is clammy and cool.

If it was a fever, it has broken now.

The dwarf moves to stroke the boy's coarse brown hair, attempting to calm him. Vibrant orange morning light surges into the room and the soothing glow falls upon the boy. He soon falls back asleep from the dwarf's doting.

With a long deep breath, the dwarf turns away from the boy.

I'm awake now. I should see what damage came from last night.

The dwarf pushes the table away from the entrance and opens the door. He stands in the doorway to survey his property. Outside he can smell the damp earth, a mixture of fresh and stale, as the atmosphere absorbs the rainwater. A casual glance to his small plot of crops confirms what he expected: the storm has ruined his food supply.

Even if this boy does not wish to visit Ashakada, I must if we are to survive.

He returns inside the hut and pulls his chair into the middle of the room. The dwarf climbs upon it and fetches several animal corpses from the ceiling beams.

It has been a decade since he lasted needed to visit Ashakada. Without mayshi, he will need to exchange his trappings for supplies. He grabs a rucksack, fills it with the skins, and hoists it on his back.

The dwarf surveys the entire room before exiting.