Chapter 6

“Hey, thanks man…” said Kieran.  It was a struggle to even speak. He tried to get up, but leaning on his hand was too painful.  The old man recognized this and bent down, hoisting Kieran up by his elbow. “Ah!” he exclaimed in pain.  “Take it easy there.”

“Um.  I don’t--.  Was that you just now?  With the lightning?”

“Are you speaking Spanish?  What is that? That doesn’t sound like Spanish.”  Kieran’s arm was slung over his new companion’s shoulders.  The two slowly began walking down the hill, seemingly towards the river that Kieran had initially set out for.

“Sorry old man.  I don’t understand a word coming out of your mouth.  Parlez-vous français?”

“No?  Nothing?”

“I don’t know what the hell you’re saying, dude,” replied Kieran.  It took him extra effort to hoist his legs over the larger tree roots, so the old man steered the two along the easiest possible path.  Their inability to communicate led to a long silence.

Well this sucks, Kieran thought to himself.  Can’t even walk by myself.  Need help stepping over twigs.  And who is this guy? Dressed up like some kind of super villain.  Kieran wasn’t in a position to distrust the stranger.  The forest was apparently quite dangerous, despite its whimsical guise.  I saw Ma and that other guy use some sort of magic.  Could it be? Did this guy shoot a thunderbolt at that giant wolf?  It wouldn’t be the weirdest thing to happen today.

“Hey Gramps, are you a wizard or something?” asked Kieran, knowing he would not get an answer.  The old man looked over and smiled. Despite the exhaustion permeating his body, Kieran felt comforted by the man’s grin.

The two walked on for a good while.  Their dialogue squandered and the sounds of the woods took over.  It had been ages since Kieran had enjoyed a walk in a forest. He took in the sweet smell of fresh air, though it was slightly tainted by the taste of iron, from the blood in his mouth.  The birds were talkative that day. Their high pitched whistles created a fluttering chorus that came and went. Kieran had never heard anything like it. Certainly not in Chicago.

“Oh, is that so?”

A path appeared gradually from the thicket.  It wound around root-clasped hills, eventually leading to an open clearing.  Kieran could hear a river in the distance. Holy shit, he thought.  I was going to go this direction!  My hunch about the river was right… right?  He ignored the truth, that he would have died in that forest.  

“So, are we almost to a town or something?  The adrenaline is wearing off and my hands are starting to really hurt.  My ribs too. And my feet. And my neck. And my mind.”

“Did you just ask me a question?  The answer is no. No, I don’t go wolf hunting on a regular basis.  Only on special occasions.”

The two men arrived at the water.  Its clarity made an impression on Kieran.  Even though the channel was deep and flowed quickly, he could still see the bottom of the river.  Kieran was used to the greenish-brown hue of the Chicago River, famous for its polluted past. He walked to the water, temporarily abandoning his hiking partner.  Ignoring the acute pain, Kieran dropped to his hands and knees, plunging his face into the refreshingly cold torrent. How long has it been since I ate that Beefaroni?  He must have drank a gallon before eventually resurfacing for air.  Kieran winced as he stood and waddled back to the old man, using him as a crutch once more.

Faint sounds of human life could be heard, even from far out.  There were lots of small buildings strewn about, many alongside tiny farms.  The two men came upon a bridge and crossed it. Kieran was struck by the beautiful woodwork that used; the railings were covered in ornate carvings that appeared to depict various occupations.  He could see farmers, merchants, and what appeared to be religious figureheads. There were even soldiers, equipped with sword and shield. Where am I, Kieran asked himself again.  I couldn’t have travelled that far from home.  

The river’s pace quickened under the bridge.  The two men reached the opposite side. Kieran found himself in town.  

It was a cute little berg.  Smaller shacks and lots peppered the outskirts, with larger home and buildings near the center square.  Kieran couldn’t quite tell what the buildings themselves were made out of. Some appeared to be made out of a clay-like substance, while others were made from wood and resembled housing he had back home.  Some had stone bricks as walls while others looked like cubic boulders that had been carved out. The diversity in architectural styles struck Kieran as odd.

That being said, it was not as odd as the first two residents that Kieran caught a glimpse of.  The man and woman he spied wore ratty old clothes, covered by old cloaks and ponchos. Yikes!  Get a load of these two, he thought.  Clean yourselves up a little!   They stopped their conversation when they saw Kieran, giving him a sardonic glance.  He looked down at his own shredded, bloodstained outfit. Oh, he realized.  Carry on then, no need to gawk.  

The old man and Kieran limped into town. Another person came into view.

Her clothes, contrary to the last couple, were vibrant and exotic.  She wore a long skirt framed by airy ruffles with alternating colors on each horizontal layer. Her short-sleeved blouse seemed to be made of light linens, and it too was brightly colored with opulent decorations.  An aureate tiara sat atop her head, struggling to hold back a large amount of overly-prepared hair. Delicate tendrils fell each side of her face, bouncing as she walked.

“Who the hell was that lady?” asked Kieran as she passed by. The old man responded in the foreign tongue.

“Ah, right.  Of course.” Kieran’s eyes darted back and forth, taking in all they could.  He was so amazed by the town that he had momentarily forgotten about the pain.  “Hey, that woman didn’t seem to show any concern about my maimed, disfigured hands.  What gives?”

The quiet town was not quiet at all.  People roamed the streets and avenues, bustling about in all direction.  The crowd noise grew louder as they headed deeper into the village. Some of the folks walking past were finally taking notice of Kieran, though he found it odd that they were staring at his face and not his hands.  

One building had a painted sign swaying in the breeze.  It showed a picture of an urn with some strange writing beneath it.  What are those letters?  That doesn’t look like any alphabet I’ve ever seen.  Maybe they’re hieroglyphs or something.

Kieran and the old man rounded a corner and came upon the source of the crowd noise.  A small park was covered in booths, displays, and customers. It looked exactly like the farmers markets that Kieran had gone to as a child, when his parents were still around.  This didn’t appear to be limited to food only, however. Merchants were hawking crops, clothing, jewelry, and trinkets. One dealer came up to Kieran and aggressively tried to tout an old rusty ring, not knowing that the words were lost on his target.  The old man spoke up, seemingly turning down a deal of a lifetime, and placed his hand on Kieran’s back so as to keep them moving.

Live music floated through the air.  The sound was uplifting… it was optimistic.  Two young girls danced nearby, holding each other’s hands and spinning about.  Kieran looked around for a band but couldn’t spot anything.

“Is this what you guys have for muzak?” he asked.  The older man looked at him quizzically and didn’t respond.  “Ah, I’m only kidding you. This is too good to be muzak.”

As if shot through the heart, Kieran stopped in place.  His eyes widened. An otherworldly aroma had ambushed his nose, triggering a reaction in his empty stomach.

“What is that?!” he excitedly cried to the old man.

Kieran turned to his support, desperate.  “Where is that smell coming from?!” Gaining a second wind, Kieran left the old man and staggered off on his own, hunting for the source of the scent.  I guess I’m more hungry than I thought.  What is that? It smells fried.  Onlookers were bemused by the young man’s blind faltering.  Children pointed and laughed. Once again, Kieran was so distracted he could ignore the pain wracking his body.  Not even his hands bothered him. The promise of food temporarily rejuvenated him.

“Finally!” he cried.  A row of stands, hosting fruit and vegetables, led way to additional kiosks with various meats and other food being prepared.  In such close proximity, even more delightful smells bombarded Kieran’s nose. He lurched towards his culinary salvation, leaving a trail of blood behind him.  “Need… food…” he mumbled. Before he good reach his destination, a familiar feeling took hold. Nausea. Dizziness.

“Shit… not again…”

Kieran lost consciousness, falling to the ground in the middle of the market.

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