Chapter 7

Understandably, Kieran was growing tired of this fainting routine.  He awoke in a strange place yet again and, once again, it was a mystery as to how.  When he finally opened his eyes, he was greeted by a small, simple room. Soft light spilled through a window opposite of the bed he woke up on. 

Where the hell am I?  Jeez...I’ve been asking myself that a lot lately.

Kieran sat up.  There was a wicker chest at the base of his bed.  A tapestry decorated the wall by the window, featuring an odd symbol.  A few sconces hung by the corners of the room, though it looked like they were missing lamps.  

Nice digs, he thought. And look! A desk in the corner. I can catch up on all my work now. Oh wait, I don’t have any! I’m a worthless, prospectless bum! Despite all that had happened, at least Kieran held onto his self pity. The room wasn’t much smaller than his own back in Chicago. Kieran mustered the strength to stand up. Despite a little grogginess, he felt better than he had in a long time. Then he remembered the violent trauma. Oh!! he thought, bringing his hands to his face. They were perfectly fine.

I don’t… I don’t feel any pain.  Kieran inspected his body, twisting to see every area that had been bruised, battered, cut, and bloody.  He opened and closed his hands, testing to see if making a tight fist would trigger some lingering discomfort.

“This is unbelievable!” he told himself.  The cup of water nearby caught his attention.  Kieran grabbed it and chugged. It was beyond gratifying, but he was still gripped by hunger.  He scanned the room for anything edible. “This cup is starting to look a little tasty. Is wicker edible?” Kieran asked aloud.

A pair of footsteps drew close.  Kieran’s heartbeat quickened, though he didn’t know why.  I’ve been watching too many movies, he surmised.  The door’s wooden lever shifted inward and a woman entered the room.  She smiled at Kieran, looking surprised at his attentiveness.

Kieran stuttered. “H-hey there!”

“Great, you don’t speak English either. This is fantastic.”

The woman gave him a quizzical look, another phenomenon that Kieran was getting used to.

“Either way, I’m starving.”  He looked to the shelves on the wall.  Some colorful fruit beckoned to Kieran.  Pointing to the produce, he asked, “May I have one of those?  They look amazing. And even if they’re not, I won’t really give a shit.  I’m just hungry.” He pantomimed eating the fruit.

She understood, shaking her head while grabbing a small purple drupe.  Kieran took notice. She knew what I was asking for, but shook her head “no.”  Does that mean “yes” in this culture? Wherever I am?  The woman tossed him the fruit, and he couldn’t plunge it into his mouth fast enough.  It was delicious.

“Ow!” he yelped.  A pit hid in the pulp, which caught Kieran by surprise.  “Whatever. This thing tastes fantastic, what is it?”

Kieran lost himself briefly in the snack.  It was sweet like a peach and tart like an apple, with a distinct yet unfamiliar taste.  It did reminded him of the first time he tried a passion fruit. This strange food was juicy too, much to Kieran’s liking.  It was quite a treat, especially after his recent ordeals. He glanced up from his tasty distraction to find the woman staring at him.  “Um, thank you. My name is Kieran.” He patted one his hands on his chest, getting juice on his already-tarnished shirt. “Kieran. Kieeeee-ran.”

The woman mimicked his identification.  “Marituria.”

“Marituria?”

She shook her head again.  

That’s an affirmative!  Kieran was excited.  “Marituria! Good name!”

The woman pointed.  “Kieran,” she said with confidence.

“Yes!”  He laughed and extended his hand.  “It’s nice to meet you!”

“Uh, okay,” agreed Kieran, sheepishly.  “You’re not going to kill me, are you? But we just got to know each other!  You know my name, we’re friends now! You can’t kill me,” he joked. He followed along, throwing faux caution to the wind.

Marituria led them through the building.  She was clearly giving a tour, succinctly describing each room as they passed through.  It was an informative course. Unfortunately, she may as well have been barking the information at Kieran as he understood none of it.  

They ambled on and Kieran continued to try and make guesses as to his whereabouts.  At first, he assumed they were in a house. But after they left the kitchen (or, what he assumed was a kitchen), it wasn’t so clear.  All the random rooms led him to believe he might be in some sort of office. Not that I’d know what a friggin’ office looks like.  Man, I suck.  And without even realizing it, Kieran pitied himself once more.

Ignoring the dismal look upon her new guest’s face, Marituria excitedly skipped towards a pair of sliding wooden doors.

“Well, whaddya know?!  We got Marituria, Gitis, and Stavro.  Look at us! Making friends, building bridges!”

The boy glared at Kieran.  “Stavvo,” he corrected.

“Right, whatever.  What’s important is that we’re making connections here!”  Kieran walked towards the three former-strangers, looking for a hug, but stopped short when he noticed the dreadful looks on their faces.  Suspicious, he took a whiff of his armpit. “Whew,” he shouted, “I am a little ripe, I suppose. Sorry about that.” Between the offensive stench and the tattered clothes, Kieran found himself abashed in the face of his new host.  He had no clue how long it had been since he last bathed; his concept of time had been completely upended. It seemed like the bout between his mother and the foreign assailant occurred just minutes before, but he knew he had gone at least one full night since then.

“What are the odds one of you can point me in the direction of a shower?  In English?” He pretended to wash his body with invisible soap, hoping the message would be easy to interpret. 

“Man, I can tell how much you love me already,” said Kieran, sarcastically commenting on the antipathy oozing from the boy.  He ruffled the hair on Stavvo’s head only to have his hand immediately slapped away. “Whoa!  Easy there, killer.”

The two walked down a corridor that Kieran and Marituria had previously passed through.  They arrived at a strange room that was previously shown off by the woman, though Kieran had no idea what its function might be.  The chamber was fairly small and split level, with a few stairs leading down to a small pit. A strange device hung over depressed section, which looked an awful lot like plumbing.  The upper level had a bench curving around the walls, with some wooden pegs jutting out from the walls.  

“Oh.  This is a shower,” Kieran stated, curtly.  He peered down to look at the bottom of the room and noticed what appeared to be a drain.  “Ah… yup. This is a shower.”

“Thanks for the tutorial little man but I think I can take it from here.  No need to help with the uh… intricacies of showering.”

Stavvo rolled his eyes as he walked up and out of the room, closing the door behind him.  With his hands planted firmly on his hips, Kieran studied the device. Reminds me of an old-timey toilet, he thought.  Well, not gonna get clean just standing here.  He took off his frayed clothes and unceremoniously hurled them in the corner.  “Damn it. That was my nicest shirt. It’s going to be a long time before I can afford to replace that.”

Standing under the plumbing equipment, Kieran pulled one of the strings.  This triggered a loud squeaky mechanism, releasing a small deluge of water.  It took a second or two for the biting cold to register in Kieran’s brain. He jumped out of the stream and cursed at the device.  Thinking that he had incorrectly selected the cold water supply, he pulled the other drawstring. The mechanism squeaked again and the flow stopped.

“You gotta be kidding me.  These savages haven’t invented hot water yet?!”  Reluctantly, Kieran pulled the first string and started the water yet again.  Nearby, he saw a small bar of (what appeared to be) soap. He grabbed the soft ingot and jumped into the current.  Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t ignore the cold. Kieran yelped and hopped around, trying his damnedest to get his body temperature up.  Even thoughts of the sweltering Chicago summer did not help. 

After the fastest shower of his life, Kieran pulled the other string to turn off the water.  Perhaps he did so a little too fervently, seeing as how he ripped the string off and almost pulled the entire apparatus down.  One of the pipes had been severely bent and apparently a small leak had sprung.

“Oops.”  Kieran had already forgotten about the encounter with the wolves; the chase, the climb, the attack.  Where did this come from, he asked himself.  I’m not strong enough to rip toilet-showers off the ceiling… I’m not strong enough to climb a tree… I’m certainly not strong enough to kill a wolf with a stick, or punch one into a tree!

A cool breeze came through the open window, chilling Kieran yet again.  He jerked his body around like a maniac in an attempt to dry off. A rag and some clothes had been placed on one of the benches.  Uh oh.  I hope no one saw me wigging out.  He threw on the free duds and examined his look.  These are really loose.  I still look like a bum. Oh well, I guess I’d rather be comfy than flashy.

Kieran grabbed his dirty laundry (and could now smell the nasty stench emanating from the pile) as he left the shower room.  Unsure of where to go, he tried retracing his steps. A wrong turn brought him back to the large vacant room. A strange cracking noise came from a small gap in the sliding doors.  Kieran, not wanting to intrude, snuck up and coyly peaked in.

Leukos and Stavvo stood facing off, each brandishing a long wooden staff.  No way, Kieran declared, they are NOT about to sword fight right now.

But indeed, they were.  The old man clashed with the young boy, and Kieran’s jaw fell open.

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