#5: Foreign

More is uncovered about Luther's past and Randy's mother slips further into her illness.

            Randy held tightly to the two copper pieces that he had earned that week.  He could hardly believe that he had finished up his first week of work at the Allard Manor.  Nor could he believe that Hannah had arrived four days prior.  His mind went back to that night as he walked.

            Atticus had taken care of most of the mess.  He had gotten Anicta a position inside the manor watching over Madison at all hours.  He had told Matt about Seth’s behavior, which Matt had seemed indifferent about at first but grew angrier when he heard that his brother was dead.  Randy, strangely enough, felt absolutely fine.  After the fight, he had slept almost the entire day, but woke with no headache, no visible bruises, and no scars or pains.  His hand felt better, too.  It took every ounce of obedience he had, which was not much to begin with, to keep from peeking at the injury for a better look.

            He smiled down at the coins in his palm, knowing that, in a few minutes, he was going to find out how well off his hand was.

            The wife, Cassandra, opened the door when Randy rapped at it with his good knuckles.  Smiling, she beckoned the young man into the home shop.  Randy sat down on the same rocking chair as he had his last visit while Cassandra went to fetch Wesley.  Randy turned the coins nervously in his hand as he waited.  The seconds dragged on into minutes, though it felt to Randy like an hour while he rubbed the faces of his copper coins.

            The sound of a door opening reached Randy’s ears.  He looked up and saw Cassandra in the doorway.  She smiled down at him then knelt in front of him.

            “Okay, I’ll change your bandages first.”

            “Change them?  I thought that-“

            “It’s not possible that it’s healed right already,” the older lady told him.  “I need to change the dressing, though.”

            Randy sighed, and Cassandra unwrapped his hand.  When the bandage was removed, Cassandra felt along the bones to check the placement.

            “Don’t strain yourself, Randy,” Cassandra cooed, “but could you show me how far you can bend your fingers now?”

            Randy flexed his hand, drawing his fingers straight, then balling them all the way into a fist.  He did this three or four times before Cassandra stopped him.

            “That has to hurt.  Only move them if they don’t, Randy.”

            Randy glanced up at her and grinned, “But it doesn’t.  It doesn’t hurt at all.”

            He wiggled his fingers for Cassandra once again as she stared at his ability to use them.  Then Randy politely put his hands in his lap.

            “I have some of the payment for you,” he explained.

            “R-right.  Of course.  You know what?”  Cassandra stammered, “D-don’t.  Keep it.  Um, y-you don’t need to- to pay us this time.”

            “You sure?”

            “Y-yes.  Have a… a good day, Randy.”

            With that, the elder woman began to shuffle towards the door, and Randy hesitantly followed.  He thanked Cassandra again and began to walk home, leaving Cassandra to ponder the miraculous healing that Randy had received.

            Randy shrugged as he put the two copper pieces back in his pocket with the two others that he had been paid for the week.  It was not much, he thought, but perhaps if he saved, Randy might be able to find a fix for his mother.

            Ashen plague, as everyone knew, had a nasty reputation of being unpredictable.  There was no way of telling the health of the infected.  It could progress gradually, rapidly, or any combination of the two.  Grey patches would sometimes indicate the pattern of infection.  Sometimes it started at the hands or feet, but on occasion, they would appear around the neck and stomach, even the chest.  The skin infected the fastest, before it moved on to the muscles and organs.

            Randy took little comfort in knowing that the disease was isolated to his mother’s hands for the time.  It was moving slowly, very slowly.  Since Hannah had brought it up, Randy had noticed that her finger tips grew paler every day.  They talked behind about it behind Myra’s back.  Hannah was always very hushed and mystic when she spoke, and Randy had his suspicions that she knew something that he didn’t.

            At the edge of his small yard, Randy stopped and looked up at the house he had grown up in.  It was not very big, only one floor with tiny rooms, but what little room they had was dotted with old, worn furniture.  Only the sewing room was full, and that was for work purposes.  Now that Hannah had made it her home as well, though, space was quickly filling in.

            Fingering his pay once more, Randy shuffled up the dirt path to his home.  He pushed the door open just an inch with his once injured hand, smiling as he did.  Then he peeked inside the house.

            From the doorway, Randy could see Hannah sitting at the kitchen table, talking in her foreign tongue to someone across from her.  She spoke quickly, often flicking her hand to indicate something or other, and her eyes conveyed a slight tone of worry.  He also noted that her tunic had no sleeves that day and that his mother had somehow talked her into wearing a pale green skirt in place of her usual trousers.

            Randy pushed open the door a bit more and entered.  Hannah stopped speaking at once and turned to him in shock.  Randy glanced over at her companion, but he turned away again immediately.

            Luther reclined in the second chair silently.  His off-white hair spiked up at odd angles, and his blue eyes looked dull and heavy.  He gripped a cup of tea on the table with two fingers as he rubbed his eyes with his other hand.  Judging by the shadows on his eyes, Luther had probably not slept well in the past few nights.

            “Randy,” he yawned.  “Mmm, Randy, Hannah was just telling me.  Uh, I need to leave here.”

            “Leave?” Randy repeated.

            Hannah nodded eagerly, but sadly.  When she stopped, Randy noted that she was biting her lip.

            “Your parents want you back in Helmstove?” Randy asked, referring to a small port town on the other side of the Hammer River.

            Luther shook his head slowly.

            “My parents want me back,” he responded slowly, “but I’m not from Helmstove.”

            “Jukro-Luther…” Hannah murmured.

            “Hannah…” he mimicked, exhausted.

            Hanna sighed, “Do what which you want.”

            “Randy,” Luther began, “I’m from a long way off, not even… I’m not even from this country.  I’ve spent three, four years looking for something, someone.  Now my time’s up.  I have to go back.”

            “Back to…” Randy led.

            “Tribeke.”

            Tribeke.  The Exiles.  It was called the gypse land, the renegade land, the wasteland.  However you knew it, they all meant the same thing: chaos.  And standing in as the capitol, Tribeke was the core of the insanity.  Rumors told that it was not even run by humans, if you were to believe them.

            “You…” Randy stuttered, “you’re from… from that asylum?”

            Luther growled something at Hannah in his native language, but the only word that Randy understood was “Kynton”.  Then Luther nodded.

            “Yeah, Randy, I’m from the Exiles.”

            Hannah watched Randy for any sort of response.  Luther drummed his fingers on the table while he stared at the ceiling.  But Randy said nothing.  He merely gazed off into a distant space, not really seeing anything, in a kind of daydream that one falls into when stunned or thoughtful.  Time oozed by through the gaps of uneasy silence that filled the air.

            “Sages live in Tribeke,” Randy whispered, “don’t they?”

            Luther glanced at Hannah, who blinked quickly and said, “Ayah, a few.”

            “Ah-I… I know a couple...” Luther added.

            “Why?”  Hannah asked.

            “Well,” Randy began, “since sages are ‘evil’ here, so no one practices.  Everyone goes to an apothecary or a doctor for medicine.  They try, but their cures… they aren’t very good.”

            “You mother,” Hannah breathed.

            Luther nodded, “Ashen plague, you said?”

            “Ayah.”

            “You have to take her, Lu,” Randy pleaded.  “Please.”

            Luther’s mouth sagged but quickly shut.  He glanced shortly at Hannah, who shrugged painfully.  Shaking his head, Luther shuffled out of his seat.  Randy bit the inside of his cheek, but Luther simply put his hands on Randy’s shoulders and took in a deep breath.

            “I need to talk to someone,” he whispered.

            Without another word, Luther began his slow trudge towards his own home.  Hannah and Randy watched for a moment, and then Hannah groaned and dropped her head into her hands.

            “He will be getting into very much trouble, Randy,” she muttered softly.  “His parents, they will not be liking anyone to be coming with him.  They told him saying to get in to here and be getting the Horru.  They said to not be getting involved any at all.  He did not mind to his parents, and now much ill is in the way.”

            “You’re cute when you talk like that,” Randy thought absently.

            Hannah blinked, and her lip twisted into a soft smirk.  With a sudden realization, Randy clamped one hand tightly over his mouth, partly to prevent more thoughts from escaping and partly to try to suffocate himself.

            “A- ayah?  Eehmm, I am thanking you, I guess,” Hannah blushed lightly.

            Randy loosened his grip and stammered, “I… I’m… Did I say that out loud?”

            “Don’t be worried.  You are cute when you be talking like that,” Hannah giggled.

            Grinding his teeth, Randy turned away from Hannah with a very red face.

            “I’ll, um… I’ll go check on Mom,” he mumbled, making a hasty exit down the hall.

            Slowly, Randy poked his head into his mother’s room.  Her breath was heavy and slow, and she barely moved in her sleep.  Carefully, cautiously, the short, dark man slipped into the room and shut the door behind him.  His mother shuffled a bit before her eyes fluttered slowly open.

            “Hi, Mom,” Randy whispered.

            His mother smiled, “Hi, honey.  How is your hand?”

            “It’s fine.  It’s all better.”

            “That’s great.  Come over here.”

            Randy sat down on one side of his mother’s hard mattress.  He adjusted her blankets and smoothed down her hair, though she tried to brush him away, insisting that she could do it herself.

            “Hannah,” she whispered, “won’t let me do anything, either.  I’m really not that sick, Randy.  I’ll be fine.”

            “It’s alright, Mom.  I don’t mind taking care of you.”

            “You shouldn’t have to.  You should be courting a nice girl, getting ready to have your own family, living on your own.  Randy, promise me…”

            “Yes, Mama?”

            “…Promise me…,” she breathed, “…you’ll find someone who- who makes you happy…”

            Randy’s vision clouded as he felt the tears forming, but he did not wipe them away.  His voice wavered when he replied.

            “I will, Mom.  I promise.”

Author's Note

Be critical, guys, okay? I'm trying to be totally serious about this.

Reviews

[Brandon]

Whoa! When did Seth die?

As far as word choice, "mimicked" again has a lot of negative connotation. The "cute" scene was a fail on Randy's part, but a win for Hannah (I liked it).

Is that the end? What happened to Danton? What happened to the rest of the wolves? I hope there's more coming, because this story feels like it needs concluding.