The Sailor was clutching hard to the mast of his tiny sloop, despairing at the typhoon that had whipped up from the horizon with frightful speed and ferocity. The sails were long gone, the tattered remains of the fabric lashing in the unholy gale as the downpour pounded at the deck. Despite the chilling of the rain, sweat ran down his face from the effort of keeping his grip as great walls of water threatened to capsize his bath-toy of a ship.
All appeared to be lost, even the reason for his trip and the cargo that was entrusted to his care was irrelevant to his present plight. The handhold he had to his mast was starting to weaken, his fingers numb to feeling and limbs shaking incessantly from fatigue. In the next swell of the tempestuous sea the pitiable sailor was cast from his ship, landing in the frigid depths of the vast northern expanse; the Sailor’s Devil claiming more forgotten bones in his vast ocean
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Fritz awoke with a violent shiver despite the sweat bonding his clothes to his skin. Letting out a coarse cough he struggled to retrieve the sheets he had thrown from his body in his unconscious thrashing. His coughing continued, eyes bulging from his head with each harsh expulsion until he finally took a barrel-chested breath. He had no idea what time it was, but it was too dark to see the crystal of his watch.
Suddenly he felt as if he was at way too high of an altitude, his stomach slipping away from it’s normal station. In a mild delirium he tossed aside his blankets and clambered to his feet only to re-awaken a moment later, collapsed back on the couch. Coughing and sputtering he managed to shamble his way out of his ramshackle bedroom, waves of nausea turning the hallway into an Escher-esque journey.
Through the haze of fever he could feel it coming; a wave of sick was flushing his body and he was sure he was close to collapsing. His very bones felt like they were about to unknit and drop his body to the floor. Doubling over he crashed through into the bathroom, finding a large trashcan to embrace while a horrendous, gurgling scream burst from his throat. The first retch came up empty, his stomach clenching like a fist before jumping up his throat with the most horrible sensation.
He couldn’t stop shaking, hands clutching to the rim of the bin as if that could cease the chattering of his being. Another upheaval from his gut shuttered through him and again a pained scream was the only emesis. This happened every time his stomach felt ill, almost like his body struggled with the very concept of vomiting, his ribcage feeling like it was crushing his organs from the violent convulsions.
Fritz let out a wracking sob and spat into the can, praying that the nauseating sensation would pass as quickly as it had arisen. Thankfully he was granted a small mercy and his stomach relaxed, followed by The Chemist collapsing to the ground and passing out once again.
It must have been a few hours; once he awoke again he could hear the sound of birds making their morning calls and there was a bit more light that he could see by. He crawled and braced himself along the wall as he made his way back, barely keeping himself together until he collapsed back onto his couch. He thanked his past-self for refilling his bottles last night, he hadn’t a clue how long it would take him to gather the water from the roof. Maybe Sage would have had to get it for him.
The bottle of ibuprofen - as little as it was - called for two pills, Fritz making the call to take only one extra before trying to up the dose beyond that. He didn’t know off the top of his head - or his fever was making him forgetful - if the active ingredient got more potent or more ineffective past it’s expiration. Perhaps he didn’t have to worry too much, it was an over the counter medication after-all.
Finally slaking a rag he dabbed it on his head before laying back down, groaning out in such a miserable fashion. It was routine… and dreadful. After the first peak of sickness he knew he had enough time to bring all that he needed to his side; an adaptation not worth being temporarily crippled over. He had been wondering when all the bugs would eventually catch up to him. As he drifted off to sleep he tried to recall what all had contributed to his newest guests in his body.
The moment the ambush happened and his internment with the Guerrilla espionage he was sleeping even less and and even rougher. The food was more questionable - both in quality and freshness - if it was even available in the first place.
His death surely didn’t help him even if there wasn’t enough time for his wounds to fester. The filth from the motor factory, the rainstorm he had to run through, Sage’s claws and teeth; there was no end to all the compounding factors.
For the rest of the day, perhaps for several, Fritz was in and out of his senses; drifting between dreams and fever-clouded consciousness. Sage was in and out of the room, initially concerned and upset at his state; beyond that he didn’t have the presence of mind to pay great attention to anything else. He could have sworn he saw two Sages in the room at once; yet another thing to discard from the veil of fever.
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With a drawn out groan the child awoke from a fitful sleep, kicking off the bedspread that was entirely too stuffy for this time of the season. He flicked his eyes to the television while he waited for the ceiling fan to dry off his sweat. Thankfully, it was just a rerun of his adventure show - a rather good episode - though it didn’t matter if he missed today’s new episode; it would be back on eventually.
The Expedition had been mapping out completely virgin land and they had come across an entirely new race of beings. The previous episodes were slow, but there were whooping howls in the night and the occasional stone harmlessly cast from within the old mountains. The Captain of the expedition had the idea to make a show of cooking and eating their meal that night. Then, they set out the leftovers of the feast at the edge of the clearing while a few people kept watch. In the night they caught glimpses of massive creatures investigating the meal and single platter that was left outside. Come the morning, everything was gone save for a thumb sized lump of native copper.
The intriguing cliffhanger made him check the clock on the nightstand, realizing that the new episode wouldn’t be on till that evening; about another four hours. Instead of listening to advertisements and more re-runs he switched off the television and picked up one of the books from his nightstand and began to read. For the next couple of hours the child flipped through the textbooks given to him by his parents, occasionally taking a break to look at some of the nature magazines given to him by his sister and the outdoors magazines and bush-craft books adored by his father and brother.
He was torn between his studies and indulging in the photographs in the magazines, pining to get up from bed and throw open his bedroom window to take a better look outside. As he swept his legs off the bed he let out a few nasty coughs and gave up on the attempt. Beauty was blooming in the fields and forests, the edges of the window panes tinged yellow from the breeze-borne pollen. All of the fun that his father and siblings must be having out on their adventure hike and he was stuck inside once more.
With a huff of frustration followed by a regretful bout of coughing, Fritz pushed himself out of bed and left his bedroom to head downstairs. He just had to walk around a bit, despite becoming winded by the time he had made it down to the kitchen it was a pleasure to stretch his legs just a wee bit. From within he could here the clattering sounds of pots, pans and cutlery preparing some confection or another. There were the appropriate smells of a meal being prepared but there was another underlying and cruelly bitter smell that rivaled the strongest of coffees or teas.
As he nudged the door open he let out a stifled cough from the myriad of smells that came wafting from within, which was followed by a concerned response: “Fritz! Honey, what are you doing out of bed?”
“Sorry, Mom… I was tired of being in my room.” Her son said sheepishly.
With a good natured sigh she replaced the lid on the pot she was stirring and gracefully strode across the room to Fritz. Taking a knee, she placed the back of her palm on his forehead and hummed in thought: “Well, your fever feels like it’s gone down. I’ll get the thermometer; take a pew.”
Doing as he was told, he pulled out one of the high chairs and sat at the island in the center of the room. Laid out on it’s surface were all manner of apothecaries tools and bottles, most of which had repackaged after their respective uses. Of endless fascination to him was the scale with it’s shiny brass weights and the mortar and pestle. If he’d been up earlier he’d been able to watch his mother weigh out some of the herbs and medicine that she made from them. His legs swept back in forth from the chair as he poured over the knick-knacks and doodads, half of which he didn’t understand the purpose of.
“Here we are. Keep it under your tongue till it beeps.” His mother reminded him as she handed the thermometer to him.
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Continuing his childish version of ‘sitting still’, Fritz let the thermometer take it’s reading while he watched his Mom ladle some liquid out of a large pot. He wanted to ask what she was cooking, but realized that what she was preparing happened to be the source of the bitter smell in the air. Instead of ladling into a bowl she poured the steaming concoction into a filtering flask and a beige colour began to percolate through the filter paper.
As if she knew what he was thinking she spoke: “It’s for the Muller’s daughter. She’s come down with a bit of a fever as well, but it’s nothing too serious. Oh, Spring…”
She let out a light sigh, her attention drifting to the window as she was lost in a bit of thought; absently filtering the decoction until a light beeping sounded from the thermometer in Fritz’ mouth. Plucking it from her son she mumbled the reading: “Thirty-Seven point five… well, you’re almost out of it, but I would get yourself back to bed. Wouldn’t want it to come back with a fury, would you?”
“But-”
“Ahh, ahh!” She chided, raising a finger despite the graceful smile she wore: “Back to bed. You’ll have your fill of whimsy and adventure when your fever is gone and not a moment sooner.”
Fritz couldn’t help but let out a ragged huff of childish frustration, but he couldn’t deny his mother nor her reasoning. Yet, he saw his mother smile lovingly before she lent forward and kissed his forehead: “Now, everyone is going to be back in a bit; we’ll all watch the new episode of your show over supper.”
As if it was another hint of her foresight, the sounds of conversation preceding the opening of the front door to the home. The mirthful laughter of his father was most apparent, but below his bellow were the giggles of his elder sister and younger brother.
“Alright, go get washed up and changed; smells like dinner is almost ready.” He commanded jovially, the sound of his boots against the floorboards growing louder as he walked into his home.
After all the clamoring from the arrival, his father appeared in the kitchen; a content smile parting his bestubbled face. When he noticed his wife and son, the smile widened: “Well, look who’s out of the recovery ward!”
“Hey dad,” Fritz croaked out with a grin.
“How’s the lad doing?” He asked his spouse, interrupting her answer with a quick kiss.
“Doing better, dear, but he should really be back in bed.” She said with a light laugh, her hand patting his chest; “How was the hike?”
“Had a pretty good ruck, myself. We found a patch of morel that you might like to peruse. I’ll tell you more about it tonight. Now, let’s get this guy back up to his cot.” With a whistled tune, he lifted Fritz up and placed him on his shoulders: “Come on, another year and we won’t be able to get past a threshold!”
Each door that they came across, both he and his dad had to duck down to make it through; each one accompanied by a playful whistle. Once more Fritz was placed in his bed; with a tussle of his hair and a promise that he would return once he had cleaned up, his father left.
Before too long, the whole family was tucking into a casserole made from the week's leftovers whilst they watched Fritz’ adventure show. The strange creatures were finally revealed; massive, ape-like beings that lived in the ancient caves of the mountains. They had a particular fascination with the group’s food, quite distinctly on the blocks of enriched salts that they had brought with them to both season and preserve any game they had hunted. The linguist of the group had a bit of a moment to shine, intrigued as he was with their language of whistling, gorilla like grunting-whoops. He never quite got it figured out, but the episode ended with the group managing a larger trade of salt for more of the native copper that the creatures had left behind the night previously.
In the end, they had gained a trunk full of the surprisingly lustrous metal, hinting towards the richness of this new land. These great creatures seemed to mine the metal, perhaps if they acquired an understanding of their language they could be allies and able to document a new people for history. They couldn’t help but talk excitedly at dinner every night, every master of their trade offering their speculation on what could be added to the logs of scientific posterity. The romantic possibilities were endless, the success of their introduction and trade boosting their moods as they explored the majesty of the land. They had and felt the honored distinction of being the first of their kind to witness what Creation had to offer.
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Fritz shuttered awake, wondering how long he’d been out of it as well as how he was still alive. He was propped up on pillows that he hadn’t seen before and there was a whole new layer of musty blankets draped across his body. As confused as he was about his new accommodations he gagged, realizing there was a disagreeable antiseptic taste in his mouth that seemed to get more potent the longer he was awake. Leaning over he spotted a waste bin that was rather conveniently left by his couch made sick-bed; spitting out what he realized to be the stems and leaves of some plant.
The only assumption he could make was that Sage has been feeding him, both food and the foul tasting herb. It seemed a reasonable one, as he noticed the table had an assortment of new bottles, fruits and some other plants bundled on it’s surface. Despite how weak he felt Fritz managed to stand himself up to get a better look at the clippings as he quaffed down one of the bottles of water.
Among the plants he could not identify was one with a familiar cluster of creamy, white flowers and leaves that looked somewhat like Spearmint, all of which pullulated from a reddish stem. Although he was already sure, he brought the flower close to his nose and got a whiff of sweetness entwined with a noticeable antiseptic smell. Though, his confirmation awarded him a violent sneeze and a painfully prolonged bout of coughing that took a few minutes to subside.
By the time his breathing settled into a bearable state he’d put himself back on the couch, taking ragged gasps of air and coughing up a disgusting amount of phlegm. Apparently his commotion was within ear-shot of others and drew some rather immediate attention. Movement at the door made him pause in his expectorations, the now familiar form of Sage coming into sight along with… Sage again?
The Chemist had to give himself a double-take and the reassurance that he was, in fact, in possession of his glasses. After a moment of thought his weird memory of the double Sage at the start of his fever started to make sense, but that created another mystery.
“Fitz is feeling better?” She asked.
“A little bit,” His voice was gravely and congested, sounding as if it came from a frog at the bottom of a well: “How did the two of you know about the Meadowsweet and those other plants?”
“Ma knows!” She said with some amount of familial pride, gesturing to her double from the future: “Knows plants for… Fitz disease… Bad Heat from your head.”
Her mother gave a single nod before turning, softly saying back: “Looks okay… come back at dark.”
She then turned her attention back to Fritz, her dark green eyes boring deep into his own. It was mostly a cold stare, but there was a touch of concern and perhaps the ghost of compassion in their depths. The disconcertingly familiar experience of being locked in the gaze of a predator made The Chemist stifle a shudder as his hairs stood on end. Thankfully, her next words made up for his discomfort: “Face feel okay? From him… hit?”
Nodding, Fritz assured her that he was okay and that he understood why it had happened. He tried to offer an apology, but how well it was comprehended by the woman was, frankly, up in the air. Conversation, in general, was frosty compared to Sage’s gift of gab. Before too long she curtly excused herself; her worries or questions, apparently, resolved to some standard.
“Huh. Well, your mother is quite… dependable; someone you can rely on.” Fritz ventured, trying to break the silence left behind by her absence.
Sage nodded in her typical, enthusiastic manner: “She knows things, but different to Fitz Odd-Ear things. Good plants for… eatin’ and sick.”
Fritz was quiet for a couple of moments, mulling over what she had said. It wasn’t exactly like they knew about these plants in the same manner that he had learned from his mother. Speculation was all he had to rely on for the moment, however, he was dead certain that they learned just as the ancient humans did: Trial, Error, Instinct and Inherited Knowledge. It would explain how the whole tribe appeared to be healthy despite living in somewhat squalid conditions; an exceptional immune system couldn’t explain the health of the young and the old, either.
It made sense to him; time would tell if he was truly correct. Noticing that Sage was growing restless by his silence, he tucked those thoughts away: “How long have I been out? I don’t really remember much through the fever.”
“Ohh… four days? Fitz… was very sick.”
“Damn, that is far too long.” He let out a raspy sigh and laid back down, the short conversation enough to sap what little strength he had recovered: “Thank you for looking after me. Hopefully I will be better in a few days.”
Picking up on Fritz’s weariness Sage made her way out of the room, The Chemist already nodding off into a more restful sleep. Little did the both of them realize that it was only a matter of time before a new epoch would be dawning thanks to their collaborations. Despite the setback or the misfortunes that would befall them; the future belongs to those who show up for it.
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