“Is it really okay for me to eat this?” he asked nervously.
“Have as much as you want,” Caedmon smiled. “I’m afraid that it’s only leftovers from an early supper, but it’s the best I could come up with under such short notice.”
“It’s more than enough!”
Alistar ate a spoonful of the stew and was blown away by the taste. He tried to hide his reaction, tried to maintain his composure and eat small, calculated bites just as his mother had instructed him to do during all of his unfathomable lessons on manners and etiquette. He figured that if there was ever a place to put the previously useless knowledge to use, it was here in this great dining hall. But it was impossible. There were too many tastes that he’d never experienced, all in just a single bite. A variety of vegetables made up the delicious stew, while the bread was warm, soft and rich. He gulped down all of the milk in one go, for he had never enjoyed such a savoury sweetness in a drink. Alistar asked what each of the ingredients were while unconscious tears pooled at the corners of his eyes, his voice light with emotion all the while.
“You tried telling me I don’t know anything when you don’t even know the difference between carrots and corn?” sneered Anice.
Caedmon held up a hand, his expression low in thought. “Could it be that you’ve never eaten these foods before?” His eyes idled on the silver bracelet that Alistar wore on his wrist.
Alistar nodded as he swallowed down the last of his food, his body soaking up the nutrients and revelling in the flavour. He went to wipe his mouth with his bare arm—the clothes that Caedmon sent for had yet to arrive—but paused and remembered to dab at his mouth with the linen napkin that sat beside his plate. He also cleared away his tears. “Thank you! Thank you so much!” He bowed his head so low that his face almost touched the wooden tabletop. “That was the most delicious food I’ve ever eaten.”
“Young man, you never did give me your name.”
“I’m sorry,” he blurted. He’d forgotten his manners after Anice had attacked him. “It’s Alistar.”
“Alistar…” Caedmon stared deeply into his eyes. He had been staring a little too intently and it had made Alistar rather uncomfortable, but he’d chosen to ignore it since the man had extended great kindness toward him. “If you don’t mind, won’t you tell me about what happened to you? How does someone your age find themselves lying unconscious on the Winding Road, and covered in your own blood?”
“I…” Alistar faltered, his strength leaving him as he was forced to recall some dreaded memories.
“Then, I’ll go first. A close friend of mine was on his way back from a long trip into the Baldor Empire when he found you lying half-dead on the roadside. By yourself, in the middle of the Tall Mountain Range. The healer that he’d hired had been killed by a danger beast earlier that day, so he treated you to the best of his abilities. He couldn’t afford to lose time backtracking to the nearest town, so he decided to bring you home with him. That was two week ago, Alistar.”
He had been asleep for two weeks? That couldn’t be possible. He’d surely have starved by now, or else died of thirst.
“We’ve had healers check up on you each day, to make sure that your body remained healthy. You’d been exposed to at least a dozen harmful plants, which gave them a good deal of trouble.”
Before he was aware of it, Alistar had begun to cry. Memories that he preferred to forget were rushing to the fore of his mind at an overwhelming rate. It was too much. The moment he began to sob, Anice shifted uncomfortably.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
“Easy there, lad. You take your time, and then tell me what happened whenever you’re ready.”
He cried until his eyes burned, almost as much as when his father had passed away. Caedmon sat patiently all the while, Anice averting her gaze as she kept to herself. It was clear that she wanted to leave the room.
When he was finally able to speak, Alistar explained the circumstances of his fate. He went into depth that far surpassed what was necessary, telling them of the years before he had been freed, of his early days in the mines. He didn’t know why, but he felt that he had to get everything out, that by exposing all of his hardships he might somehow ease the pain within his tormented heart. He told them everything about Crystellum. How he was born into slavery, and the manner in which he and his family were treated each day.
He spoke of his father’s death and of the crippling sadness that came with losing him. Of how his mother had contracted a similar sickness just two years later, and how he had done his best to pull his own weight from then on, struggling in desperation to lessen her burden. He described the day that he and his uncle were freed, and the feelings of betrayal that he’d felt at the time—that he still felt—in leaving the rest of his family behind. He spared no detail, his voice heavy with emotion as he related how amazing the world above ground had been the first time that he’d beheld it.
By the time he recounted his uncle’s murder and his terrifying escape, his words were shaking with both sadness and anger. Lastly was the encounter with the massive snake, and how it had killed Bertrand in the end. The story concluded with him losing consciousness on the side of what was apparently the Winding Road, tears flowing freely down his face after reliving so many terrible moments.
Caedmon’s eyes were wet with sympathy, though his face seemed red with anger above anything else. Even the haughty Anice couldn’t hide her tears, though she left the room the moment that she began to cry.
One of the helpers had come to clear Alistar’s dishes at some point and another had arrived with his clothes, but both had ended up standing off to the side in silence. They had been present for much of the story, both discreetly wiping at their eyes as they respected the sensitivity of the situation.
Throughout much of his account, Caedmon had been the face of sympathy, though now his stare gave off an uneasy feeling.
“Alistar…what is your mother’s name?”
“My mama’s name? It’s Laisha.”
Caedmon’s entire body went rigid, as if a cold wind had just enveloped him. His face warped into an unreadable expression that wasn’t becoming of a man of such gentleness and grace. He stood up and made to say something, but his words died in his mouth. He nodded along to a thought that he didn’t bother to voice before standing from his seat and running out of the room with unstable steps.
Soon Alistar could hear him yelling orders to unseen people, the urgency in the man’s voice stunning him into silence.
The two helpers looked completely taken aback, as if they’d just seen an impossible sight. At a loss, they helped Alistar into the fine tunic that they’d brought for him, a surviving piece from Caedmon’s boyhood. After that, they escorted him back to the room in the basement where he’d first woken up. There, he pulled on soft pair of stockings and stood alone within his temporary quarters, finding solace in the silence.
He sat in a well-furnished room within the most amazing place that he had ever laid eyes on, dressed in clothes so fine that he was scared to dirty them. Under different circumstances, he would be happier than anybody. Currently, however, all he could do was cry. He wished that he could hold Kaila’s hand, that they could share the silence as they always did. But more than anything, he wanted to bury himself in his mother’s arms.
His mind drifted to his uncle’s final moments, to the desperate and frightened look he’d worn as his life seeped from his body.
Alistar climbed atop the big, empty bed and curled into a helpless little ball. He hugged a nearby pillow and used it to muffle his sobs. There was no telling how long he cried for, though at least he was left alone for the rest of the night.
Once his eyes had finally run dry and a draining headache had set in, he stared up at the ceiling with regret. Don’t worry, Uncle. I made it out of the forest. I’m safe now.
At some point he thought he heard someone outside of his room, though he was too distressed to pay them any mind. Before he knew it, despite having just woken from such a long slumber, he drifted off into a dreary dreamscape.