The In Between - 8. Charion

08 ~Charion~

Brandon and Jordan might have left their world in the grip of a mellow fall sliding slowly into a cool winter, but in the field of too tall grass, it was the middle of Charion's summer. The sun beating down from the sky was about as hot as Jordan's body radiating against Brandon's side. He trudged forward, dragging Jordan with him. A few more staggering steps had them out of the tall blades into a clearing which had shorter, normal looking grass, crops of some kind growing and a scatter of buildings, perhaps houses, in the distance. Brandon dropped to his knees and lowered Jordan to the ground.

"You okay, baby?" Brandon asked, placing his hand on Jordan's sweaty face. Jordan opened his eyes momentarily, but didn't respond. His face was white and sick looking...not at all how he appeared that evening when Brandon had arrived at his home. God, how long ago had that been? "I need to get some fluids into you," Brandon murmured. He had to do a whole hell of a lot more than that, he realized. The problem was he didn't even know what was wrong with Jordan, much less how to fix it. Laying here in this heat wasn't helping matters.

He looked up, wiping a sleeve across his sweaty brow and saw a child standing a few feet away, staring at him. "Hey," he said, smiling. The child, Brandon couldn't tell its gender, continued to stare, unsmiling. "Do you know where I could find some water or some shade?"

The child turned and shouted in a voice that was definitely feminine. "Mooooooom!"

Brandon sighed. Well, there went his plan for a quiet entry into this place. "Jordan? Can you get up? We need to get going."

"I don't suggest that," a new voice interrupted. Brandon looked up to see a woman of impressive girth approaching. She stopped next to the two of them, her hands on her hips and a disapproving expression on her face. "Another one, I see."

"What do you mean by another one?" Brandon asked. "And who the hell are you?" In all honesty, he was relieved. She looked human and spoke in passable English. An unknown accent slurred and colored her words, but he could make out most of them. And he hadn't seen any monsters yet.

"I am Anailde," the woman said. "I own this piece of land you are standing on. And your young man there is not the first to pass through here suffering from that affliction. He needs rest, medicine, and water. Will you let me tend to him?"

"You're not going to hurt him, are you?" Brandon asked, not trusting this new, albeit friendly, face one bit.

"Not without cause, I won't." Anailde bent and scooped Jordan up with an ease that impressed and embarrassed Brandon all at the same time. "But you have no choice. If you don't let me take care of him, he dies. And I won't have that resting on my soul when my time here ends. Come with me."

Brandon, feeling like things were going too fast out of his control, followed Anailde inside her house and watched with apprehension as she took Jordan to a room in the back and laid him down on a cot. She bustled around the room, moving with sure, quick movements and constantly bumped into Brandon, who was hovering nearby, until she crossly forced him to step out of the room.

Brandon took the opportunity to try to calm down and take in his surroundings. The room he was waiting in was small, lit up by the fierce rays of sunlight coming in through the windows. It was cluttered with comfortable looking chairs and other furniture, made from a deeply burnished, red wood. Nothing too strange yet, just the staggering disorientation of being in a completely unfamiliar place. Brandon sat down in a chair, hiding his face in his hands.

They had done it. They had made it to the in-between, but things hadn't gone the way Brandon thought they would. He hadn't found Leia and he still wasn't sure where she was. There was something really seriously wrong with Jordan that he didn't know how to fix. And now he was in this strange world where he didn't know anybody or anything. His mind was struggling to take it all in and he wished for a drink, a fleeting desire to calm this overanxious raging madness in his head.

He felt a small hand on his shoulder and flinched, looking up to see the face of the child who had been the first person he had seen when he walked into this world.

"Don't worry. My mum is a great medicine woman. She will have your friend healthy and smiling in no time."

"Your mom is a doctor?"

The child's expression faltered slightly. "A what?"

"Like a healer."

The child brightened and she nodded vigorously. "Yes. She heals people and makes them better. All of the ill villagers come here to get medicines."

Christ, if that wasn't a stroke of good fucking luck, he didn't know what was. He hoped the medicine of this world wasn't poisonous to them or anything.

"Are you an Outworlder?" the child asked.

"An Outworlder?"

"They come from the fields."

Brandon wasn't sure how to really answer that, but before he could formulate a suitable reply, the woman from before appeared in the doorway, silently as a ghost. "Maralya!"

The child flinched slightly, and then turned. "Yes, Mama?" she asked in a resigned tone.

"Did I give you permission to talk to him?" Anailde asked.

"No, Mama."

"Don't you have some chores to finish?"

"Yes, Mama," Maralya said, nodding her head slightly and running from the room. A few seconds later, he heard another door open and shut.

Brandon got to his feet. "Is he okay?"

"No, he's very sick. Sit down young man; I have some questions for you."

"Can I see-"

"Soon. Sit."

Brandon sat.

The woman sat down across from him, pulled open a drawer and extracted a pipe, lighting it. Brandon struggled to keep his expression neutral. He didn't like seeing women smoke, but this was the first one he had ever seen light up a pipe.

"You're an Outworlder, aren't you?" the woman said. "You and your companion."

"Outworlder," Brandon repeated carefully, wondering how much he should say and how much he could get away with not revealing. She was still a stranger.

"Not from this world," Anailde said. "You're not the first that has passed through here. You came from the Fields, correct? Only Outworlders pass through them."

Brandon didn't say anything. Anailde took a drag from her pipe and Brandon watched the way it curled and spiraled in the air.

"Why are you here?" Anailde asked.

"Looking for someone."

"Another Outworlder?"

"Yes."

"You won't be able to travel until the young man with you recovers."

"I know." Brandon paused for a moment, staring at her. "Why are you helping us?"

"I care for anyone who is sick. That is my purpose. And we are to accommodate Outworlders in any way we are able. That is a mandate from our Queen Goddess, and we obey her orders. You will be taken care of as long as you are under this roof. That is the will of the Queen Goddess. And your friend will be taken care of until he is well. That is the will of Anailde." Anailde stood up. "Do you need food? Water?"

"Both. But I want to see him."

She nodded. "Go sit with your friend then. I'll start dinner soon."

Brandon stood up and nodded. "Thank you."

Brandon sat, keeping an eye on Jordan until Maralya told him that he had to come and eat. He followed Maralya to a large table that was filled with women and children. He sat down next to Maralya a little nervously. He didn't notice any of these people coming inside. Then again, he had been closed up in that room watching Jordan all afternoon.

The women were all talking, loud boisterous voices, and Brandon tried to keep a low profile, but he stood out as being the only male over the age of ten at the table. He was pelted with questions and introductions until Anailde told them that he was an Outworlder and to leave him be. He ate his meal as quickly as etiquette allowed, barely tasting the flavor of the unfamiliar food across his tongue and then returned to his spot at Jordan's bedside. Anailde came in to give Jordan some medicine, and then gently sent Brandon to bed. Brandon fell into an unfamiliar bed in a strange room, surrounded by nothing that was familiar to him and fell into an uneasy sleep with misery as his only company.