Windorm

Muttering voices. Silence. Clearer. Silence. Bright lights. Darkness. People. Darkness. My eyes fluttered open.

“Hello?” I managed to choke out through my dry throat. I needed water. My hands felt around where I lay. Soft, silk sheets on a bed that was softer than I imagined a cloud to be. A thick, feather pillow was crushed under my heavy head. It was comfortable. Too comfortable. I felt a hand on my shoulder and I tried to raise my head. Next thing I know I was on the cold, hard tile. I groaned in agony, my entire body ached with pain. My crusted eyes opened fully and I attempted to push myself up. A leg kicked me in the ribs and I fell back down, choking. I was covered in blood. It was bright in comparison to the white floor.

“Get up, Dage.” said a soft voice, though it was stern. It was slightly familiar. Like a voice I heard in a dream. Before I could act I took another blow to the side. I coughed up blood, staining the pale tile. I weakly stood, taking in the white room around me and the lady. I faintly recognized her.

“Where am I?” I questioned. She giggled. I didn't exactly find it funny, but she was laughing.

“Dear, you're home.” she said with a smile. No, this was not home. Who is this lady?

“This isn't my home. Who are you and what do you want with me?” I demanded. Her face switched to disappointment.

“Do you remember last night?” she asked. How is this relevant?, I thought. I strained to remember. Thinking hurt my throbbing head. I remembered nothing. I shook my head and she sighed.

“You are so weak. Such a lame spawn. You'll need so much work.” she muttered. Her words made no sense to me. I ignored them. My eyesight went black and I fainted, falling on the spot of blood on the floor, my hair soaking the dark liquid. A kick drove me to consciousness. I yelped like an abused puppy. I was too sore to move. The lady groaned, sitting her elegant body on the bed.

“Bitch!” I screamed, pushing to get myself up. Another kick drove me against the wall. I coughed up more blood, holding my sides and smearing blood on the white walls. I strained my eyes open to see the lady casually rubbing her kicking foot.

“Dage, dear. Where are your manners? Surely the imperfects taught you better than this.” she spoke. My mind raced with questions. It hurt to think so hard. I tried to clear my mind and the throbbing eased.

“Would you like me to fill you in?” she asked. I stared blankly at her. She sniffed, slightly turning her head. “Dage, you're my son.”

“Uh, no?” I said, dumbfounded by her words. She laughed, again nothing was funny.

“So ignorant, dear boy. Do you know where you're from?” she questioned. I tried to think and of course it hurt.

“Er, somewhere in Oregon. I'm too woozy to remember exactly.” I answered honestly.

“Incorrect. Well, not exactly. I should have reworded my question, yet you were born in Eckror. A whole other world! It's extraordinary, isn't it?” she explained. I wasn't comprehending what she was saying. It went in one ear and out the other. I wasn't registering the information that threw my entire life's balance out of order and would further corrupt it. I unconsciously nodded my head.

“It'll come to you soon. Until then, rest. We've waited years for your return. We'll need you strong and rested.” she cooed. She picked my battered body off the floor and lied me softly on the bed. I tried to keep my eyes open, but failed. She left the white room and I drifted into a painful sleep.

Dage fell to his knees, the sharp rocks cutting through his jeans and scraping his skin.

“Where am I?” Dage asked himself. The world around him was gray, rocky and barren. The sky was bleak and everything was colorless. A voice called in the distance. His ears strained to hear the words. They were calling his name. The voice seemed to sound distantly familiar. Such as a voice he had heard from a stranger who, for a moment, was at his side and then gone. So, of course, he'd no idea of who it belonged to. He felt compelled to follow the voice. So he ran towards it. The voice didn't seem to come closer. He kept running in desperation and a dark figure stood feet ahead of him. He was closer. He tried to call out, but no noise escaped his lips. He stumbled and fell, skidding on the rough earth and stopped at the feet of the figure. It was a boy. He looked awfully familiar to Dage. Then Dage realized it.