Yesterday's Son

For the third time, Toland fell from Tatiana's back. Dust billowed up around him as he cried out in pain; his ravaged leg had taken the brunt of the fall. He laid there in agony; his strength was ebbing, as was his hope to make it back to Eternal Rose before sunrise.

Tatiana laid down next to her fallen rider, nuzzling him with her velvet soft nose, trying to encourage him to get back on her. Some how, the mare knew that time was running out for the master she loved. Toland could barely manage to lift a hand to the saddle horn; he had lost so much vital blood. He felt himself slowly drifting into torpor; his hand fell away from the saddle as the mare suddenly got to her feet. She snorted and neighed a sharp warning. Toland could hear a low voice speaking calming words to the horse.

"Steady girl. I am not going to hurt him. I will help him if I can," said the soothing voice.

Toland tried to fix his eyes on the owner of the voice, managing to bring a hand up to wipe dust from his face. His vision was swimming in and out of focus; he gave up on that idea. A firm but gentle hand pushed him back.

"Lay still, lad. Let me see how bad off you are," the man said to the fallen Toreador.

Toland had no trouble obliging the stranger; he was too weak to do much else. Two hands ran over his body, and then hesitated at the bloody mess of his left thigh.

"Had a run in with those blasted lupine bastards, did ya now?" the man said with a clucking of his tongue. "Chewed you up right well, they did. Well, I cannot be of any good to you here. Let's see if we can get you back on yer good mare here and get you fixed up right."

Strong hands went under Toland's arms, lifting him up to his feet. He groaned with the painful pressure his weight put on his leg, his hands reaching out to steady him, finding the reassuring presence of Tatiana in front of him and grasped the edge of the saddle. The man behind him took two hands full of Toland's clothing and lifted him as easily as he could up into the saddle. Toland leaned forward, placing his weight on the mare's sturdy neck, taking hands full of her soft but tangled mane.

The stranger took up the reins and began to lead the mare off the road. "It's lucky for you lad that I was out looking for mushrooms and other medicinal tonight. In addition, better yet, so close to my home. Once we get you there, I will be able to get you fixed up proper, "the man said as he carefully lead the mare through the trees.

Toland started to speak, choked on his dry throat and coughed.

"Easy now lad! Do not cough yourself right out of the saddle again. I don't think you can handle another spill."

"Who are you?" Toland managed to say after a moment, in a croaked voice.

"Name's Chadwick, "he replied with a chuckle, "but folks around here call me the Hermit and guess they are right. I am a bit of a hermit. Don't much take to other people. They always seem to expect you to talk to them and be sociable. I have no time for being sociable. Too many other things I'd rather be doing'."

They continued in silence. Toland kept his attention on staying in the saddle. He knew Chadwick was correct in not wanting him to fall again. Chadwick was intent on guiding Tatiana through the dense foliage for the same reason. The trees soon gave way to a clearing.

"Ah, here we are, home," the old hermit spoke.

Toland lifted his eyes and was just able to discern a modest cottage set amongst a stand of silver birch trees. The small windows glowed with the light from oil lanterns burning on the ledges. A rather dubious looking lean-to was on the right side of the cottage. A fence about it contained a cow, three goats, and a worn looking old draft horse. The goats, with heads stuck through the fence, watched them with those curious looking golden slit eyes that only goats seemed to possess. The cow and horse paid them no heed. The cow was chewing her cud, quite content amongst a deep bed of old straw. The horse had its head lowered in sleep, nearly touching the straw that blew with each of its breath. In the loft, several chickens stirred with the soft ruffle of feathers as they placed their heads back under wings.

Chadwick dropped the reins when they were near the door to the cottage. He moved around to the side to help Toland from the horse. "All right lad, easy now. I have you," he said as he got a firm grasp on him.

Toland leaned off to the side, doing his best not to fall on the aiding man. He grit his teeth as his leg bumped against the old man's hip, stifling the moan of pain. With his left arm around Chadwick's shoulders, his right hand still grasping the saddle horn, he gained his balance on his good leg. Together, the two shuffled to the door. The hermit pulled a latch bar back, then gave it a push open. The door swung inwards with a creak, warmth from a fireplace that glowed from the back of the small front room, welcomed them.

A sturdy table with two well-made chairs was set before it. The top was carefully arranged with all manner of flagons, vials in a small wooden rack, bowls and a mixture of dried herbs around a mortar and pestle. Several large tomes rested on top of one of the chairs. One book was open, propped against the ladder back of the chair. To the left of the fireplace was a wood and rope bed. A thick mattress covered with several blankets, some more worn out then others, but, to Toland, it looked most inviting.

It was to there that they worked their way. Chadwick carefully helped lower Toland to sit upon it. As gently as he could manage, he took Toland's legs and turned him until both legs were upon the bed that creaked with Toland's weight. He lay back with a heavy sigh of relief.

Chadwick left him to take down one of the oil lanterns from the windows; he turned and took hold of the one vacant chair, pulling it over to the bedside, setting the lantern upon its seat. Kneeling beside the bed, he began to undo the blood soaked strip of cloak from the wound on Toland's thigh. A hiss slipped between the man's tight lips upon seeing the damage.

"Aye, those dogs did you a nasty one, lad," he stated, shaking his head. "Nothing the old Hermit can't fix up, though it's going to be mostly up to you for it to heal properly."

Toland turned his head slightly, squinting to see the man in the bright light of the lantern. The face he saw was that of a man only about ten years older then him at the time of his embrace, not that many months ago. His eyes were an intense deep blue; his hair was almost completely white and hung limply about his worn face. A face worn by hard times but held a remarkable wisdom in those eyes. His lips were thin from the constant pull of intense study. His nose seemed noble, a chin set with a small dimple, and high cheekbones gave him a Nordic flair. He was probably only about four inches shorter then Toland, judging by when he helped him walk. Then he noted that dawn was drawing near from the window, which the lantern was removed.

"Chadwick," he began with a cracked voice, "I know this may seem like a strange request, but is it possible that you can cover the windows to keep out the coming sun? You see, I cannot bear the sunlight and..."

Chadwick's head snapped about to look Toland deep in the eyes, shocked reality brightened his eyes as he realized the man on his bed nature. "Yes, I can do that," he replied, pushing himself to his feet with the aid of the bed‘s edge.

He quickly walked over to the window he had removed the lantern from, pulling a large shutter closed over it, lowering a crossbar down to rest in a wooden hook. He did the same to the other window, after taking the remaining lamp and hanging it on a hook next to the door and made sure to pull the door tightly shut and barred as well. With the task done, he turned, hands firmly planted on his hips and glared at Toland.

"So, you are one that walks the night. I had heard that Venice had some questionable inhabitants from the travelers that visit me from time to time to barter," he spoke solemnly. "I guess it is true then, but I should have guessed. The lupines do not usually attack mere mortals, unless they have reason to, and what more reason than for one to be a vampire. They hate your kind, you know."

Toland struggled up onto his elbows, attempting to get out of the bed. "I'll leave if you don't wish for my kind to be under your roof and meet my fate in the rising sun. Then I will be one less monstrosity for humanity to deal with."
Chadwick rushed over to him, pushing him back down on the bed with both hands. "You will do no such thing!" Chadwick's voice boomed. "I only said that the lupines hated you, not I! I assist you and you will take it, whether you like it or not! Now lie back down!"

Toland grudgingly obliged. Chadwick moved over to the fireplace, taking a small kettle filled with water and hanging it on a long bar hinged within the fireplace, slowly pushing it in over the flames, careful not to slop the water, dousing the fire. He stooped down in front of it, taking a poker to stir the flames up from the growing ashes. He then hurried about the cottage, gathering up an assortment of items, and then standing in front of the table, he began to measure and mix ingredients using the mortar and pestle. Going back to the fireplace, the old man took a dipper off a hook embedded in the stone, dipped it into the kettle, carried the steaming water back to the table, pouring it into a small earthen bowl, then adding the dry ingredients. He worked them into a poultice, applying the finished substance to a large strip of cloth. Blowing on it to cool it more, he carried it over to where Toland laid. Setting the poultice aside, he pulled a small blade from a sheath strapped to his boot. Carefully he cut away the tattered remains of Toland breeches. With gentle fingers, he prodded the torn flesh, aligning the edges as best he could.

"I don't know if what I am doing is right, I've never had the chance to doctor a vampire before," Chadwick said with a sigh of resign. "What I imagine you need more is blood. Something I don't keep on hand in my medicine box, lad."

Toland watched him with pain-filled eyes as Chadwick placed the poultice upon the wound, lifting his thigh to bind it in place. With a feeble smile on his lips, he spoke in a mere whisper, "Please, stop calling me lad. You are not much older than I am. My name is Toland. Toland Whiteharte."

Chadwick gasped and paled. That was the last Toland remembered as he slipped into unconsciousness.