61 A.D. by Dr. Quill

Author:Dr. Quill
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2015-08-19T07:00:00+00:00

He opened his eyes to the timid rays of dawn, and saw the semicircle of black-maned, long-bearded, two-legged pride of beasts smirking down at him. A formidable creature, his broad shoulders eclipsing the early light of day, was kicking him in the soles.

“Wakey wakey, boy!”

Rosol shook off the confusion as fast he could and sprang up on his feet.

“What brings you to our humble abode?” The giant was titillating Rosol’s ears with a tinge of an unusual accent – like learnt people had. He accompanied that with a histrionic bow, not like a manly soldier bowing to royalty, but more like a lady in waiting at a ball must have done – not that Rosol or anybody else around him had ever seen one, but men’s imagination is a powerful force. The incongruity was so funny, that Rosol involuntarily joined the chorus of laughing savages.

“Do you find me funny, stranger?” The giant was obviously the chieftain of this unlikely tribe of woody men-ries. He stopped laughing and got close in Rosol’s face.

“You’d better answer my question, boy! Didn’t you know one has to know me for two full moons, before being bestowed the privilege of laughing in my presence?”

A sudden silence filled the forest. A distant woodpecker became audible, and Rosol felt it was knocking at his head. Shoulder to shoulder, the curious giant’s width was more than two Rosols put together. Should this encounter have taken place only one day earlier, the youngling would have surely pissed himself. But a lot had happened the previous day.

He gathered his scattered gall and answered as equably as he could,

“No, sir. I don’t think you’re funny.”

The giant and his men burst into laughter. He looked around and slammed his hand on his oak of a thigh, saying:

“You’re weird, boy. Everyone else thinks I’m damn funny.”

Rosol laughed half-heartedly. Unexpectedly, the man looked at him with eyes that were clearly capable of kindness.

“You must have been through a lot.” He put his shovel of a hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“Any lonely soul, lost so deep in the woods, drags a story with him as heavy as a chain ball. I know that. You still have to answer our question, though, no matter how painful the answer. It’s our group rule.”

Rosol looked up around him, hoping for a new outbreak of joviality. The faces stayed serious; this was no joke.

“I thought I just did…” he murmured.

The giant waived his hand dismissively and clarified with a gentle move of his head, like people sometimes do when encouraging a friend to recall and confide:

“Not that one, you idiot. The first question.”

Rosol knew what he meant. He wanted to speak, but not to them; if he opened the wound in front of strangers, so soon after the cut, he was afraid it might never close, but fester and spread. And he did not want to putrefy, not just yet; he had a mission to complete - or at least, to attempt. Succeed, or die trying; there was no other way to redemption.

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