Changelings - Ch 6: Pandora

Ch 6: Pandora

A pregnant woman came stumbling out of the forest near my grandmother’s house, claiming to be pregnant with my recently deceased father’s baby.

My grandmother took my mother in, and took care of her.

My mother died in birthing me, but my Grandmother worked custody out with the authorities.

My mother hadn’t been lying, because I looked exactly like my father; accept for my mother’s auburn hair.

“Pandora!”

I could hear my grandmother. I could. Even though we were separated by a quarter mile of forest.

“Listen, Grace.” I said.

“I may be blind, but not deaf. Go on, your grandmother’s waiting.”

I looked at Grace in her dress; made out of scraps of cloth she had gotten who knew where. Her short, blonde hair and her pale, sightless eyes.

It must be hard to be a blind orphan, especially in the woods. That sounded like something out of a book.

“Pandora, I know your still there. Blind person’s sixth sense, remember?”

I laughed.

“Alright, Grace.” I grabbed my bag and hopped up off the forest floor. “Hang in there.” I said, and ran off with all the speed that comes from living in the forest your whole life.

I heard a cry back and to the left of where I’d come from, where Grace was. She wouldn’t have gone that fast. Her voice wasn’t that deep. Besides, this was our domain. We didn’t get into trouble in the forest, we two.

I reached the place I thought the sound had come from, and turned a quick circle. I didn’t see anything. I held totally still.

I heard rapid, shallow breathing.

I walked quickly and quietly towards the sound. I walked into a clearing, and saw something that almost made me drop dead with surprise.

There was a boy sitting in the clearing. His hair was short, curly and tousled, the color of the darkest leaves I had ever seen.

He was dressed strangely, in styles I had never seen before, even in The City.

This was not what had shocked me, though.

What shocked me, was that he had an arrow sticking out of his side. His shirt was drenched in blood.

What should I do?

He looked up at my sharp intake of breath. His eyes where pale brown, but a rich color, no darker than honey, the color walnut shells should be. He smiled slightly, and it struck me how handsome he was.

I stepped into the clearing, not losing eye contact with him. I walked right up to him.

“I’d pull it out.” He said apologetically. His voice was rich, his accent slightly off. “But I’d bleed to death. That, and I don’t really have the guts to do it myself.”

“Not, not if you put enough pressure on it.” I said.

“Well, yes.” He said. “But I don’t have enough strength left, so.” He shrugged.

I dug in my bag with one hand, and pulled out a bundle of white cloth. Old, ripped up sheets. I carried them around in case I twisted my ankle or something, so I could tie on a splint. Now I was very glad I did.

I pulled out my thermos, a strong, plastic thing. I set it to the side with the bandages, sitting on my bag.

“You can’t travel like that.” I said.

“Oh, no, I’m just going to wait here and die.” He told me. Dead serious. He couldn’t be much older than I was. I glanced again at his green hair. Maybe he could.

“You ready?” I asked. He knew what I was going to do.

He shrugged. “I never will be. Go ahead.”

I broke off the shaft of the arrow at the fletched end. He grunted, but didn’t make any other sound. I tipped him forward, and put the thermos to the broken end. With all my strength, pushed the arrow through, and pulled it out of his back.

I immediately pressed cloth to the wounds on both sides. He was shaking, but he smiled at me.

I washed the wounds with water from my thermos, and bound them with more cloths, hoping it would be enough till I could get him to Grace’s.

“Can you stand?” I asked.

“Nope.” He said cheerily. “Best to just leave me here. Might take your bandages with you. I’m sure you need them, and it would quicken the process.”

I gave him a nice, long glare.

“Oh, fine then.” He said. “If it makes you happy. You’ll have to help me, though.” I gave it a moment’s thought, then went over and reached down my hand, even though I knew I wasn’t going to be lifting someone twice my bodyweight any time soon.

He took my hand, and held a tree branch, and pulled himself up, mostly by the tree branch, I knew. He stumbled, but caught onto it.

I was having second thoughts. Clearly this showed on my face, because he smiled at me.

“All good!” He said confidently. “I can stand; I’m just not so good with the balance thing at the moment.”

I held out my hand and he took it. His was so much bigger; it was hard to believe I’d be of much help. Still, this was only for balance.

“So, how far is this place you’re taking me?” He asked.

“Not too far.” I said. I had decided Grace’s was too far. Grandmother’s house was better.

I looked at him again. At his green hair. His really, really natural looking green hair.

“Are you human?” I asked.

He smiled, seemingly amused. “As human as you are.”

We walked in silence for a while.

“So, where are we headed?” He asked.

“My house. It’s the only one near here.” I had a lot of questions. A lot. How had he gotten out here into the middle of nowhere? What about the arrow? And that was only the tip of the iceberg.

Still. It could wait. He was hurt.

I pushed the door open. Grandma was sitting in chair at the table, working on some handmade item. We made things, and sold them to Grandma’s sister – in – law’s shop in The City.

“Pandora, what—?” she broke off as the boy staggered through the door.

“Grandma, he’s hurt.” I said.

“Al- alright.” I took him to my bed, as it was closest, on the floor in the main room of the house.

“Grandma? He’s really pretty badly hurt. He had an arrow” he sat down on the bed and I pulled up his shirt to show his bandages. “Through his side.”

Grandma stood up.

“I rinsed it, but if you could clean it more thoroughly, and press cloth to it, but don’t bandage it up, please. I have to go get help.” And I ran from the house. As I went I heard the boy comment.

“This is a lovely house.”

How could he be so calm about the risk of death?

I sacrificed a little stealth for a lot of speed, grabbing trees to turn. I ran up the hill a bit, and dove through a bramble bush. Unnecessary, but a shortcut. I ran into the cave.

“Grace!” I called.

“Pandora, could you move more loudly?”

“No choice.” I panted. “I need your help.”

“Is your Grandmother ok?” She asked.

“Yes, yes she’s fine. Just – Just come.” I said.

“Alright.” She said. She took her herb bag, and reached out for my hand. She could move well in the forest without help. She couldn’t move as quickly as necessary, though.

We ran off through the forest, me leading. It only took us about a quarter of an hour to get back to the house.

We stopped outside, and I pulled open the door a crack. My grandmother was chuckling darkly.

“How can you be so chipper when you very well could die?” She asked.

“Well, it’s not like I didn’t expect to be taken out.” He said. “And my usefulness had already expired, so there’s really no point in extending my life further. I’m very grateful for what you’re doing, though. Even though I talk like that, I don’t really want to die very much.” He said all this in a tone of voice that wouldn’t be out of place at a conversation about weather, over waffles.

“And you still won’t tell me who you are, where you’re from, who shot you, why with an arrow, why you where taken out, how you knew you would be, what exactly your use was, or why it is no longer valid.” I could hear the glare in Grandma’s voice.

“Nope.” He said happily.

“Ugh.” She smacked her palm against the table. “I’m going outside.” She walked towards the door.

Grace and I ducked behind the wood pile, and then went in once Grandma had strolled out of sight.

“Alright.” I said. “This is Grace. She can help with your wounds.” He smiled at her.

“Hey, haven’t we met somewhere before? Something having to do with the G famil—” Grace slapped a hand over his mouth. I was impressed by her aim. She was blind, after all.

“I don’t know who you’ve mistaken me for, but I’ve never met you.” She said with such insistence, I was surprised. Their eyes met. Or, at least, his eyes met hers. His brown, hers the bluest white there was.

He smiled. “Of course not. I’m sorry.” He said.

Grace got out her bag, and put some herbs on his wounds. She was in the middle of wrapping up his bandages again when the door creaked. Shoot. How was I going to explain this? You see, Grandma didn’t really know about Grace.

“Pandora.” She said, crossing her arms. “Please explain to me what’s going on here.”

“Well, it’s not much, really.” I said, trying to downplay the whole thing. “Everything about this guy is just as I told you. The only thing I haven’t told you…. Well…. This is Grace.” As I said this, Grace tied off the bandage, and stood up.

“Very nice to meet you.” Grace bowed her head a little. “I’m very sorry to intrude.”

It occurred to me that Grandma might think Grace a little wild. Truth be told, she at least looked it. A dress made out of scraps of cloth, with her leather necklaces with fangs and claws and raw stones hanging from them. Her wild blond hair, braided with leaves and flowers and her bare, dirty feet.

“Well, as long as you haven’t opened a box you can’t close, with that curiosity of yours, I don’t mind.” And she walked into her room and closed the door.

My mother named me Pandora with her last breath, why I don’t know, but Grandma always made references to it. I hated it, even when they where clever.

I sighed.

“Will I live?” The boy asked Grace cheerfully.

“As far as I can tell.” She said. “But you’ll need me to come back.”

“Well, judging by how rude I’ve been so far, that’s not likely to happen, eh?” He asked jokingly.

“I’ll come back.” Grace stood, and picked up her bag.

“Can you get home from here?” I asked.

“Oh, yes.” She said. “That should be fine.”

“Bye.”

“Bye.”

I looked at the boy,

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Oliver.” He told me.

“Oliver?”

“Oliver.”

“Strange name….. Although, I suppose I’m not one to talk. My name’s Pandora.”

“Why?” He asked.

“I don’t know.” I said truthfully. “My, my father was dead or missing, and my mother came stumbling out of the woods, claiming I was my father’s, so Grandma, my father’s mother, took her in. She died in childbirth though. Her last words where that I should be called Pandora.”

“An odd name to choose for your daughter with you last words.”

“But a unique name.” I said.

“True. I believe it may have been hers.”

There was a lull.

I stood.

“You should rest.” I said.

“Yes ma’am.” He saluted, and lay down. What a strange person.

Grandma came back and made chicken soup for dinner.

I made boles, and set them on the table.

“Oliver.” I said. “Dinner.”

It actually didn’t take more than that to wake him up, so I guessed he was a light sleeper.

We ate dinner, and all went to bed. I slept with Grandma, as Oliver had my bed.

The next few days passed uneventfully, aside that we had a boy in our living room with an arrow wound, and Grace came by all the time. You had to admire her sense of direction.

Oliver recovered ridiculously quickly, and was soon up and about, at least.

“Oliver?” I asked. We where outside. He was sitting on the low wall that hid the firewood from the front of the house, and I was sitting in the snow, building a snow castle.

“Yes?”

“How did you end up with that arrow in your side?”

“Nothing exciting, really.” He said, leaning back against the house, twirling a twig between his thumb and finger.

“Oliver, this is an arrow being shot into your side we’re talking about, and you say it was nothing exciting. Did you find it sticking point first out of the ground and trip and impale yourself on it?” I asked.

“Not quite.” He said amusedly. “But close enough in excitement level.”

I shook my head. He was impossible.

“Aw, come on.” He said. “My past’s boring, you gonna hate me for it?”

I shot him a look and noticed, to my surprise, that his expression was mildly serious for the first time since I’d met him.

“I don’t hate you, but I’m moderately bugged.” I said.

“Oh, that’s ok then.” His smile was back.

“Pandora?”

“Grace? I’m right here.”

“Oh.” She picked her way carefully across the snowy lawn. “I’m here to check up on Oliver.”

“I’m right here.” He said cheerily.

“Ah.” Grace ducked under a branch and walked over to where Oliver was. Sometimes it was hard to tell she was blind. “How’s your side?”

“So – so.” He said happily. Grace fumbled for the hem of his shirt, and pulled it up, unwrapping the bandages and touching the wound.

“I see.” She said. “It’s infected again. That’s got to be hurting quite a lot, right?”

“Oh yes.” He said, smiling.

“Grace I, I got the things you asked me to. I guess modern medicine really is incredible.” I handed her the bag of things she’d been looking for.

“Yes. Just because it’s an arrow wound doesn’t mean we have to use medieval medicine.” She dug in the bag and pulled out cotton balls and alcohol.

“I got the strongest pain medication I could without a prescription.” I said.

“Ibuprofen is fine.” Grace said, fingering the things. “Let’s go inside.”

Grace sat Oliver down on the table, as it was many times over sturdy enough. She sat me in a chair by the table, and stood herself.

“Alright. Pandora, put your hand,” She grabbed my left hand. “Here.” And she placed it on Oliver’s arrow wound. I shot her a look, which she couldn’t have seen, but she must have known what I was thinking because she said, “And yes, that is absolutely necessary. Pandora’s hand is so cold, it’ll work as something of an anesthetic.”

“Well, it’s a well thought out strategy, at least.” I said.

“Exactly.” She said. She ripped open the cotton balls, and unscrewed the top off the rubbing alcohol. She put a cotton ball over the top of the bottle. “You might want to hold on to something, Oliver. Like the table top. This is gonna hurt like you won’t believe. More than when you where shot.” She tipped the bottle sideways for a moment, then back. “Ready?” She asked.

Oliver nodded, smiling, and I took my hand off the wound. He gripped the tabletop, and Grace dabbed on the alcohol. He breathed in with a sharp hissing sound, closing his eyes. His face was impassive.

Then he opened his eyes, and smiled.

“Ok.” He said, chipper again. “That’s over with!”

Grace wasn’t listening.

“Ok, Pandora.” She topped the alcohol. “Once in the morning, and once at night, on both cuts. That should be all for now. And you, Oliver, take this,” she shook the bottle of ibuprofen. “Take this if it hurts too much, and keep up with the antibiotic.” She put an old mason jar of herbs on the table.

“Ok!” He said.

“And Pandora, remember. Really, really remember the alcohol. Oliver, when she forgets, remind her.” She smiled. “I’m going to go now.”

“See you, Grace.” I said.

“See you!” And she left quickly, as was her way.

“Well.” Oliver said. “It feels disinfected.”

He smiled. Oliver was always smiling. I had never seen him do anything but smile, accept once. He hadn’t smiled one time, when he’d asked me if I hated him.