Alianna left the room, and she heard the man sigh as she did so.
“Doctor? Hello? He’s awake, I think he might be trying to speak, but his vocal cords are damaged or something?” Her voice echoed down the hallway as she called for the doctor. Unable to see one anywhere, she went in search of somebody to help.
2
Awake
Rionan looked around the room, squinting at the lights overhead. The woman had said he was uninjured, and she was going to find doctors. He must be in a hospital.
He looked down at where his fine clothes had been. He was now wearing a baggy hospital gown. He huffed.
He looked down at his hands, a much lighter shade to his normal skin tone, with a different hue. He ran his tongue over his teeth, which felt bizarrely short. He didn’t have to check his ears to know they were still rounded at the tops, instead of pointed.
As the woman who called herself Alianna had not been able to understand him, he assumed that the process of shifting into a form that enabled him to blend in here was not yet complete. Physical appearance, yes. Spoken language, no.
Rionan looked outside the window, which was the source of the daylight streaming in from outside. Judging by the position of the sun, it had to be some time in the afternoon. There was a board on the wall with writing on it, and numbers next to that. The time? Or the time he arrived, perhaps.
The numbers read 09:38.
He scanned the room, spotting a small device on a table with similar numbers shining on it. 13:54.
That must be the time. The first numbers, he mused, must be the time he arrived in this hospital. The other numbers were the time now. He’d been here for over four hours, plus whatever time before anyonefound him lying on that sand. The adaptation process should be done shortly, and he’d be able to communicate with these people.
Flexing his toes and shifting his legs about, Rionan swung his legs over the side of the bed as he sat up. He stretched his arms above his head, moving his head from side to side. Nothing hurt.
He felt a stirring in his chest as the power that had settled back inside him swirled, as if saying “hello, friend”. Adjusting to taking in so much of the power – the power that he’d used to fertilise the land and make it prosperous for so long – was difficult. It was something the Lords of Xanthia never really had to do, once they became connected to their Wells.
His power made the West of Xanthia what it was. The Well was just as much a part of him as he was a part of the Well.
He couldn’t leave his lands without it for long, he thought, scowling to himself. Now that the Well was empty, the land itself would start to perish. His people would struggle. He needed to come up with a plan and get home. He couldn’t do that until he found a way to push back, or better yet, destroy the Eastern forces.
As if calling out to him as he thought of it, he could feel the Well that he was connected to, pulling on a rope connected to his soul, calling him home.
I need you, I need you, I need you.
His power stirred, rising to the surface, willing him back to Xanthia. He forced it back down.Not now.He thought.Not with the possibility of Rannirr defeating him at Savangrad.
Rionan knew that he couldn’t stay out of Xanthia for long, for the sake of his people.
The four Wells, when full of the power of one of the Lords, blessed the land. As if the Lord themselves were constantly filling a network that moved, ebbed and flowed. Their power brought about life, allowing the Realm to thrive.
A Well of Power would only transfer its connection to another Xanthian when something happened to the Lord who currently ruled over that territory.
One way was for the Lord to die of natural causes – in this case, the power would transfer to an heir, or worthy successor.
The other way was for the Lord to be killed by another.
This is what had happened in the South.
This is what Rannirr was attempting in the West – with Rionan.
He had driven Xanthia to war.
There had always been four Lords, closely bonded to their individual Wells. Now there were only three.
Never before in Xanthia’s history had such a threat to the Realm existed.
The Eastern Lord – Rannirr - was a cruel man, full of malice. His power, tainted with his own corrupt nature, left the Eastern lands unwelcoming, harsh, and desolate.
