“No, that would be from the beef in ale pie I’m going to make for din...” began Norgie but the words died on his lips as he looked towards the doorway. Elora followed his gaze and gasped.
Bray leant against the doorframe, one arm across his stomach clutching his side whilst his other, slick with blood, dangled limp.
A deep jagged gash ran the length of his forearm, wide enough to expose the muscle beneath and so deep that the white of his radial bone glistened under the kitchen light. Blood stuck his t-shirt to his chest and more spread across the legs of his jeans, although she didn’t think it was his.
Elora went to him, frightened that he would drop to the floor. The paleness of his skin showed that he had lost a lot of blood and must be feeling weak. The whites of his eyes had turned pink, the veins showing bright against his green irises, yet he gently pushed her away before taking a step into the room. Blood dripping from the fingers of his injured arm and splashing onto the tiled floor.
“I’d hate to have seen the state of the other guy,” Norgie remarked, concern etched upon his face.
“I need the key,” Bray growled through clenched teeth.
“Sit down lad, before you collapse,” Norgie replied, pulling out a chair from the table.
Bray shook his head and held out his hand. “The key.” Reluctantly Norgie pulled the chain from around his neck and dropped it onto Bray’s open palm.
“What the hell happened to you?” he asked. Bray ignored the question and put his back to them, hobbling along the corridor on unsteady legs, trailing his arm along the wall for support and leaving dark red hand prints along the aged paper.
Elora followed, noticing that he favoured his right leg - somebody or something had attacked him with the intent to kill.
“Bray?” she ventured. He neither stopped nor acknowledged that he had heard her. “Bray, please.”
He stopped, head lolling to one side, yet he didn’t turn.
“What happened? Did Silk do this to you?”
Bray’s head dropped forwards. “Got careless.”
She was now in front of him, placing her hands against his shoulder worried that he would slump onto his face.
“Bray, you need to go to the hospital.” She felt the sticky wetness beneath her hands and was thankful the shirt was black and not white. “You’ve lost too much blood.”
“It’s not all mine,” he replied and Elora felt pressure against her arms as he leaned forwards, losing his balance.
“You need to stop. Look at yourself, you can’t even keep upright.”
“I’m fine,” he argued and tried to step past her, but his knee gave way and he fell, pressing her against the wall; sweat running down his clammy face. He didn’t only look injured, she thought he was dying.
She gently swung his good arm over her shoulder and supported his weight, attempting to guide him back to the kitchen.
“No. I need to get to the cellar,” he said, face grimacing with the immense pain. Somehow, he found the strength to push against her and took a step towards the cellar’s staircase.
“Ok,” she relented. “I’ll help you down there but you’re going to need medical treatment before you pass out.”
The staircase was dangerously steep and narrow, leading down into darkness. Falling would probably finish him off. She eased him down as gently as she could but noticed him wince with every step. Once they reached the bottom he attempted to insert the iron key into the lock but couldn’t stop his hand shaking. Elora took the key from him and unlocked the door.
“You can’t come in,” Bray warned, as he grasped the brass knob and pulled the door towards them.
Daylight shone through the gap, filling the confined space with a warm yellow glow as if the door opened onto a bright spring day and not a dark cellar. Elora also recognised the sweet aroma of honeysuckle and the soft sounds of birdsong that lay on the edge of her hearing. It brought to mind a lush meadow in the Cotswolds.
“I mean it Elora. Don’t follow me,” he said, then slipped through the gap, using the door for support and blocking her from gazing within.
The door pulled closed behind him with a snap, leaving her once again in the gloom. But it wasn’t too dark to notice that he had left the key in the lock.
She plucked it from the key hole and placed it in her pocket, ready to give to Norgie. Yet she didn’t head to the kitchen right away. Instead she put her ear to the door, attempting to listen to whatever was going on in there. It had to be important, she guessed. Why else would Bray refuse to sort himself out before going in? And why all the secrecy?
An overwhelming sense of interest told her to open the door; just a little, just to have a quick peek but she decided against it. Things were happening that went far beyond her knowing and everything lately seemed ‘out to get her’. Maybe it was best to leave things be. Bray knew what he was doing.
Norgie had a steaming mug of tea sat on the table when she returned to the kitchen. She went over to the sink and washed the blood from her hands before slumping into the chair. Norgie was on the floor, cloth in hand next to a bucket of bleach and was scrubbing Bray’s blood from the tiles.
“Does he come back in that state often?” Elora asked before taking a sip of tea. Norgie paused mid scrub.
“Never. Don’t get me wrong, he comes back with ripped clothes, bruises, the odd cut or two. He gets in bigger scrapes after sword practice with Diagus, but not like that. Not to that extent. Something sure as hell roughed him up some.”
“Roughed him up? His arm was torn open and he was drenched in blood,” she exclaimed.
“Don’t worry about him lass. He heals quicker than most. You’ll see. He’s got some kind of elf genes in him or something.”
“Elf? Bray’s an elf?” Elora asked, scolding her tongue on the tea as the revelation caught her off balance.
“Aye, not a true elf though. Think his mother was an elf. He’s what you would call a half-blood. Don’t know the full truth of it, mind. Bray won’t talk about it and Diagus is a man of few words.”
Elora stared into her drink, mulling over what Norgie told her. She had always thought elves were creatures in fairy tales, short with pointy ears and brightly coloured hats. But then again, Norgie had let loose about the fairies that lived in the house. Not that she had seen any. Bray was not what she thought elves looked like although it explained how he could move so fast and heal so quickly.
She couldn’t stop her imagination putting a bright red pointy hat on Bray’s head. The image almost made her choke on the tea a second time.
By mid-morning, Elora had taken a shower, changed into fresh jeans and top and was back in the kitchen helping Norgie prepare the dinner. Bray still hadn’t returned from the cellar and she’d begun to worry. Even Gurple kept going back to the cellar steps, sitting on the floor and fretting with a button on his dungarees.
“Don’t you think you should go and check on him?” she asked Norgie, whilst skinning carrots.
