A Trek of A Storyteller

Ch.32: Ryder

Jackson awoke, hazy eyed and foggy-minded in the back of a car. He heard the hum of the engine and saw, through his blurred vision, the roof. Sitting up despite his heavy head, he began to panic. They had found him at last, he could not run forever and now he was going back to that dungeon to face his punishment. To face that ruby-eyed, serpent-headed cane.

He began to sob, his breath coming in panicked gasps. He felt the car being pulled over, still not registering the worried, tense hazel eyes in the front seat as his own eyes widened and he curled into a protective ball in the corner.

"Breathe, kid," he heard. He did not recognize the voice, nor did he recognize the hand reaching out to him. "Hey, it's okay. I promise, it's okay," the voice said. It was low, worried, yet soft. "Just breathe, kid," it said. Jackson blinked his eyes open fearfully to find the knife-throwing musician staring worriedly back at him. "I'm not gonna hurt you," he said, voice raspy.

"Where are you taking me?" the boy whispered, a terrified tear falling down his cheek.

"The hospital," the man said firmly. The boy began to sob all over again, sitting up on his knees to clasp his hands before him, as if praying.

"No, sir, please. Please do not take me there, sir, I'm begging you, please," he pleaded. The man held up his hands.

"Okay, okay. I won't, I promise," he said and the tone he held made the boy quiet down and believe him, wiping his cheeks with his dirty flannel, spreading the already smeared dust there. "Please, just calm down, okay?" the man said. The boy nodded, shrank back into the seat.

"Who are you?" he asked tentatively. "You play well," he added, quieter.

"Ryder," the man said, holding out his hand for a handshake. "And you?" he asked softly, that same worried look still lingering in his eyes.

"Jackson," the boy said, taking his hand carefully. Ryder nodded thoughtfully, his hand warm and firm on the boy's. "Jackson Taylor," the boy said after a moment, hand still in Ryder's.

"Nice to meet you," Ryder said with a cautious smile. It was a rare sight, the boy could tell, as it seemed unnatural on his lips. Although it was warm and the boy smiled back, as if his instinct said to.

"Nice to meet you as well, sir," he said. Ryder let go of the boy's hand and sat back in his seat, though he kept a watchful and protective eye on the boy.

"Where do I bring you?" he asked. Jackson looked up, fear in his eyes.

"Nowhere, sir. I have nowhere to go," he answered honestly. And he spun the long, twisted tale that led him here. Beginning to end. The moon was high in the sky when at last he finished, his weariness settling itself back in as his adrenaline faded. He told the entire tale, leaving nothing out, even as Ryder carried an agonized look during some. "And so you see, sir, I have lost all that I held dear and there is no place for me to return to," he finished, another wave of pain coursing through him.

"You'll stay with us, then, until you find your way. An assistant," Ryder muttered immediately after. The boy nodded gratefully, and sank back down into a dreamless sleep, eased at last as his Story was finally told in full to perhaps the only person that would ever hear it.

He dreamt not of freedom, for he had his taste and it had brought him only loss. He dreamt not of family, for they had tossed him out long ago. He dreamt not of friends, for they had all left to the world past the mortal one he was abandoned in. No, he dreamt of nothing for he knew that his path would alight itself now and that Ryder who had and would continue to save his skin, was the beginning and perhaps the end of it all. Parsley, Sage, and Thyme were the beginning of it all.

And Jackson was the end.