Collision

Guiliano frowned as he stood at a window at the front of his home, watching the rain pour down while thunder boomed overheard. The wind whipped around everything in its wake. It was as though God, himself, were attempting to purify the Earth. Never before had he seen such a storm.

“Unsettling, is it not?” Lorenzo said, stepping up to his side. Guiliano nodded, frowning as he continued to watch the tempest.

“There’s likely to be damage. To the crops and other buildings,” he replied.

“We will deal with it once the storm passes,” Lorenzo said.

“If it passes,” Guiliano said, glancing at him. “I’m beginning to think that it will not. It’s been going on since yesterday. There’s already been word of flooding.”

Lorenzo sighed as he kept his eyes trained outside the window.

“Again, there is not much we can do right now,” he said, beginning to frown as well. “Going out will only add to the injuries. It is safer to wait for it to pass.”

Guiliano looked up at the sky, noting it had turned a wicked shade of green whenever it was lit up by large, angry streaks of lightning.

“I have never seen such strange lightning or sky,” he commented. “What do you think it means?”

“Why would it mean anything?” Lorenzo asked. “Is it not but nature?”

Guiliano just shrugged as he looked back down at the street. The two stood in silence a few moments before suddenly, there was a bright flash - much brighter than before - and a large bolt of lightning shot down from the sky, striking the street just outside. Both men were thrown to the floor as the following boom of thunder made the ground shake beneath them.

“Brother!” Lorenzo shouted, looking over at Guiliano. The younger man shook his head, dazed for a moment, before pushing up from the ground.

“I am fine,” he shouted back. He then looked out at the street through the window, his eyes widening. “Dear God in heaven...”

Standing in the middle of the street was now a young woman who frantically spun around, a sword held up as though she were under attack. Her hair hung in wet curls glued to her face and neck as her clothing clung to her body - clothing that barely covered her.

Giuliano quickly made for the door, throwing it open. The woman froze when she saw him run out, Lorenzo just on his heels, but began backing away from them as they neared her.

“Who are you?!” she shouted over the storm as Guiliano slowed his pace, holding up his hands to signify he meant no harm. Very quickly the two brothers became soaked in the rain as well.

Guiliano could not help but find her words and accent strange. Perhap she was not from Florence. But how did she come to be here?

“Put down your weapon!” he shouted. “We mean you no harm!”

“No! Not until you tell me who you are and where I am!” the woman shouted back.

There was steel and power in her voice, though she looked as though she were about to fall over. Blood and mud streaked down her face, arms and legs, while bruises painted her pale skin. Guiliano stopped and shook his head, swearing that her eyes had just flashed a peculiar shade - violet.

“This is Florence,” Lorenzo shouted, stepping out next to Guiliano. “How did you get here?”

Guiliano looked up at the sky and then around the street. The lightning had blinded him so that he had not seen from which direction she had come.

“What year is it?” she asked, turning her scowl to his brother. Lorenzo frowned in confusion over her odd speech and odd question.

“The year of our Lord 1478,” Giuliano answered, wondering why anyone would ask such a question unless they had been held prisoner for a very long time. From the looks of the woman, it was not such a strange assumption to make.

The woman’s eyes widened as she lowered the sword and it fell out of her hand, clattering across the cobblestones. It was as though all the life had drained out of her, and she began to sway and stumble on her bare feet as she brought her hand up to her forehead.

She began murmuring in a strange language that Guiliano did not understand, a dazed look on her face.

“Madonna, you are injured,” Guiliano said, taking a cautious step towards her.

She appeared as though she was about to fall over and hadn’t heard him speak. Her other hand came up and clutched a pendant that hung on a chain around her neck.

“I can’t believe I did it...” she murmured again, this time in Italian, as she looked around. “Why here? Why now?”

“Madonna,” Giuliano said again.

She looked over at him, but just as their gazes locked, her eyes rolled back into her head as she began to collapse. Guiliano dashed up to her side, catching her before she bashed her head on the hard ground.

“Quickly, take her inside,” Lorenzo said, bending down to retrieve her sword.

Guiliano hoisted her up into his arms, finding her much more solid that she appeared with her lithe frame. The two men ran into the house, quickly making their way through the halls to a guest room.

“Such strange clothing,” Lorenzo commented.

Guiliano didn’t reply as he laid her down on the bed and began looking her over. Her body was littered with more wounds than he had previously seen in the darkness of the night. She began to shiver, likely from the cold. She was practically naked, wearing some sort of small chemise in dark gray and what looked to be a tiny pair of matching pantaloons.

“She’ll catch a fever if we do not get her out of these wet clothes and into something dry,” Guiliano said, worried.

Even though most of the wounds appeared superficial, she looked as though she had been out in the weather for some time and likely battling that entire time. The bottoms of her feet were scratched and bleeding underneath a large amount of grime. Her pale skin seemed to have gotten paler in just the past few moments.

“Fetch the cook. She knows how to heal well enough and I do not think that we can fetch a physician in the storm,” Guiliano ordered.

Lorenzo nodded before turning and rushing out of the room.

“No,” the woman murmured, tossing her head. “Ares...”

Guiliano stepped closer to her, taken in by her strange accent yet again. He reached down and took her hand, holding it firmly, if anything to let her know in some way that she was not alone. She seemed to settle a bit as her head flopped towards him, though her eyes remained closed. Lightly, he could feel her hand tighten around his, though it was weak.

“Who are you?” he asked softly, hearing footsteps from behind him. He turned, seeing Lorenzo rush in with the cook at his side.

“My heavens,” she said, her eyes widening as she took in the form on the bed. “What happened to her?”

“We do not know,” Guiliano said, his gaze returning to the strange woman. “She just... appeared on the street.”

The cook rushed up and pushed Guiliano aside as she began assessing the young woman’s injuries. A servant walked in, stepping up to the bed with a basin of warm water and clothes in her arms.

“Put that down there and then go fetch a fresh night dress. We need to get her out of these wet clothes and warmed up. She’s ice cold,” the cook said sternly. She then looked over at the two men. “You two, out. I will send for you when I am finished.”

They nodded and stepped out of the room as the servant rushed past them and down the hallway, shutting the door behind her. While they knew the cook would send for them, neither wanted to venture far, both worried about the young woman and curious about who she was. Giuliano leaned against the wall, thinking over her strange words while Lorenzo held out the sword and looked closely at it. Guiliano had never seen such a weapon before. It was small with intricate carvings up and down the blade.

“Where do you think she’s from?” Lorenzo asked, glancing up at Giuliano and holding the sword out to him.

“I do not know,” he said, looking at it and admiring the craftsmanship.

“It’s so light,” Lorenzo commented.

Guiliano took it and swung it around, finding it well-balanced. He could move much faster with it. Perhaps it was specially made for someone of a smaller stature.

“Whoever she is, I feel we should keep this to ourselves for now,” Guiliano said, looking over at Lorenzo. His older brother nodded.

“I do hope that she pulls through. I am eager to hear her story...”