LJ Idol, Season 9, Week 13: Open Topic (In Which It Goes Pop)
Ibrahim needed to breathe, but this wasn't an option. It wouldn't let him. He couldn't hide either. With its six eyes and--what were those? Talons? Claws?--that could rip through any of these western Indiana trees as easily as it did his camping equipment and his right arm, the creature would find him, easily. The only thing to do was keep running.
His lungs told him otherwise. They forced him to slow to a jog, and then to a walk, and then to stop altogether. He sucked in what he accepted as the last air he'd ever enjoy and waited. Soon enough, a breeze tickled his back before rising into a gale.
That thing's claws were sharp enough that he hadn't noticed the gash in his bicep before he saw the blood, so Ibrahim hoped that whatever death it had in store for him would be just as painless. He closed his eyes and turned around.
He opened them again when someone grabbed his left hand. That someone was a black-haired woman whose curls were streaked prematurely with silver. Her dark eyes and full attention were on him as she smiled encouragingly and asked, "Want to get out of here?"
Her fashion shouldn't have been quite so annoying to him, given the circumstances, but really, an orange-sweater-vest/green-necktie/leather-messenger-bag combo was, frankly, criminal. He also felt like maybe he should warn her about the creature that was about to kill him gruesomely, but it was right there, and if she hadn't noticed yet, that was her problem.
It roared.
With the palm that wasn't wrapped around his, she blew a thick, gray cloud as if it were a kiss.
The roar became a howl of pain and confusion.
She pulled Ibrahim away and ran. He managed to keep up by following the hope she carried with her. After a minute or so, she looked over her shoulder dragged them to a halt, announcing, "We should have a little bit of time before it can pull itself together and come after us."
"What?" he stammered.
"That?" she asked, taking a moment to examine his arm. "Powdered graphite. Air and earth are natural enemies, so something as quintessentially..." She frowned for the word and finally just gave up. "Earthy? Earthen? Anyway, it's disoriented, but not for long."
When it came to confusion, Ibrahim sympathized completely with the creature. Self-preservation had kept him from questioning anything so far. But now he began to process this sequence of events, and they baffled him so much he hardly noticed her ripping up his sleeves to bandage his injury.
"The good news is," she told him, "you'll live. The bad news is, we're going to have to get you to the hospital if you're going to want to stay that way. Where's your car?"
Finally, something he knew the answer to. He pointed.
She removed from her pocket the kind of brass watch on a chain that old-timey, rich people used to wear. When she popped it open, though, it turned out to be a compass, with a tightly rolled up scrap of paper where the needle should be. She studied it, muttering, "And... the monster is..." She snapped it closed and nodded in the direction of his car. "That way. Of course the monster is that way."
Now that his pulse simmered down a little, Ibrahim could finally spit out the thing that had been bothering him since this morning. "What the hell was that?"
She strained awkwardly to reach into one of the side pockets of her cargo pants. "I told you: graphite."
He blinked.
She straightened up sheepishly. "Right," she said. "Sorry. That was a kamaitachi, a Japanese wind spirit, or a wind demon; the distinction is a little blurry over there. Anyway, it shouldn't be here in the Midwest--or in this world, really--so I need to send it home."
"It's ferrets!" he exploded.
"Weasels, actually."
"Three flying weasels with swords for arms!"
Her eyes lit up, and she grinned. "I know!" she squealed with far more delight than seemed appropriate.
He sputtered, "Is this fun to you?"
"Of course not!" she replied. "Maybe. No! Okay, a little bit."
"It's trying to kill us!"
"Yeah, but you said it yourself: it's three flying weasels with swords for arms!"
"What the hell is wrong with you!"
"Don't worry," she told him, showing off what she'd retrieved from her pants, "I'm sure I have this under control."
"That's an egg."
"And this," she added, "is a golf pencil."
As she scribbled some strange symbol on its shell, he asked, "Why are you carrying an egg in your pocket?"
"Because I never know when I might run into a kamaitachi," she replied. "Kidding. I never thought I'd ever see one of these before I died. Time to write that on my bucket list and cross it off, I guess."
"But...?"
"When I hit it with this, the proteins inside will temporarily bond with the spirit's--or demon's, whatever--corporeal form, and the breaking of this sigil will disperse with its ethereal side, banishing it. I think." With an embarrassed shrug, she admitted, "Come to think of it, I probably should have opened with this." She held her free hand out to him and raised her eyebrow. "Shall we?"
They crept in the direction of his car, his ears straining for the slightest clue that three flying weasels with swords for arms might be near. And sure enough, after they'd covered about half the distance, a breeze picked up.
"Get behind me," she told him.
He had no problem with that.
The kamaitachi approached, angry and strangely adorable.
"Are you positive about this?" he whispered.
She grinned, turned, and tossed the egg. It smashed into a tree at least a meter from any of the weasels that made up the monster. "I should have brought more eggs," she muttered.
The kamaitachi charged.
"Run for your life!" she ordered, and Ibrahim obeyed.
He made it all the way to his car, before his culturally masculine brain flooded his lizard brain, questioning his worth. How could he leave this person alone, with that... thing? Sure she knew what it was, and she was confident she could stop it, but what kind of man would abandon a woman like that?
He turned back and saw nothing but a cloud of dust and leaves, from which could be heard growls, hisses, thumps, and the occasional human yelp. Suddenly, a pop and a flash of light filled the forest, and when it passed, it took with it both the kamaitachi and the mystery woman.
His face and shoulders fell. He never said thank you.
The air fell still, and gradually, bugs and birds resumed their conversations. He understood then that he was safe--that is, until a twig snapped behind him. He whimpered and nearly fell over, until a pair of human hands caught him and straightened him out.
"Are you okay?" asked the mystery woman who, at the moment, was the most beautiful person he'd ever seen, despite the fact that she was now covered in glitter, confetti, and what appeared to be yogurt.
"I think so," he replied.
"You're only saying that because you've lost a lot of blood, and your endorphins are blocking out the pain. I should probably drive." She cleared her throat. "I mean, can I have a ride? I left my van in Terre Haute, and there's a hospital there."
"Yes, please," he mumbled.
"Thanks!" She kissed him on the cheek. "I meant to tell you, I'm Rafaela. Torres. Rafaela Torres. I never caught your name."
Ibrahim fainted.
The last thing he heard was her voice. "That's okay," it said, "you can tell me later."