Crossed Paths, part one
A bit of posing with two of my characters, Stripe and Jaiorin, and how they first met. I attempted to describe them and what's going on hopefully enough so that you don't have to be familiar with the characters. Enjoy the angst and near-fatal maiming. ^__^
***
Even at twilight, the woods were usually alive with the sounds of birds and insects and small forest creatures moving about. Tonight, however, the woods were silent as a tomb, many of the creatures fleeing to a different locale or hiding in their dens from the unnatural thing that had entered their forest that night. A troll, and the one pursuing him.
"Tell me what you know!" the pursuer demanded, curved sword at the ready as he stared down at the troll, cutting off its escape once again. The man was rather young, not so much as a young adult anymore, but not old enough to be considered middle aged yet. His forest-green eyes fixed on the enemy with a frightening intensity. Moonlight filtered down through the trees, highlighting the darker stripes in his hair and the tigerlike stripes on his face, the inspiration for the name the man had given himself. His clothing was sliced in several spots, the gaps revealing slices on his skin that bled darkened spots on his clothes. One bad rip in particular crossed the width of his stomach, bleeding heavily, the wound raw and ripped underneath, as if inflicted by a hook or claw. The troll, however, bore injuries of equal seriousness. It was down to one arm, the wound seared by flame so that it couldn't regenerate. It also sported a burn wound on its side. However, it was gaining power as midnight approached, and this fact boosted the troll's confidence.
"As if I shall ever tell a Unitarian like you anything," it sneered.
The man was breathing heavily from exertion and wounds. He too knew that the troll was gaining power. Plus, he was tiring from the long battle and losing blood. He needed to end this soon, before he lost his strength...if he passed out here he was as good as dead.
The troll charged him, lashing out with his hook. The man jumped up, using a tree branch to swing himself behind the troll. As he did, he delivered a hard kick, sending the troll staggering forward. He did not press the advantage, but rather dropped to the ground in a crouch a safe distance away.
Trolls were known for their cunning. However, if you wanted to be a Patroller and survive, you had to be even more cunning. His thoughts were interrupted as he suddenly let out a choked cry, clutching at his stomach wound and dropping to one knee.
Unlike the man, the troll was confident in its abilities and pressed the advantage, not realizing he had fallen for a trap he had unconsciously tried only moments before. The man grabbed it by the arm, flipping it onto its back. Without a pause, he brought a knee down on its stomach, hard, pulling his sword up through its arm, starting at the burn mark and pausing just beside the neck.
"This is your last chance. Answer me! WHERE IS SHE?"
The troll sneered again, grabbing at the man's stomach injury. The man let out a cry of pain, but even that did not stop him as he finished his sword's arc, cleanly slicing off the troll's head and half its arm. Its face was a mask of classic surprise as its hand released the man's abdomen.
The man panted for breath, using his sword to lever himself to a standing position. Cleaning the blood off by using the troll's corpse as a wipe, he examined his abdomen. In the increasing dark, all he could tell was that it was still bleeding and it hurt. He would probably need a healer; fortunately, he had noticed a small town not too far ahead. He shed the tattered remains of his shirt, using it as a sloppy makeshift bandage. The shirt gone, a crosscrossing of scars could be seen on his torso and arms. He pushed himself forward toward hope, toward the town, where a few dots of lamplight could be seen against the darkening woods.
All traces of sunlight had faded from the skies and the stars were showing their faces as the injured man finally made it into the town. He managed a weak smile as he pushed his tired body toward the nearest house. Finally. Surely someone here would be able to send for the healer, even at this time of night. He leaned against the doorframe as he knocked wearily on the door.
It opened, and a man looked out. "Hello," the injured man managed, "can you send for a he-"
"Yah! Get away!" the man exclaimed as he slammed the door shut. The injured one blinked in stunned confusion. He knocked again on the door. "Sir? Please, lend me aid. Would you turn away an injured man on your doorstep?" There was no response inside the house. ~What in the world is his problem?~
The man managed to drag himself to the next door and knocked. A woman opened the door this time, took one look at him, and screamed, slamming the door in the manner of the first. The injured man thought he heard a mutter of "foreigner" from inside the house.
The third house garnered the same reaction, as did the fourth, and the fifth. His hope started to fade. Had he come this far and survived all those previous times only to die at the hands of his fellow Unitarians? He dragged himself to one final door, fighting black spots in his vision and the inertia of his own limbs, barely managing a knock. He felt himself slipping. Suddenly he didn't care. Let death come. He was tired of always fighting, of always skirting death...of being alone. ~At least, if I die, let me be with my sister if my fears are true...~
The young woman who opened the door of the last house let out a gasp of surprise as a man fell into her arms. Even from the lamplight further inside the house, she could see the man's bloodstained clothing and multiple wounds.
"Mom," she called, her voice carrying a tone of urgency, but not panic. "Mom!"
An older woman hurried to the doorstep. She was of average height, with smooth, darkened skin and kind brown eyes. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail. "What is it, Jaiorin? Oh!" she gasped as she saw the unconscious man. "Quickly, bring him inside."
The younger woman called Jaiorin nodded. She was exceptionally tall, and built up from a lifetime of farming. Her skin was dark, though not as dark as her mother's, and her brown hair was pulled back in a short braid. Effortlessly, she scooped the man up, following her mother. The older woman, named Katori but often referred to as "Mom" or "Mother" opened up the small guest room, motioning her eldest daughter to lay the man down on the bed. Casting an experienced eye over the stranger's torso, she cast the bloodied remains of the shirt aside and examined the rip in the man's stomach. "Jaiorin, fetch me some numboil and rho, oh, and some of that tnolois mix, it works wonders for tears in the flesh like this. And tell Hoti to boil some water for willow tea."
Jaiorin was out and back in within a minute, carrying the requested medicines and also some bandages. "The willow's brewing, I'll bring it in. I also brought some of that rikomdir brew, I thought it might be useful. How bad is it?"
Katori chewed her lip. Most of her healing experience came from treating farm-related injuries and typical wounds garnered by active children. "Not great. But maybe not bad, either. The cut's wide, but not too deep. He's mostly just lost a lot of blood, it seems. Rikomdir was probably a good choice, let's start with that."
Jaiorin handed her the bottle and Katori poured some of the thin red liquid onto her fingers, letting it slowly pour into the wound. Though still unconscious, the man's face twisted in pain as the medicine seeped into his wound, but his pale cheeks started to regain a bit of color. Jaiorin opened a wide jar, dabbing a cloth into the oily substance inside. She then began to gently spread the numboil on the wound in an attempt to dull the pain for the stranger.
Katori paused in draining the bottle of rikomdir and looked back to the stranger's face. Satisfied, she began treating the wound with rho. "Jaiorin, I'll hold the tears together, put some tnolois on it."
The girl nodded, and Katori worked from the inside out, holding each layer of flesh together as Jaiorin smeared the light blue thick salve on each layer, starting the mending process. The oil in the room's lamp had gotten considerably lower by the time they finished the treatment. "Phew! That seemed to be the big injury, the rest are just cuts. I think he'll be all right now."
As if he had deliberately timed it, Hoti stepped into the room at that moment. "So, has our mysterious guest woken up? Or is my special brand of tea, with willow, fennel, and three different fruit flavors going to waste?" He put down the tray he was holding on a nearby table, and offered a bowl of water and a pair of hand towels for the two women to wash their hands with.
Katori accepted gratefully, scrubbing the mixture of medicine and blood off her hands. "That's what I don't like about that rikomdir; my hands will be fire red for three days. Oh well, in the long run it's worth it. And Hoti, even if he doesn't wake up, I'm about to take some of your tea for myself. I'm ready to turn in for the night."
Jaiorin waved a hand. "You go ahead, Mom, I'll watch over him for a little while to see if he wakes up. I'm going to put one more layer of numboil on the wound, anyway."
Hoti poured his mother a cup of the tea and Katori sipped at is as she got up. "Whoo, I feel a bit sleepy already. All right, good night, children."
"Night, mom," Jaiorin called as Hoti guided Katori out of the room. Jaiorin finished her application of the numboil and pulled out a bandage. Lifting the man's torso with one supporting arm, she began to wrap the bandage around his wound.
The man let out a soft groan as his eyes slowly opened. His head lolled to the side, observing the younger woman.
The first thing he noticed was the girl's brown eyes. For a moment, he thought he was looking at his sister. ~Teslia? Am I dead after all?~ He forced his protesting eyes to focus and realized with a pang of disappointment that this was another woman altogether who only had brown eyes in common with his lost sibling.
"Where..." he managed to get out.
"Shh, shh," she said soothingly. Her voice was gentle, and rather low-pitched for a girl. "You're safe, that's all that matters. How do you feel?"
He considered this question. His limbs and torso stung with minor cuts all over, but his stomach... "Numb," he managed. "I'm not dead, am I?"
"I imagine it'd be rather difficult to talk if you were a corpse, hmm?" Jaiorin said dryly as she tied the bandage off, tightening it. The man drew in a swift breath as a spike of pain drove across his stomach. "Here, let me get you some tea. It's got willow and fennel in it. Or would you rather eat first? Your stomach seems to have survived whatever little adventure you had before here."
"Tea is fine, thank you," he managed as Jaiorin laid him back on the bed and poured a cup. She returned, propping him up against her own body and bringing the cup up to his lips. "By the way, hi, my name is Jaiorin Tero. Call me Jaiorin," she said. "I don't think we've met. You are?"
He paused for a long moment between sips, already feeling the fennel starting to take effect. "Stripe," he pushed past his lips. "Stripe Nikado. You can address me by whichever you prefer."
"Stripe, huh?" Jaiorin said with an amused smile, having noticed his streaked hair and face markings. "Well, you just lay back and let yourself heal. You're going to be all right, you just need some rest. And a lot of willow," she added as she reclined him back onto the bed.
Stripe tried to say something else, but his lips didn't want to move any more. His limbs had stopped their stinging and his eyelids felt unbearably heavy. The last thing he remembered before drifting off was a pair of warm brown eyes looking down at him.
For the first time in many years, Stripe Nikado slept deeply, feeling completely safe.
***
Even at twilight, the woods were usually alive with the sounds of birds and insects and small forest creatures moving about. Tonight, however, the woods were silent as a tomb, many of the creatures fleeing to a different locale or hiding in their dens from the unnatural thing that had entered their forest that night. A troll, and the one pursuing him.
"Tell me what you know!" the pursuer demanded, curved sword at the ready as he stared down at the troll, cutting off its escape once again. The man was rather young, not so much as a young adult anymore, but not old enough to be considered middle aged yet. His forest-green eyes fixed on the enemy with a frightening intensity. Moonlight filtered down through the trees, highlighting the darker stripes in his hair and the tigerlike stripes on his face, the inspiration for the name the man had given himself. His clothing was sliced in several spots, the gaps revealing slices on his skin that bled darkened spots on his clothes. One bad rip in particular crossed the width of his stomach, bleeding heavily, the wound raw and ripped underneath, as if inflicted by a hook or claw. The troll, however, bore injuries of equal seriousness. It was down to one arm, the wound seared by flame so that it couldn't regenerate. It also sported a burn wound on its side. However, it was gaining power as midnight approached, and this fact boosted the troll's confidence.
"As if I shall ever tell a Unitarian like you anything," it sneered.
The man was breathing heavily from exertion and wounds. He too knew that the troll was gaining power. Plus, he was tiring from the long battle and losing blood. He needed to end this soon, before he lost his strength...if he passed out here he was as good as dead.
The troll charged him, lashing out with his hook. The man jumped up, using a tree branch to swing himself behind the troll. As he did, he delivered a hard kick, sending the troll staggering forward. He did not press the advantage, but rather dropped to the ground in a crouch a safe distance away.
Trolls were known for their cunning. However, if you wanted to be a Patroller and survive, you had to be even more cunning. His thoughts were interrupted as he suddenly let out a choked cry, clutching at his stomach wound and dropping to one knee.
Unlike the man, the troll was confident in its abilities and pressed the advantage, not realizing he had fallen for a trap he had unconsciously tried only moments before. The man grabbed it by the arm, flipping it onto its back. Without a pause, he brought a knee down on its stomach, hard, pulling his sword up through its arm, starting at the burn mark and pausing just beside the neck.
"This is your last chance. Answer me! WHERE IS SHE?"
The troll sneered again, grabbing at the man's stomach injury. The man let out a cry of pain, but even that did not stop him as he finished his sword's arc, cleanly slicing off the troll's head and half its arm. Its face was a mask of classic surprise as its hand released the man's abdomen.
The man panted for breath, using his sword to lever himself to a standing position. Cleaning the blood off by using the troll's corpse as a wipe, he examined his abdomen. In the increasing dark, all he could tell was that it was still bleeding and it hurt. He would probably need a healer; fortunately, he had noticed a small town not too far ahead. He shed the tattered remains of his shirt, using it as a sloppy makeshift bandage. The shirt gone, a crosscrossing of scars could be seen on his torso and arms. He pushed himself forward toward hope, toward the town, where a few dots of lamplight could be seen against the darkening woods.
All traces of sunlight had faded from the skies and the stars were showing their faces as the injured man finally made it into the town. He managed a weak smile as he pushed his tired body toward the nearest house. Finally. Surely someone here would be able to send for the healer, even at this time of night. He leaned against the doorframe as he knocked wearily on the door.
It opened, and a man looked out. "Hello," the injured man managed, "can you send for a he-"
"Yah! Get away!" the man exclaimed as he slammed the door shut. The injured one blinked in stunned confusion. He knocked again on the door. "Sir? Please, lend me aid. Would you turn away an injured man on your doorstep?" There was no response inside the house. ~What in the world is his problem?~
The man managed to drag himself to the next door and knocked. A woman opened the door this time, took one look at him, and screamed, slamming the door in the manner of the first. The injured man thought he heard a mutter of "foreigner" from inside the house.
The third house garnered the same reaction, as did the fourth, and the fifth. His hope started to fade. Had he come this far and survived all those previous times only to die at the hands of his fellow Unitarians? He dragged himself to one final door, fighting black spots in his vision and the inertia of his own limbs, barely managing a knock. He felt himself slipping. Suddenly he didn't care. Let death come. He was tired of always fighting, of always skirting death...of being alone. ~At least, if I die, let me be with my sister if my fears are true...~
The young woman who opened the door of the last house let out a gasp of surprise as a man fell into her arms. Even from the lamplight further inside the house, she could see the man's bloodstained clothing and multiple wounds.
"Mom," she called, her voice carrying a tone of urgency, but not panic. "Mom!"
An older woman hurried to the doorstep. She was of average height, with smooth, darkened skin and kind brown eyes. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail. "What is it, Jaiorin? Oh!" she gasped as she saw the unconscious man. "Quickly, bring him inside."
The younger woman called Jaiorin nodded. She was exceptionally tall, and built up from a lifetime of farming. Her skin was dark, though not as dark as her mother's, and her brown hair was pulled back in a short braid. Effortlessly, she scooped the man up, following her mother. The older woman, named Katori but often referred to as "Mom" or "Mother" opened up the small guest room, motioning her eldest daughter to lay the man down on the bed. Casting an experienced eye over the stranger's torso, she cast the bloodied remains of the shirt aside and examined the rip in the man's stomach. "Jaiorin, fetch me some numboil and rho, oh, and some of that tnolois mix, it works wonders for tears in the flesh like this. And tell Hoti to boil some water for willow tea."
Jaiorin was out and back in within a minute, carrying the requested medicines and also some bandages. "The willow's brewing, I'll bring it in. I also brought some of that rikomdir brew, I thought it might be useful. How bad is it?"
Katori chewed her lip. Most of her healing experience came from treating farm-related injuries and typical wounds garnered by active children. "Not great. But maybe not bad, either. The cut's wide, but not too deep. He's mostly just lost a lot of blood, it seems. Rikomdir was probably a good choice, let's start with that."
Jaiorin handed her the bottle and Katori poured some of the thin red liquid onto her fingers, letting it slowly pour into the wound. Though still unconscious, the man's face twisted in pain as the medicine seeped into his wound, but his pale cheeks started to regain a bit of color. Jaiorin opened a wide jar, dabbing a cloth into the oily substance inside. She then began to gently spread the numboil on the wound in an attempt to dull the pain for the stranger.
Katori paused in draining the bottle of rikomdir and looked back to the stranger's face. Satisfied, she began treating the wound with rho. "Jaiorin, I'll hold the tears together, put some tnolois on it."
The girl nodded, and Katori worked from the inside out, holding each layer of flesh together as Jaiorin smeared the light blue thick salve on each layer, starting the mending process. The oil in the room's lamp had gotten considerably lower by the time they finished the treatment. "Phew! That seemed to be the big injury, the rest are just cuts. I think he'll be all right now."
As if he had deliberately timed it, Hoti stepped into the room at that moment. "So, has our mysterious guest woken up? Or is my special brand of tea, with willow, fennel, and three different fruit flavors going to waste?" He put down the tray he was holding on a nearby table, and offered a bowl of water and a pair of hand towels for the two women to wash their hands with.
Katori accepted gratefully, scrubbing the mixture of medicine and blood off her hands. "That's what I don't like about that rikomdir; my hands will be fire red for three days. Oh well, in the long run it's worth it. And Hoti, even if he doesn't wake up, I'm about to take some of your tea for myself. I'm ready to turn in for the night."
Jaiorin waved a hand. "You go ahead, Mom, I'll watch over him for a little while to see if he wakes up. I'm going to put one more layer of numboil on the wound, anyway."
Hoti poured his mother a cup of the tea and Katori sipped at is as she got up. "Whoo, I feel a bit sleepy already. All right, good night, children."
"Night, mom," Jaiorin called as Hoti guided Katori out of the room. Jaiorin finished her application of the numboil and pulled out a bandage. Lifting the man's torso with one supporting arm, she began to wrap the bandage around his wound.
The man let out a soft groan as his eyes slowly opened. His head lolled to the side, observing the younger woman.
The first thing he noticed was the girl's brown eyes. For a moment, he thought he was looking at his sister. ~Teslia? Am I dead after all?~ He forced his protesting eyes to focus and realized with a pang of disappointment that this was another woman altogether who only had brown eyes in common with his lost sibling.
"Where..." he managed to get out.
"Shh, shh," she said soothingly. Her voice was gentle, and rather low-pitched for a girl. "You're safe, that's all that matters. How do you feel?"
He considered this question. His limbs and torso stung with minor cuts all over, but his stomach... "Numb," he managed. "I'm not dead, am I?"
"I imagine it'd be rather difficult to talk if you were a corpse, hmm?" Jaiorin said dryly as she tied the bandage off, tightening it. The man drew in a swift breath as a spike of pain drove across his stomach. "Here, let me get you some tea. It's got willow and fennel in it. Or would you rather eat first? Your stomach seems to have survived whatever little adventure you had before here."
"Tea is fine, thank you," he managed as Jaiorin laid him back on the bed and poured a cup. She returned, propping him up against her own body and bringing the cup up to his lips. "By the way, hi, my name is Jaiorin Tero. Call me Jaiorin," she said. "I don't think we've met. You are?"
He paused for a long moment between sips, already feeling the fennel starting to take effect. "Stripe," he pushed past his lips. "Stripe Nikado. You can address me by whichever you prefer."
"Stripe, huh?" Jaiorin said with an amused smile, having noticed his streaked hair and face markings. "Well, you just lay back and let yourself heal. You're going to be all right, you just need some rest. And a lot of willow," she added as she reclined him back onto the bed.
Stripe tried to say something else, but his lips didn't want to move any more. His limbs had stopped their stinging and his eyelids felt unbearably heavy. The last thing he remembered before drifting off was a pair of warm brown eyes looking down at him.
For the first time in many years, Stripe Nikado slept deeply, feeling completely safe.