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Chapter 44: Victory of the Meek
🕑 Added 2023-07-24 07:01:01 +0000 UTCThe Alpha squared on the Sett-Mother and met her keckering warcry with his own growl.
Then they flashed into motion, gold and brown clashing with red and black. Claws tore and fangs ripped. Every drop of blood Mupali’katana lost was pulled through the air and into the wolf, his one good eye glowing bright and brighter.
But where the trees seemed to pull in towards the badger, roots rising under her feet to give her extra lift, branches cradling her when she was thrown, they rose to trip and entangle the wolf.
It howled, lashing out with its raptor-like claws to shred the offending foliage. Mupali’katana took the opening and launched at the wolf, blades of energy that contained the very essence of rending and tearing extended and she flashed towards the beast’s neck.
Ren couldn’t keep up with most of the fight, but he groaned as she flew right past. She’d missed.
She twisted in the air and landed on all fours, facing the now still Alpha. Glowing brilliantly.
Its head toppled free with a spray of acrid blood that hissed and sizzled where it landed and the body soon followed to the ground.
Mupali’katana deflated, her light dimming. She turned to Ren. “Is Bargan’atar safe? Are the little ones?”
Ren winced as he drew breath to respond. “I think so. He was alive when last I saw him.”
“Thank you, Ren.” She loped off into the woods.
Ren, despite the sharp pain in his side, was able to draw himself up enough to lean against the tree he’d collided with earlier. He wiggled his fingers and toes, nothing seemed to be broken. But he didn’t stand, instead staring off into the distance.
Some time later, Markens’ voice interrupted his trance. “Beast’s blood boy, you’re still breathing. We’re going to need to get a medic out here.”
Ren looked down to see the drying, red-brown stain coating his uniform. “No… I think I’m fine… It’s… not my blood.” He forced himself up onto his still trembling legs, arm instinctively pulling to guard his side.
Markens rushed in to examine him and lightly prodded the spot. “Looks like busted ribs. Anything else hurt?”
His ears still rung, but he shook his head.
His mentor knelt over the severed head of the Alpha and ran his fingers along the protruding shaft. “That’s a hell of a shot, Ren. Big fucker, wasn’t it?” Leaning over to the corpse and the exposed meat and bone where the head once was, he said, “I’m damn glad Mupali’katana is on our side. I figured something was off when I saw her rush away. Took me longer, but I found your trail easy enough.”
Ren barely heard him. Past the ringing in his ears there were screams, but the people screaming were already dead.
“Kid, you with me?” Markens clapped in front of his face. “The Captain is going to want a report. Walk me through what happened while it’s fresh and we’re here. I’m assuming the rest of the Black Claws are dead. Where are the men?”
The men he led to their deaths.
Words wouldn’t come, so he took Markens back the way he had run. The old forester’s eyes whipped about, scouring earth and trunk and brush for every detail they would surrender.
The scent of coppery blood and black rot hit them before they saw anything. Ren stopped at the edge of the carnage, numb and unable to look away.
Markens continued past him, looking around. “Sun’s blood.” The curse hung in the air with the stench and the buzzing of the first fly to find the meal.
Close up, and with time to really see them, the bodies of the soldiers weren’t just torn apart but drained, grey. Flesh sagging and eyes burst in their sockets.
The Forester kept up his scan, making his way to the spot where Ren had fallen from the tree. He glanced up at Ren. “You look a little green. Take a seat somewhere you don’t have to look at this and take some breaths. You can tell me what happened when I get back from checking in with the badgers.
Ren slumped against a tree and slid down. Unwilling to look away. This was his fault. If he’d been stronger or smarter or braver… then…
One of the soldier’s heads was spun all the way around on his neck, facing Ren—bloody, swollen eyes glaring, accusing even in death.
Markens’ hand gently shook his shoulder and brought him back.
“It’s my fault.” Ren’s voice was hollow, dead. He should at least be crying. “I brought them here. They’d be alive if not for me.”
“There will be time to sort that all out later. For now, just tell me the facts.”
And Ren did. Matter of factly, he detailed following the hidden tracks, having the men wait behind while he scouted from the tree. The soldier who snuck a glance. How he’d done nothing as six men died. The way they took two Black Claws down with them. About the one that stayed back. As he talked his body needed to move, so he led Markens through the scene, step by step.
When he got to the part where the Alpha split its pack-mate in two, Markens held up a hand, and looked around. “I only see two Black Claw corpses here.” He went to a patch of earth stained dark, and followed large pawprints southeast, out farther into the wood. Minutes later he was back. “Looks like it’s fleeing. Trailing too much blood to come back looking for a fight. We’ll have to track it when we’re done here.”
Ren nodded and continued. Markens whistled when he described how he’d fallen from the tree, looking up to the branch Ren indicated about four body lengths up. “Hard to believe you didn’t break a limb on the way down.”
When he reached the end of his story Markens wrapped him in a hug, pulling Ren’s head down to rest on his shoulder. “It’s okay, Ren. You’re okay. You’re safe.”
“But I don’t deserve to be. I should have died.” The knot that had held his emotions back broke, and tears ran down his face as he slumped all his weight onto the shorter man. Markens said nothing, just kept holding him. He sobbed and sobbed till Markens’ shoulder was soaked through and his body felt like an empty sack.
They separated and sat away from the bodies. “You did everything right,” Markens said. “Sometimes you can do it all perfectly and things still go wrong. If you’d tried to save those men, you would be dead too now. Sometimes being frozen by terror can save us. The body doesn’t do that for no reason.”
After a pause, Ren spoke again. “What is the point of any of this? I’ve trained my ass off. Gave everything I had. Used every trick. But when it came down to it, I couldn’t save anyone. I even hit the perfect shot and even that did nothing. The only reason I’m alive is because I was saved. On my own I’m not worth anything.”
“What about my Bargan’atar?” Mupali’katana emerged from behind a tree. “If you hadn’t risked yourself, he would be dead. For that you have my gratitude, once again… but, I am intruding. Come visit me before you leave the valley, for now I will tend to my family.”
“She is right. You couldn’t save everyone, but you made a difference. The Alpha might have been able to feed on her mate and steal his strength. He might have gotten away, or grown strong enough to defeat her. It isn’t just Bargan’atar who you saved.”
Ren didn’t respond.
“Look.” Markens fixed him with a heavy look and raised his voice to what a normal person would call conversational volume, but was practically a yell for him. “You were right. By all the stars and spirits, you should be dead. But somehow you survived. Don’t let this chance go to waste. If you don’t want to feel powerless again, then get more power.”
He was right. Ren owed it to the men who had died to use this chance. If he had power, he could do more, be more.
He stood, and Markens joined him. Realizing he didn’t have his bow, he looked under the tree, to where he’d fallen. It was there—snapped in half. Shoving down the hiss of pain from his ribs, he grabbed two spears; one for throwing, one for stabbing. And they set off to track the surviving Black Claw.
#
“We followed the tracks to the lip of the valley. It seems to have fled through the Ducanti saddle. That route is a one way trip, if it even survives the drop.”
Captain Lurron let out a long whistle at the end of Marken’s report. “I think it is safe to say we can skip the forester exam for trainee Ren.”
Markens nodded.
“Congratulations, Forester,” said the Captain, turning to Ren. “You’ll receive your posting tomorrow along with fresh gear to replace everything that was damaged. For now you are dismissed. Get yourself cleaned up and checked out by the Doc.” He fished around in his desk and brought out a stack of copper dham. “And tonight, your drinks are on me.”
Ren blushed and saluted before scooping up the coins and heading out.
#
“Whose ass did you lick?” Doc asked as she prodded and poked him between glimpses at a sheet of paper. “Lurron specifically asked me to give you this checkup.”
Her clinic in Rattan was a big step up from the medical tents he’d grown far too familiar with. The place was immaculate, with a gleaming tile floor he supposed was easier to clean blood off than a carpet or porous wood. Though the walls were bare of framed art or hanging rugs, depictions of blooming flowers and growing trees and running water conjured a natural ambiance of healing.
The wince he’d been suppressing as she palpated his many purpling bruises and welts turned into a yelp of pain when she pressed his side where the Alpha had hit him. It seemed less than half his body was the usual color.
“Can you verify this report?” She held out the paper she’d been referring to throughout his checkup.
Ren took the paper. It was a blow by blow account of his encounter with the Black Claws. “Look’s right to me.”
“Hmmm,” she said, turning away to take some notes. “Anything missing?”
He double checked. “No, ma’am.”
She made some more notes before looking up. “I’m all done. You can get dressed. Just don’t do any heavy lifting or strenuous activity for the next two weeks. That should be enough for you.”
The way she said ‘you’ caused him to pause with his pants half way up. “Is there something strange about me?”
She gave him a wry grin. “Let’s just say your body is making the most of that bone-flower broth you got. Didn’t you think it was strange you fell that far without breaking anything? Or that a tier four awakened Aether Beast only broke your ribs.” He put his hand to the wound and pressed it himself. It had more give to it that felt right. “Bone-flower broth affects each patient to a different extent, but your adherence to the cycling pattern we prescribed helped your body absorb more of it—along with the severity and number of broken bones. As a result your bones are denser, and your marrow a little more… vibrant. Based on how well your bones stood up in this incident, I’d guess your recovery time for most injuries will be cut by a third to half. Yours is actually one of the most ideal cases for bone broth absorption I’ve seen.”
Ren dropped his jaw.
“Though it is based off a potion used for warrior initiation rituals in a tribe North of the Tuluk mountains, my recipe for bone broth is considered a national secret. Not that the ingredients are common enough that just anybody could make it. But maybe now you will understand how lucky you were that the Flame-Blade subsidized your treatment. Next time you see those idiots who beat you, make sure to thank them too.”
Wow. Was this basically a superpower? He thought back to the story of Alucard the Undying, who—even before ascending to the immortal realm—was famed for healing almost as fast as his enemies could cut him. Or Rom the Stone Fist, whose bones were said to be stronger than iron.
Well, maybe Ren wasn’t quite at that point. But his fantasy of being a powerful warrior—no, a hero—didn’t feel so impossible.
“Are you just going to stand there with your pants down? I have other things to do.”
Ren snapped back to reality and flushed, pulling on his blood-stained uniform and stumbling awkwardly from the clinic, making sure to grab the satchel with his clean civilian clothes on the way out. He decided to wait till after a visit to the bath house before changing into them.
#
His head was a mix of emotions and images, flipping back and forth between memories of blood and terror then dreams of crowds cheering his name as he rode down Copper River Ave on a great steed, and back again. He ignored the horrified looks he received from passersby as he walked the six blocks between the clinic and the bathhouse Hamsa had recommended a while back.
The ornately carved wood trim that looked like wind and water and steam all swirling together set the building apart from the mostly plain grey facades of Rattan. Ren almost thought the lady working behind the desk was going to turn him away by the look of disgust that flashed across her face when he entered, but the Captain’s money talked and and she summoned a male attendant to take him to a private room where he could rinse himself over the floor drain before soaking in the round pool of floating petals and steaming water, surrounded by flickering candles.
“May I burn these?” asked the attendant as Ren discarded his bloody uniform.
He turned and rifled through the garments, transferring his two remaining coins and butterfly pin into his satchel and separating the boots and gear belt from the pile. “Any chance you can clean the boots and belt? I don’t care what you do with the rest.”
The attendant held out an upturned palm and Ren placed a coin in it. The hand stayed there till he placed his final coin in it and the man scooped up his stuff and departed.
Dried viscera clung to the curls of his hair, so he took his knife and sheared it off. Most of the remaining blood was on his face and hands and came off fairly easily, though he kept seeing it in the corner of his eyes. He scrubbed harder and longer than was likely necessary and didn’t feel any cleaner.
When he lowered himself into the pool, the hot water bit into his skin and blood rushed to his head, but soon his body relaxed into the heat and the scent of the flowers floating on the surface soothed his nerves. As he lay back and closed his eyes against the warm candle light, his mind finally slowed and he was able to savor the way the water cradled him, the way the heat poured into his tense and knotted muscles coaxing them to relax, the way the floral aroma filled his lungs and nose and mouth.
And for that perfect moment, he was safe. In that small room at the back of the bathhouse there was nothing to fight or overcome. Just peace.
Comments
Great catch!
Isiah Debarros
"Claws tore and fags ripped" I think is supposed to be fangs
