To Save a World Ch. 06

For several seconds Aaron just stood there, the image seared into his brain. It was grotesque. Trasnu was surrounded by peaceful, innocent greenery. His still body belonged there like a gun would in a church. Trasnu himself laid down on a bed of flattened vegetation on his stomach, perfectly still, one hand extended as if he fell asleep while reaching up for something. A large, jagged, ugly wound was on his thigh, gushing blood, the injury so rough and raw that Aaron could discern the pink of his flesh as it gaped open.

There was a clump of small, bright yellow flowers beside his head.

He almost threw up. The elation he felt at having survived the encounter with the monster dropped into a void in his stomach, and his brain just flat out blanked. But then Trasnu groaned -- a small weak sound, like a kicked dog -- and relief flooded into Aaron so hard that his knees became weak again.

Alive. He's still alive.

The horrified young man exploded into motion. He took off his ragged shirt and without hesitation tore it into strips, which he bandaged tightly around the wound, having to awkwardly navigate around the older man's prone body. The measly cloth immediately blossomed red. His fingers were trembling.

Old Hunter was about the heaviest thing he has ever remembered carrying, straining all of his body to heave the man on to his shoulder. He huffed as he took a step. The beastman was heavy. He smelled vaguely like a mixture of a comfortable, canine scent and man. That was enough to motivate him as he took another single step.

He paused, already beginning to pant. Trasnu would need a change of bandages, and now he didn't have a serviceable shirt. Their group had just lost their primary source of food, and their efforts in the immediate next few days would undoubtedly focus on caring for Trasnu. They might be able to survive on roots and herbs, but the incapacitated man himself would need the most nutrition that his body could get in order to heal as fast as possible. And he is also primarily a carnivore. In other words, they needed the meat. But would he be able to do it?

He had to do it.

Aaron went back for the deer.

It was about the most difficult thing that he has ever done, physically. There's something about the weight of a man when the man is dying as you carried him -- Aaron almost believed he could feel the beastman grow steadily lighter. But with a deep grunt of exertion he was able to pick up the deer and drag it with his left hand even as his right secured Trasnu on his shoulder. His muscles were already beginning to ache. Their campsite was at least an hour's walk away. He began to take step after step, after step.

* * *

"I could tell you were able to direct your magic at the stack, but you failed to ignite it. I told you, fire might look like an explosion, but it doesn't feel like one."

Lydia nodded, her face tight. Inside, she was struggling. She was able to do everything perfectly, right up to the moment where she needed to use the energy to actually make the fire. Serche kept on telling her that it wasn't an explosion -- but then, what was it? What is fire, anyway?

Serche saw the expression on her face. "I'm sorry, fire is the form of magic that I like the least. It feels unnatural and strange, something I never quite got used to all this time. Like... like making a wound in nature, tearing a part of it open. I don't know. But it's very necessary, especially in our current situation. It took me a couple of tendays to master it as well, and the most I could do with it is a large spark."

Lydia took a deep breath, seeing the struggle on her teacher's face. "Yes, I definitely understand. I just can't quite grasp it. I can control my magic but I don't know what to do with it to make it ignite."

"I know exactly how you feel." The Shaman sighed. "Perhaps it would help if-"

Lydia noticed the instantaneous shift in Serche's body language. Her words cut off, her eyes suddenly alert, the triangle of ears in her head suddenly rigidly straight. The beastman tensed predatorily, her body suddenly coiled for motion. Her teacher inhaled deeply, appearing to scent the air. "Blood," she said. Goosebumps erupted on Lydia's skin.

"Do you hear that?" The Shaman whispered -- wide, urgent golden eyes made contact with hers.

Serche took off like an arrow, leaving behind a confused Lydia to scramble in her wake. The woman tore through the forest haphazardly, fear brewing in Lydia's gut as she imagined what could put such urgency in the Rakan's legs. Together, the pair ran in a straight direction. Lydia briefly wondered what Trasnu would say -- they didn't care about their tracks and the noises they were making at all.

But then after several minutes, Lydia knew exactly what Trasnu would say;

Nothing. Because the man was dying, slung on the shoulders of a struggling Aaron.

The young man was in a bad state; on his knees, his breathing audible and ragged. He did not react at all as Serche broke through the undergrowth, merely breathing louder and continuing his labor. The sight of her friend unconscious and bleeding shocked Lydia so much that the trip back to their camp became a haze of grunts, exertion and horrified encouragements. She swam on a syrupy haze of confusion and sudden fear. She clung tightly to Aaron.

"You'll be fine," she murmured for both Aaron, and herself.

They had the wounded beastman lie in dry ground of the great hall, on a hasty pallet made of leaves. Serche rattled off rapid instructions that she couldn't remember but somehow was able to do. Lydia couldn't even recall fetching the bowls of water that the Shaman used to clean the wound. She only took notice of it after the deed was done, as she held Aaron beside her, the both of them watching the Shaman work.

Aaron babbled, confused and afraid. A tumble of words spewed from his mouth and sometimes they almost made sense -- if he wasn't shivering and panting from exhaustion in equal measure. He breathed too deeply and too often, twitching and trembling where he sat on the ground. Lydia cradled the terrified young man, tucked his head into her shoulders and whispered soothing words at him. Lydia reached into herself and then out into Aaron. He was all over the place; the fear and the shock of his experience felt sour, like sweat and tears and vomit but crawling on her skin.

She didn't think. The energies in her shifted, moving in a sluggishly progressive way, circulating in time with her breathing. As they moved somehow they caught up the young man's emotions in their current, giving it a flow, giving it regularity, giving his emotions harmony. He began to breathe deeper, although he still shuddered every time he exhaled, like he was freezing.

"He's dead, isn't he?" He whispered against her chest.

Lydia didn't react, simply shushed him and stroked his hair, despite the dread that settled on her stomach at his words. She really wished that she felt horrified at the loss of a friend -- but first and foremost on her mind is what the death of Trasnu meant for their survival. "That's not true," she whispered, hating herself.

"It's because of me. I couldn't carry him fast enough. If I had... I could feel him bleed all over me..." Aaron shuddered, and audibly mastered his breathing. Lydia hugged him a little tighter.

"I- I'm sorry..." Aaron whispered again, pathetically.

"Listen," Serche had had enough. Her voice was fierce as she whirled at the shivering Aaron. "He's not dead, all right? He isn't. I'm still treating him, aren't I? You think I would tire myself out for a corpse? " But her voice carried a tinge of panic with them as she spoke. Aaron seemed to fold into himself.

Serche mentally berated herself. "Master," She said firmly, shaking his shoulders when he wouldn't respond.

"Master. Look at me. He isn't going to die. I'm not going to let him." The Shaman knew she was spending precious seconds away from stabilizing Trasnu's critical condition, but she gripped his bare shoulders. His light gray orbs seemed even paler as she stared into them, willing him courage through a look. He nodded, a small movement.

Serche turned back to Trasnu hurriedly. The wound was bathed and cleaned -- his flesh turned from crimson blood to the light pink of torn muscles -- and then a poultice was made from ingredients she had prepared and never hoped to use. She applied one on the wound, and then made another. It would be better if the wound was stitched, but medical instruments don't grow in the forest. Finally, she bandaged the wound with cloth and tied it closed. Her movements were precise and steady.

"There," She sighed. "Now I can heal him." She wiped her hands with cloth to hide the small tremors.

There were questioning looks from both Lydia and Aaron. "Healing magic," She said by way of explanation. "I know just enough of it to be useful."

The Shaman focused her energies and laid her hands on the flesh around the wound. It was huge, like an area the size of a closed fist was gouged out of his thigh but was never quite torn completely off, flapping open like so much ripped cloth. Her white hands framed the wound, barely touching the skin. Serche drew on her magic and she felt the world come alive with potential, her world buzzing with the hum of life. She directed the hum to Trasnu's leg, sighing as she felt her magic leave her. Her hands glowed a barely perceptible green.

"Healing magic is close to the natural magic of the Shamans. It operates on the same principle; as we can speed up the growth of plants, so can we speed up the knitting of muscles and growth of bone. It is just more complicated and slow going. I would not be able to completely heal him in one turn; I would spend all of my energy only to try again tomorrow. Although I should be able to stabilize him, at the very least."

"I... Is he going to live?"

Serche looked back at the tremulous young man and grinned, fiercely and not without a small amount of pride. "Old Hunter has honestly been through worse." For their benefit, of course. He had been through worse, but that didn't mean he would survive this time.

Aaron sighed a long sigh, as if he was trying to push all of the air out of him in one go. "Good, that's good. Thank you."

Lydia breathed a sigh of relief as well, feeling Aaron's emotions calm down to more reasonable levels. She hadn't let go of him, though. Her knees started to hurt from kneeling on hard ground, but she tightened her grip on her Aaron all the more. Both of them needed the physical reassurance.

"Now, this is going to take a little while. Why don't you tell me what happened?"

Aaron did, the story flowing out of him haltingly. He realized that it was actually just a short encounter -- the entire event not having lasted more than thirty terrifying minutes. Serche sat impassively as she laid her hands on the wound even as her stomach dropped horribly, her worst fears confirmed.

A wound from a cursed beast may close, but may not heal.

"What if it comes back?" Lydia voiced her concern in a small voice.

"That... is a distinct possibility. Cursed beasts are intelligent, and notoriously unpredictable." Serche admitted. "We will prepare appropriately. But we have more pressing concerns. Do either of you know how to skin a deer?"

Two simultaneous shakes of the head. "I thought so. I will teach you once I am finished."

She did, although she swayed a bit as she stood up. The day passed by with a hush falling over the group, overly aware as they are of the unconscious Trasnu. It took the remainder of the day for Aaron and Lydia to learn how to dress and skin the deer with the tools available to them, under the watchful guidance of Serche. By the time the sun was beginning to set, the venison was divided into slabs of meat, and placed on a tall rack. The hide was, inexplicably, submitted to a fate of being held under the cold waters of the river indefinitely, secured by large rocks.

Supper that evening consisted mostly of a healthy feast of deer innards; spit-roasted liver, kidneys and heart, seasoned with a little bit of salt and nothing else. Aaron tasted a little of each, but he ate more of the plain tasting roots and tubers that night. Lydia, ever the non-picky eater, served herself a healthy helping of both. Serche positively tore through the meat. The Rakan beastman didn't notice, or perhaps refused to acknowledge, the fond smiles on her companion's faces as she stuffed her cheeks full. Nevertheless, the camp seemed subdued that night without Trasnu's wry comments and boisterous laughter. Even Aaron and Lydia's lovemaking was gentler, tinged with worry.

The next morning, though, was a different story.

"Trasnu!" Lydia exclaimed happily as she expertly scaled the swaying ladder. She ran to the Rakan hunter even before she set foot on the ground.

The hunter in question was sitting upright by the fire, and his full attention seemed to be occupied by the flames even as Lydia ran up to him for, presumably, a hug. "Shush, child. I have no time for your sentimentality. I have been dying for a taste of proper meat. Literally." He said, glancing at the approaching woman playfully. But Lydia would not be deterred, and he grunted, parent-like, as she threw herself at him in a tight hug.

"Alright, alright," The hunter laughed, not unhappily. "Get off! My old bones' a-creakin', y'know. Give an old man a break."

"You're back!" Lydia exclaimed, so innocently that Trasnu couldn't help but smile.

"Yes, I am. Now get off me before I eat your bony little limbs off instead of this tasty meat."

"They're not bony!" Lydia complained, finally releasing him. "And you're roasting meat! We haven't even tasted that yet."

"Certain privileges are afforded to the old and the weak, my dear."

"Hell if you're either of those." Aaron piped in, having joined the group. "Good morning to you, Trasnu. I'm happy to see you're awake."

Aaron was more than happy to see the older hunter awake. His throat clamped up. Relief flooded in his chest, and already he could feel the heaviness disappear as his breathing got a little easier. Lydia evidently felt the same as she all but jumped at the young man, her smile pure sunshine. "He's fine!" She announced. Aaron had to laugh happily at her childish glee. He caught her and hugged her tight.

"I never doubted it." He had. "I suppose Serche was a better healer than she let on, then?"

"I wasn't," answered Serche, her hair an explosion of silver, just-woke-up charm. She settled around the campfire beside Trasnu, as did the others. "He begged me, so I woke up in the night to tend to his wounds."

"Begged -- I was unconscious!"

"You did." The Rakan Shaman maintained. "Said something about roasted venison in your sleep."

That gave the old man some pause. "Hmm. Now that you mentioned it..."

"Which you will definitely be sharing with the rest of the group." Lydia declared firmly, much to Trasnu's apparent dismay. He fretted and complained, but there weren't any problems; there was already enough meat cooking for all of them.

* * *

"When are you going to tell them?" Serche's voice was quiet and grave, a betrayal of the laughter on her lips just a little while ago. She was looking in the direction of the river, towards the path that her master and her mistress are currently taking for their morning routine.

"Not now."

"Why?"

"Because it would do them no good. Did you see the relief on their faces when they saw me up and awake? You can brighten up the gloom of this forest with it."

"You'd be the last person I'd think to protect someone's innocence, especially when their survival hangs in the balance."

"I would never let them die, even if it kills me."

"It doesn't have to kill you, Trasnu."

"It might."

"I will tell them." Serche resolved. "They deserve to know. There might even be a way out of this -- maybe if all of us think it through together..."

"What, a healer would magically step out of a tree?" Trasnu made a small bark of laughter. "We are within parts of the Great Forest so remote that quite possibly no thinking being has ever laid eyes on these lands before. We do not know where we are, nor the direction to take. It would take us several months, possibly years, of wandering in order to find the littlest traces of civilization. I have a tenday at most."

The young woman scowled at him, frustrated. "Even so."

Trasnu shook his head. "Let us not turn our noses away from the truth, my dear Shaman. I may die, and telling the little ones of it would bring us no benefit."

"I will still tell them, anyway. My loyalty lies with the master, not to you. They deserve to know."

The old beastman gave her a look. Trasnu was a creature whose very existence exuded life; the certain energy of youth, and the ease of laughter when with old friends. He was always merry, always smiling -- which made it very easy to overlook just how old he was. But not for that look. For that split second, Serche saw the sadness in his eyes, the tiredness and frailty of old age -- and most of all, the impending sense of doom. The grays in his brilliant fur seemed to stand out more, the smallest sag of skin on his otherwise sculpted body more noticeable. The impression shook her in some strange, unidentifiable way. But then the moment passed, and in the hunter's eyes remained the very noticeable glint of determination, of stubbornness.

"You have never faced death the way I have, Serche." Trasnu began, quietly. "I hated it, when my wife was laying on her deathbed. The people around her mourned even as she was alive, the pity impossible to ignore in their smiles and kind words. Even though she did her best to be cheerful, to fend away the shadows for just a little more, everyone around my beloved Graigha saw nothing but death in her. She stopped being a proud Rakan beastman, stopped being a treesinger, a wife -- and became a creature to be pitied, like a dying animal. I hated it. From the purest part of my essence, I hated it. I refuse to be treated like that, Serche. Not by you, not by the first human friends that I have ever made, not by anyone."

The conviction in his words laid on Serche like a slab of granite, silencing her protests. She stared at him wide-eyed and straight-eared, deeply surprised at his emotional revelation. Trasnu sighed, the heat seeming to evaporate from his words. "Please, consider it a favor for a friend."

Then, sensing the stubborn young woman still hesitating, he dealt the finishing blow. "Besides, I'm not the only one we should worry about. I'm not the only one keeping secrets."

"W... what do you mean?" She inquired, although she knew exactly what he was talking about.

Trasnu gave her a look. Not unkind, but crafty all the same. "Your wilding days are near. How would you feel if I told the master and the mistress about that? "

Serche immediately wilted before his eyes, ears and tail drooping to the ground in embarrassment. She prodded the fire meaninglessly and, in Trasnu's eyes, a little petulantly. "Please don't. I would like to tell them myself."

He nodded, sealing the deal. "It would be good if you told them soon. They would be able to tend to you."

Serche hesitated. "And you..."

"Will not be able to help -- even if I wanted to."

The young woman breathed deeply, nodding. There was a certain relief that came from the resolution, even if it wasn't what she originally wanted. "I feel really bad for keeping this from our master."

Trasnu smiled at her. "Thank you."

* * *

"So let me get this straight. We're going to spar?"

"We are going to face each other and I am going to beat you to the ground, yes."

"See, that's the part I don't exactly get?"

"Which one?"