Need (Sister Lashan) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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lukeoutbelow2022-06-10 02:56 pm
hasapoint) wrote in lukeoutbelow2022-06-10 02:56 pm
Do not be afraid of light
They smelled the battlefield long before they saw it. The apprentices and little Sisters who hadn't been on this kind of excursion before covered their noses and exclaimed. Vena didn't. As the child of a camp follower she would know to expect this, but her tread slowed and she looked repeatedly at Sister Lashan, especially as the sound of incredible numbers of crows cawing grew louder.
"Nasty, isn't it? Decay is part of death which is part of life," Lashan said firmly, if not totally without sympathy. How young had she been, the last time she was upset by the aftermath of battle? "There's armies that immediately turn around and sort the living from the dying from the dead and take care of that then and there. Not here, they're leaving it for the locals to handle or not and we're local enough. If you fight, you may well fight for people who'll leave you if you fall and move on. Make sure you at least have friends who'll look for you." They pressed on with their wagon. The donkey put its ears back but did not balk.
It wasn't as bad as it would get over the next few days. The bodies - it was now academic who had belonged to which side of whichever meaningless conflict this was - were not much bloated and decayed yet. Flies were not yet overwhelming. Right now the field of bodies was mostly attended by carrion birds, and various other birds that were willing to take advantage of the bounty before them. Finches among them, tiny beaks dipped red. A few other people could be seen picking their way across what had been a perfectly useable pasture. They kept clear. Lashan tasked girls to keep watch for them anyway, pretended not to see the ones who were being sick, and oversaw as dead men were loaded onto the donkeycart. They'd take them away a distance, say the rites, strip them of useful things, get them buried, and come back.
She paused. Something... like a sound. Not a sound. Lashan was hearing something with her mind, closer than the pickers. A threat? She stood like a sentinel and paid attention.
"Nasty, isn't it? Decay is part of death which is part of life," Lashan said firmly, if not totally without sympathy. How young had she been, the last time she was upset by the aftermath of battle? "There's armies that immediately turn around and sort the living from the dying from the dead and take care of that then and there. Not here, they're leaving it for the locals to handle or not and we're local enough. If you fight, you may well fight for people who'll leave you if you fall and move on. Make sure you at least have friends who'll look for you." They pressed on with their wagon. The donkey put its ears back but did not balk.
It wasn't as bad as it would get over the next few days. The bodies - it was now academic who had belonged to which side of whichever meaningless conflict this was - were not much bloated and decayed yet. Flies were not yet overwhelming. Right now the field of bodies was mostly attended by carrion birds, and various other birds that were willing to take advantage of the bounty before them. Finches among them, tiny beaks dipped red. A few other people could be seen picking their way across what had been a perfectly useable pasture. They kept clear. Lashan tasked girls to keep watch for them anyway, pretended not to see the ones who were being sick, and oversaw as dead men were loaded onto the donkeycart. They'd take them away a distance, say the rites, strip them of useful things, get them buried, and come back.
She paused. Something... like a sound. Not a sound. Lashan was hearing something with her mind, closer than the pickers. A threat? She stood like a sentinel and paid attention.
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He's brought out of the mood by Vena, who kindles a feeling of... warmth? Appreciation? Guts may be a hired killer, but he wasn't so heartless as to reject a gift like that. His expression softens. Kindness from the world wasn't a thing he got to experience often, so he's quiet when she insists. It seems like he would aquiesce without a fight.
"I'm used to blades on the larger side, but small knives can be useful too." he says, echoing Lashan's sentiment.
Guts isn't going to nitpick a present. He just can't imagine why Vena took such a liking to him when they've only known each other for a week. They were still practically strangers.
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Vena, peering closely up at Guts, is relieved. She'd thought arguing that it wasn't going out of her way and would actually help her - and really, knives had been in the planning before they saw him so it's not a lie - would be more convincing than insisting that she wants him to have something to remember her and everyone with. Or that it feels grown up and cool to have a mercenary going around carrying something she made and none of her friends would be able to say the same. But hey, she doesn't have to argue!
"Can I have one of the claws? I bet I can put it in the handle! It'll just take, you know, some carving and glue, I guess," she says, frowning with concentration as she tries to work out how to implement that sudden burst of inspiration.
"I wouldn't overuse the glue," Lashan advises her. "Think about grip and positioning. Would it make it harder to use?"
"Ummm." Vena rubs her face in thought, getting smudges everywhere. "Maybe the sheath instead. Or... along the spine of the handle? But the wrapping would hide it, huh..."
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Other girl... Guts realized he never got a name. He figures Vena is gregarious enough to hunt down the claw she wants in a compound this small, though.
"Bet she'll be off to tan the skin once the rain stops."
Guts follows the conversation idly, picking through the roughened knives in his hand. The tang just about fits in his palm for the time being, though he really didn't have trouble manipulating a small blade with two or three fingers. In an unusual moment of levity, he plays with one a bit while they talked shop.
"This'll end up pretty bloodstained at some point." he remarks, eventually. "Better not to make it too fancy."
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Vena's a little crestfallen to think of having to put aside any elaborate, fanciful plans. She rallies. "Do you have a favorite color anyway? I wanna know. Here, look, mine's blue, but blue leather's not a thing, so Master Lashan made me one with a fascinum. Look!"
She has a rather tinier knife, extremely sharp, with a long handle and a blade only about three inches long in a sheath carried around her neck by a braided cord. Vena draws it and holds it up. There's a short loop of a thin leather strip on the end, bearing a blue bead with white eye rings, like the beads on Lashan's temple regalia. Guts has probably seen it in passing before, a small knife is indeed useful day to day.
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And then he pauses, having been asked for the first time what his favorite anything was. He was never particular about color, so he thinks of things that are pleasant to be around, to look at. His world wasn't only dirt and gore. At times there were fields of pink wildflowers, the bright yellow of birch trees in autumn, a deep blue sky above. All of these kindled some warmth in him, made him wonder at times if there was some other path he could tread.
They only ever ended up being brief respites, but they were respites regardless.
"Why don't you make it blue, so if I find something out there to bring back, I'll remember what color you like?" he says, figuring that'd be more useful to say than 'I don't know.' It was stupid and sentimental, but she was just a kid.
"And they'll match."
It's unlikely they'll ever see each other again, after this. She'll forget it in time. But at least he can humor the girl. That is what he figures.
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It’s the wrong question, she knows. Outside of old tales the gods are nothing like that involved and personal and she’s not a hero to get that attention anyway. Even their messengers have long gone silent. The closest anyone is to the divine anymore are the lykeblades, and if they have answers they’re not sharing.
Lashan walks off to get her girl a roll of birchbark from a rack of them. It will be useful in designing this knife.
Vena, not snooping, nods sagely. “It’s hard to pick! I like a lot of colors but the Plains people really love blue, it’s all over the inside of the temple and it’s so beautiful there.” It’s the color of magic and associated with spirits and the Twins, though each has their own other colors too. She brightens to think Guts will come back. “Yeah! Sure! Do you like dragonflies? Sometimes they’re blue.”
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“Well then, blue it is.” He agrees with her easily, ignorant of Lashan snooping in on his thoughts. He does notice the old woman had sauntered off, and cranes his neck to get a look at her.
“Well, since you’re not about to fall apart, I’ll stay out of the way.”
Guts was not a picky client, it seems. He will leave the blacksmiths to do their work and occupy himself with something else. Probably training agility again, once the rain storm clears.
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Lashan makes an exasperated noise, deliberately reaching into her irritation. "I'm not as decrepit as that, boy. Eat something, or do whatever else is an option in this rain." Food and rest are always part of healing, whether that's working the magic or having it worked on you, or just waiting for the body to recover. She would've told someone else that age go play - lots of teenagers would be annoyed - but really doesn't want to consider if Guts hasn't or doesn't, even by himself.
He can get something to eat, the refectory isn't serving right now but someone will give him something if he comes by. They are industriously preparing for the next meal and can spare him some probably raw vegetables and cheese or a bit of grain porridge. Otherwise the enclave is rather quiet, people mostly staying in shelter. The rain has gentled and lightened and is almost warm but it's hard to go anywhere without tracking mud or going through puddles.
There are some raised voices and yelling out by the stables. Quite a number of the younger Sisters, from small children to a few in their early twenties, have aggregated there. Little kids have been, and some still are, digging holes with sticks and making mud pies. There's a wallow full of footprints and deep indentations where girls had been wrestling, and those girls can easily be picked out by how absolutely coated in sticky wet dirt they still are. The major attraction, though, is that most present have divided into teams and are hauling opposite ends of a thick, knotted rope, shouting with excitement.
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"Eating ain't a bad idea," he says, grabbing onto that excuse for an exit and taking it. "Catch you later."
He'll leave the Blacksmiths and their honest work to them, trusting the metal will be honed and heated to a clean edge. Even in the rain, the outdoors felt like a more fitting place for him, anyway. So he wanders out into the sparse drizzle, now well used to walking towards the refectory after Vena had shown him the route a dozen times.
The Sister at the refectory was willing to relinquish a bit of food up, and he takes whatever bites of cheese they had to spare by the window. Lunch would be here soon enough before his stomach would start to bother him. The reception growing warmer with each visit was an interesting detail that the opted not to think too hard about, even if he did notice. He takes the small portion with a simple thanks before continuing his path forward.
His initial plan to sequester himself in his usual haunting ground is interrupted by the bustle of activity around the stables. Rain in a mercenary camp meant more work than play, especially if they had to move locations in the miserable weather. His most vibrant memories are of struggling with slippery rope, wood wagons, and the horses that pulled them. Miserable and ankle deep in mud. Plate mail caked in a horrible mess in the aftermath - who else to be stuck with cleaning but the youngest of the lot? The rivets did a good job of wedging in as much crap as possible between sheets of steel. That detail was the most vivid of the lot.
Even though he'd seen children play enough times in villages, it always felt strange and distant. Like a disembodied version of a childhood he never knew himself. So he watches the games as an outside observer, leaning on the wooden fenceposts as the girls play amongst each other. Some tossing each other to the ground in mock-fights and the others caught in their tug-of-war. He was down to two pieces of cheese.
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Galli looks more robust not soaked to the skin and lit only by blue witchlight, though right now there's drying mud all along one side of her face so she's not totally unrecognizable. She's a big, sturdy, round-cheeked girl, maybe half an inch shorter than Guts is, and when she approaches him she laces her dirty fingers together to keep from fidgeting.
"Hi. Um, I'm sorry about yesterday, and... thanks for helping that old woman out." That last part is in a lower voice, a tone adjacent to bafflement. "I didn't mean to be out that late and I wasn't expecting anyone to come looking. It's... why did she do that? She doesn't know me!" Definitely bafflement.
There is also a much smaller girl with a very worn rag doll, but she doesn't have any commentary, just watches him as unblinkingly as a cat. Probably picking her nose.
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It seemed obvious to Guts, or maybe it was the only explanation he could muster for the kindness Lashan had shown him. If she could do that for an enemy that tried to kill her, why not for one of the other enclave girls?
"Anyway, it ain't a big deal. We had an arrangement sorted out, and that was part of it. Wasn't going out of my way or anything."
Exchanges and contracts made things less complicated in Guts' world. He was just doing another job. Paying back the food and hospitality.
He didn't want Galli to think she owed him anything. He didn't want to make the mistake of letting her get too close, either. More than anything, he wanted to continue onward before growing any fonder of this place. He wanted his sword back in his hands.
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Someone hasn't gotten the memo about not telling outsiders anything about the magic practiced here, though Galli knows and has seen so little anyway that she still thinks of it as witchcraft, it hasn't sunk in that they use other terms for magic here. The enclave puts a lot of stock into oaths and they say some weird things that she's not sure even work, mostly.
The rope has been allowed to go slack as more girls notice Guts standing there. A very tall young woman with some prominent burn scars twisting one side of her mouth into a permanent sneer holds the hands of a pair of littles and watches him uncertainly.
"Hey, bear-boy!" He brought back Safflower wet but unharmed, so the stable girl from yesterday isn't going to have to find a way to kill him. "Come do tug-of-war! It's good exercise."
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Something did seem to be slightly magical about this whole place, Lashan included. It was something not typically seen in the kingdoms of the Holy See, but that thought is interrupted by the invitation to the game between them.
"You pull ropes in the rain for fun?" he retorts with a little teasing. At the same time, he presses his fingers to his sides, testing the bruising near this ribs. The pain had lessened a good amount from the bath and the medicine, but he hadn't gotten a good look at himself since the night prior. Guess he'll find out in short order how much better he's really doing.
He jumps the fence to join them, hopping to Galli's side. No streak of pain, yet. May as well join them, if he was just going to exercise himself anyway.
"All right, then. Which side?"
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"I'll be on your team," Galli decides immediately. "I'm not getting yanked off my feet! Have you played tug-of-war before? You're trying to get the first person on the other side dragged over the line but it's really just about the pulling. And that is fun, you'll see." There was a line drawn in the mud but it's so well trampled as to be indistinct.
The burned girl turns her head a bit, trying to hide her bad side from a stranger. A number of the littler kids have clustered around her, tugging her skirt and babbling. "How strong are you, Mister Boy?" She winces a little the moment she says that, mister boy, but she can't take it back. Keep talking, move on! With her twisted lip her speech is a little unclear. "It should be as even as possible. Can we start with... six girls opposite you?"
Several small children volunteer immediately. Hesri is forced to amend. "Six big girls and one little one to start." They'll all get lined up pretty quickly.
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“Sure.” he says, after what felt like forever.
Guts knew he was strong, but he measured it in the force of his swing, and ultimately in how effective he was at killing an enemy. He didn’t really have a good answer to give her to make the teams even. They could always add more if the six were mismatched.
Before taking up the rope, he tugs at the shirt collar and starts to pull it over his head.
“Lashan’s gonna run out of clothes if I keep messin’ them up.”
Despite the bizarre reaction from last night, he’d rather deal with that than be stuck cleaning mud out of clothing. And perhaps, there was a grain of actual guilt for ruining another hand-me-down that he was never really owed.
So he sets it on the nearest fencepost, away from the action. The bruising from last night looked unpleasant, but the red had darkened to a more faded blue already. He grips the side that Galli had wandered to. The rules seemed simple enough.
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"Oh..." Just who says that is unclear. There are gasps, there is craning to see and a giggle or two along with a general quiet commotion. A few who miss the subtext for whatever reason take this as a cue to get their own shirts off and are stopped and participate in hushed, furious, but it's not fair! discussions. Usually in the summer plenty of girls are running around without shirts or tunics or even breast bands, for those to whom that's not painful. The rain has things a little cool for that right now but wrestling and exertion warm a body up.
Regardless, six fighter-type teens and a small child take the rope opposite Guts. Galli goes behind him, which isn't at all so she can look at the muscles of his back and have any feelings about them whatsoever.
"Wrap your hands around the rope, not the other way around, or if something goes wrong you'll get hands like mine," Hesri says, rallying with an anxious laugh. Her hands absolutely didn't get like they are from a rope, not that she's offering them to be examined. Rope wrapping can result in losing fingers if the rope is pulled hard enough. "Let's be good sports everyone! Ready, steady... start!"
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Somewhere in his upper back and shoulders he feels a burn as he begins to resist. Fighting last night will leave him aching one way or another, though his legs were still in good order. Stubbornly, he digs the heels of his boots in and begins to step back.
It’ll take a while to wind up, but soon enough, he’ll keep tugging along as if he were helping to pull a stubborn horse out of a ditch with Galli, the effort showing the most in his forearms and shoulders. He could tell right away that his legs would be doing most of the work, and so he lets them, easing some of the burn.
It was less an explosive yank and more a steady pull backwards, occasionally set back by a small slip in the mud.
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The slow start builds confidence for the other side. They know the strategy for playing this game as a team, how to brake with their feet and add their collective weight to the rope when Guts is pulling, saving their strength for when he has to pause and then pulling all together. They coordinate easily, yelling out "Hang!" and "Pull!". But there's only so much traction to be had in the wet, churned-up ground and The Boy is, in fact, very strong. Even as sturdy farmer's children who train in physical tasks and low-level swordwork, they inexorably start to get brought forwards, yelping and protesting.
Fresh girls add themselves to the other side of the rope to reinforce them and Hesri has to tell them "Two at a time! Hey!" Some of them are absolutely ones from Lashan's party a week ago and Guts does kind of get glared at, but it's not really in the same way as when he first arrived.
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But that’s all he has time to say before slipping and losing some ground in the mud. He squares his stance to brake as much as he can, though the two of them aren’t going to have as much weight on their side.
He glares back ahead, feeling fiery inside rather than wanting to give up on the first round. He had a competitive streak buried in there, or maybe it was simple stubbornness. The burn in his shoulders worsened, but not enough to break out of him out of his pull. Through labored breaths, he talks to Galli:
“Hey.”
He glances back briefly.
“You call. I’ll follow.”
At some point, he’d recognized the coordination going on in the tugs, and figured they’d do better if they followed suit. She was more familiar with the game than he was, anyway.
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Galli's got a healthy flush going on and is a little bit out of breath. She's been giving it her all, but is also flustered and bothered and kind of jealous and doesn't like any of that, and is surprised to be given a new job. "On - hang you dig your heels in, and kinda rest. On pull, uh, yeah."
She can only see so much around him or over his shoulder, but she can hear the others just fine and it's maybe a relief to focus on that. Sure. "Hang... hang... pull!"
"Huo nooooooo..." someone says weakly in the background. The second-oldest boy present, a four-year-old, breaks free of the pack to run over and grab the trailing end of this side of the rope. Huo has not put down his rag doll and will contribute only moral support.
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With his teammate focusing on the coordinating part, he gets lost in the rhythms of his breaths, chest rising and falling with some amount of controlled exertion. His own cheeks were flushed and the rain mixed with sweat, but at each call to pull he finds some new reservoir of energy to respond with at the given opportunity. Somehow.
He looks more focused than angry, staring dead-set ahead without any particular Sister to glare at. He was too absorbed in keeping his hands on rope to notice Huo running up behind them to take the tail.
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A young adult gives a wistful sigh along the lines of "He's beautiful", which gets a ripple of laughter from the Sisters not actively pulling. They're not wrong. It doesn't even matter that he's patchy with bruises. Guts, rain-wet without the borrowed shirt of an old lady and with his usual closed expression sharpened into that intent stare, is a sight.
Some of the opponents are immune to that or too focused themselves to care. Not the girl in front, who gets the brunt of the stare even though Guts isn't particularly glaring at her. After a lot of blinking she becomes increasingly flustered, going red from hairline to below her chin. She slips entirely off her feet, slewing side to side in the mud and clinging to the rope with white knuckles. This, and knocking against the girl behind her, makes the power exerted by that side slacken a bit.
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He clenches his teeth and gives the rope a strong yank as he takes a step back, hoping their opportunity would build upon itself. His whole body had started to burn after the second round of giving and trading. One of them will have to give in soon!
He had mercifully been too focused staring ahead to hear the commentary, or he might have slipped out of sheer embarrassment.
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Galli doubles backwards like a bow, yelping hoarsely with the effort. Inexorably, the lead girl is pulled forwards into the vaguely delineated contested zone, despite new girls trying to wriggle in for handholds. There's more yelling. When her feet go over, widely spaced and churning wet earth like plowshares, some of the girls see their loss and let go to take the pressure off their stinging arms and palms.
There's suddenly a lot more slack and Galli, no longer monitoring the other side, loses her footing hard enough to end up flat on her back and skidding into Guts' ankles.
Huo is clear and will keep pulling regardless. He's finally tucked his toy clumsily under one arm so he could grip the knot at the end of the rope with both hands.
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Guts is the next domino to trip and fall, most of his back landing in the mud with a plop and one arm falling messily on Galli, draped with rope and all around her shoulders. The rope itself is now mostly slack, though one hand of his refuses to let go, looking rather red on the palm. Had he been any less tired, he would have remembered to jerk away from the two of them touching.
As it was, all he could focus on for a few seconds was getting some air into his lungs, not even minding the warmth of another human for the time being.
"Did we win?" he pipes out, finally.
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