by Mark Swaine
“To the Liumang prison, should any harm come to my father I will murder his captors,” says Xiaojian whilst reaching for a knife.
“Your father, Yeman Ren the troll is your father?” says Akio confusedly.
Xiaojian nods firmly, and frowns at her patient as she expects him to break into a fit of laughter any second now. But he doesn't laugh; instead his interest in his Healer's upbringing is piqued.
“How is that possible?” asks Akio.
“My parents were killed in a training exercise when I was very young. Drink this,” says Xiajian pouring ale into his mouth to douse his pain. “Yeman Ren adopted me as his own,” continues Xiaojian curtly whilst tossing a roll of dressing leaves to a Novice Healer.
“You are a very interesting woman, we have more in common than you know,” replies Akio, humbly.
“I doubt that,” replies Xiaojian suddenly engrossed in the usually jesting man.
“I too was raised by a troll,” replies Akio.
“You were raised by a troll?” says Xiaojin in disbelief.
“Yes, her name was Akiko Ishikawa... my mother,” says Akio trying not to break into a fit of laughter.
“Your Mother was too... a troll?” says Xiaojian doubtfully.
“No, but she was twice as hideous,” says Akio breaking into a fit of laughter.
Xiaojian scowls at the tasteless joke then drives the tip of her knife into his chest to create a long incision. Akio's laugh changes to a long grunt and he tries his best not to let it elevate into a scream as he watches his blood spill over his hairless chest.
“By the ease of your knife, I can only assume I offended you. I beg your forgiveness Xiaojian,” says Akio, taking long deep breaths.
“My knife travels with ease and haste because you are bleeding from the inside and I must work quickly to stop it. Now be silent and do not move,” orders Xiaojian.
“Have... have you ever done this before?” asks Akio, hiding his anxiety.
“Yes, many times...” replies Xiaojian, finishing her incision.
“Thank Raijin,” smiles Akio whilst sighing in relief.
“...on a pig,” adds Xiaojian as Akio's relieved expression turns to one of latent distrust.
“These pigs, they survived yes?” asks Akio, nodding optimistically.
“The pig was already dead,” replies Xiaojian.
“But you know what you are doing?” asks Akio.
“Are you afraid? Tales of the Samurai claim you do not fear death,” says Xiaojian, respectively.
“I am not afraid of death, only the pitiful circumstances surrounding an end such as this,” replies Akio.
“Fear not Master Samurai, the anatomy of pig is not so different from a man's,” says Xiaojian with a quick informative smile.
“But you can heal my wound?” asks Akio.
“I will try, I have never worked on an immortal pig until now,” says Xiaojian sarcastically whilst prying open his chest.
“Brace yourself,” says Xiaojian, before inserting a stick in between his teeth.
Xiaojian takes a deep breath and opens his chest with her nimble bare hands and Akio bites down hard on the branch with wide eyed horror. Xiaojian carefully slides her hand inside the open slit to feel for abnormalities, ruptures and haemorrhaging. As she stares into Akio's face whilst searching his insides, her eyes wander as she visualises each artery passing between her gentle slender fingers.
“There is a nick on the bottom side of your heart and a deep laceration on your right lung,” says Xiaojian in quiet concentration. “Your heart is slowing. I must open you much further if I am to stitch it closed,” says Xiaojian.
“I am not a duffel bag Xiaojian,” replies Akio worriedly.
“Do you wish to fight another day Master Samurai?” asks Xiaojian.
“Do what you must,” replies Akio sweating heavily and nodding affirmatively.
Xiaojian attempts to withdraw her hand and to her surprise and dismay, she finds that Akio's skin has healed around her wrist forbidding her from removing it. Gently pulling as hard she can, she rocks the table and the knife drops to the floor.
“I have never been closer to a woman than I have in this moment,” jokes Akio in muffled words with the stick wedged in his mouth.
“I court only women, save your words,” says Xiaojian, asking one of her busy attendees for aid.
“What if I told you I court only men, would we then be compatible?” jokes Akio in pained words,
“No, nor would I believe you,” says Xiaojian. “You there, come here!” says Xiaojian to a seemingly able man wandering into the hut.
“Me?” says the young man nursing a slightly scorched hand.
“You again?!” says Xioajian angrily as she recognises him.
“I burned my hand on a stove,” replies Mǎkè, raising his palm.
“Get over here and bring me a knife, now!” shouts Xiaojian.
Mǎkè jumps a little and races over as he heeds the urgency in her voice. Fumbling with a tray of sharp knives he knocks them to the floor and jumbles them about in a frenzied panic. Spoilt for choice, his eyes settle on the sharp shiny blade, a nearby blade resting beside an injured man's bed. Mǎkè races over and frantically offers the blade to Xiaojian and she grips him by the collar pulling his face level to hers.
“This is a sword, get me a fucking knife!” seethes Xiaojian before pushing him away.
Mǎkè nods repeatedly then takes a knife off an attendee’s workstation before forcibly placing it in Xiaojian's grip. Xiaojian sterilises the knife then cuts Akio's chest open again and removes her red sticky hand before pondering how to operate on a man with self-generating skin.
“Akio, you have been cursed with immortality?” asks Xiaojian quietly.
Akio dodges her question and turns away.
“Akio, you can trust me, but I must know if I am to proceed. Do you wish to die on this table, or live to fight another day?” asks Xiaojian appealing to the warrior within him,
Akio's eyes scan the room for eaves droppers then he nods reluctantly to reveal his secret. Unsure of how to proceed, Xiaojian momentarily strokes his head as she waits for her moment of panic to subside.
“Thief, return my blade!” says an injured man noticing one of his matching swords missing.
Xiaojian recognises the angered voice and turns to look at the man resting in a folded rattan bed. Flanked by three Jade soldiers watching over him, Wenyi lays awkwardly with bamboo straps enclosing his fractured ribs and a brace straightening his broken right leg. Xiaojian wonders how the man's puffed out black and blue face can even bear to smile as he looks her way.
“Wenyi, what happened to you?” exclaims Xiaojian.
“This man is a hero, and a madman,” smiles a Jade soldier.
“Wenyi offered himself as bait to save our unit. He drew a dragon out into the open and single-handedly slayed it with both his swords. He is the bravest man I have ever encountered, a true soldier, and a genuine hero of the Chinese Empire,” says another.
“Yes, a true hero,” says Major Lai sardonically whilst looking at Wenyi's swollen black and blue face.
Allowing the accidental hero his glory, Major Lai keeps the actual events of Wenyi's tale to himself. Even though Wenyi's true intentions out on the battlefield were less than noble, his actions had still saved lives, thinks Major Lai. Wenyi notices the well hidden vexation in Major Lai's tone, and he can barely look him in the eye as his smile fades. Not because it was swollen and shiny and half the size of an onion, but because he could not hide from the truth, that he is in fact, a true coward. A coward who acted on instinct, and is ultimately lucky to be alive. Mǎkè returns Wenyi's sword with a quick bow then Xiaojian urgently beckons him back over.
“I must make another incision. I need you to hold his chest open so I can see inside,” says Xiaojian, rubbing her sweating brow with her wrist.
“Hold... hold it open?” stutters Mǎkè.
“Yes, he is immortal, his tissue is self-he
aling,” whispers Xiaojian.
“Xiaojian would you say that a little louder? I do not think they heard you at the back,” says Akio.
“Mǎkè, I need you to hold his chest open long enough for me to stitch his heart,” sighs Xiaojian.
“Inside his body, you are asking me to place my hands... inside his body?” asks Mǎkè in sheer revulsion.
“Ready?” asks Xiaojian already making the incision.
Mǎkè hesitates with his hands raised and spread as she opens the deep gash for him to hold open.
“What are you waiting for?” shouts Xiaojian.
Akio screams wildly as Mǎkè's shaking hands grip the two sides of skin stretching them wide open. Xiaojian reaches for a little black bottle and inserts a tiny wicker cone down the slim neck. Fireflies inside the bottle channel light through the narrow cone and Xiaojian holds the bottle in her mouth to illuminate her path as she slides her fingers into Akio's chest. Mǎkè winces and wretches as he turns away, and he shakes his head to wake himself as he begins to feel a little light-headed.
“I can see it, you have a small laceration, between your heart and lung,” says Xiaojian.
Xiaojian realises that the incision has not yet begun to seal closed and looks worriedly at Akio as he fades in and out of consciousness.
“His heart is slowing. He needs more blood,” says Xiaojian urgently.
“Should you not stitch his heart first?” asks Mǎkè hopefully,
“He will not last that long, not without blood. The blood swapping contraption you conned me into buying, does it work or not?” asks Xiaojian.
“Of course, do you actually believe I would sell a non-functioning product when I place my own seal of guarantee upon my merchandise,” replies Mǎkè, firmly.
“Over on that shelf, bring it to me quickly,” says Xiaojian.
Mǎkè doesn't need to be told twice to remove his hands from inside the Samurai's chest as he backs away with his hands dripping with blood. Mǎkè returns with the dragon scaled container and cringes whilst handing her one of the pointy ended tubes.
“How does this work?” asks Xiaojian.
“Place the needle sidewards into the blue stream of blood beneath his skin,” instructs Akio.
“Like this?” asks Xiaojian, placing the thinly rolled blade of grass into the vein of Akio's arm.
“Yes, now with the other needle perform the same procedure on the donor,” says Mǎkè.
“I cannot operate whilst being drained of my blood and with this tube interfering with my arm,” says Xiaojian.
“What about him?” says Mǎkè before realising he's pointing to a deceased man with no arms, “or him,” adds Mǎkè excitedly pointing to a moaning man with only one good arm.
“Roll up your sleeve,” commands Xiaojian irritated by his selfish solution.
“Why?” asks Mǎkè, backing away.
“Because you are nearest and are still in good health,” replies Xiaojian.
“I do not feel well, I will be sitting in the far corner if should you require further instruction,” says Mǎkè.
“I do require further assistance. Get back here, roll up your sleeve, and give me your arm,” demands Xiaojian.
“I am not placing that thing in my arm. With Raijin as my witness if you come near me I will run and not look back,” says Mǎkè.
“Do you wish this man to die?” asks Xiaojian.
“No I... of course not,” says Mǎkè, uneasily.
“Then roll up your sleeve,” repeats Xiaojian.
Mǎkè looks at Akio suffering on the table and rolls up his sleeve before passing the other needle to Xiaojian. AsMǎkè looks at the giant slim stripy needle enlarged by his neurotic phobia he looks away as the point nears his arms. Mǎkè's mouth folds inwards and he grimaces with a slight girlish whimper as he feels a sharp pinch sinking below the surface of his arm and enter his vein. As Mǎkè rapidly taps his foot, Xiaojian finishes attaching the tube before slicing Akio's chest open once again. An attendee quickly wipes away the blood spilling over his chest and holds it open while another floods his mouth with ale. Xiaojian threads a hooked needle without even having to aim then places the torch in her mouth as she sets to work on stitching the slit in Akio's heart. Mǎkè finally looks down at the long tube fixed to his arm and his eyes follow the journey of his dark red blood filling the transparent whimsical dips, loops and curls until exiting into the clear dragon scaled container. Mǎkè's eyes zoom in on his blood dripping lavishly into the bowl and he begins sweating heavily whilst turning pale. He murmurs something inaudible as Xiaojian works fast and precisely on the sutures to seal Akio's heart. Frowning at the donor's indistinct mumbling, she turns and gives him a strange look, only to see him swaying from side to side. Xiaojian, alerted to the neurotic man's intolerance to the sight of his own blood, begins making small talk to distract him.
“You never told me what name you go by Trader,” says Xiaojian, working faster.
“Mmm-Mer-Mmmmmǎkè.... Shhhhhhīwwwwwěixiáaaan,” slurs the pale-faced man.
“Nice name,” whispers Akio with a downward smirk.
“You, be silent. Mǎkè, as soon as I have finished I will see to your burned hand,” says Xiaojian, tenderly. “Have you journeyed far?” she asks trying to divert his attention from the spike in his arm.
“Yes, from the city,” mumbles the swaying man.
“The city? How did you get here? How did you survive the attack?” asks Xiaojian, curiously.
“I rode here on my Húluóbo (Carrot),” replies Mǎkè.
“You rode here on a carrot?” asks Xiaojian confusedly as the weak but still conscious Samurai wheezes a short laugh.
“Húluóbo ran out of power, I went looking for more fuel when more Undead came to attack me, and then...” slurs the donor.
“Then what?” asks Xiaojian, keeping him talking.
“A giant wave of green fire saved my life,” says Mǎkè, in awe.
“It was the same green fire that spared the few remaining survivors you see here,” says a Jade soldier standing guard by the entrance.
“No, it was my father King Yeman Ren who spared us when he arrived to aid me in keeping the undead from overrunning the Healing Hut. He saved this Samurai, he saved a Jade soldier, he saved all these people you see here, and how was he repaid? By being hauled away like a wild animal. The Emperor will hear of this, I promise you Jade soldier...” sneers Xiaojian. “Done,” says Xiaojian, finishing the last suture before swiping the thread with a knife.
“I was wrong about you Mǎkè, I beg your forgiveness. Your creation has saved this man's life. What do you call it?” asks Xiaojian watching Akio's wound seal up,
“I call it... the urrrrrrrrrr,” says Mǎkè, swaying from side to side.
Xiaojian turns to Mǎkè as his eyes roll back in his head, and with his mouth agape he falls backwards like a post and hits the floor with a solid thud. Xiaojian appears more confused than worried as she had never witnessed a man faint from the mere sight of his own blood. Accepting the strange circumstances, she drags the pansy onto a bamboo mat and shoves a pillow under his head. With Mǎkè out of reach from Akio, the Samurai needs a new donor. Xiaojian smacks her arm a few times to raise a vein from her arm and Wenyi struggles to his good leg and hobbles across to her on a pair of crutches.
“Take mine,” says Wenyi sitting on the side of the bed.
Xiaojian offers thanks and attaches the tube to his arm before crouching by Akio's head and talking softly into his ear.
“I have done all I can, whether you survive the night depends entirely on your will to live. Focus on something you desire, it will help keep you alive. But no more foolish talk, and no more laughing, you must rest and save your strength,” says Xiaojian, softly.
“Laughing is my strength, if I cannot laugh or jest, then what do I truly possess?” whispers Akio.
“Are Samurai not to possess a serious mind?” says Xiaojian.
“Every day, between sunrise and the grac
eful appearance of the starlit sky, until our final day,” replies Akio sternly.
“Do you have any last words should you breathe your last breath this night? A message to someone you care about, a cherished memory you wish to share?” asks Xiaojian.
Akio pauses and instantly recalls a particular memory, and he smiles peacefully as he remembers his brother's face alive and well.
“Many years ago during a strong winter season, myself and my older brother Akitaka found ourselves snowed in while our mother and father were away. Fortune smiled upon us for we possessed enough rations to keep us fed until spring. We had everything we needed, everything but rice and noodles. One night he told me he was going to make something different, and I could hear him chuckling to himself in the kitchen as he prepared this ‘special dish’,” laughs Akio weakly.