by Paul Yoder
Reza could see both skeletons recoil, getting ready to pounce. Backpedaling before the two attackers could get the jump on her, she pivoted around the closest pillar, narrowly dodging the twin attack.
The skeletons split paths and Reza intercepted the adult skeleton coming around on the left side of the pillar, hacking as hard as she could at the flailing limbs of the skeleton.
The seax was short, and primarily a gouging weapon, but Reza was now swinging with enough frantic power to unhinge the skeleton’s left arm, putting the creature at an extreme disadvantage.
Not seeming to care at all about its lost limb, the skeleton crashed into Reza, skull nipping desperately at Reza’s face.
A jolt from behind caused Reza to drop her short sword, it clanging across the sandstone floor out of reach.
Small hands spastically searched for handholds as the small bloodlusted skeleton skittered up Reza’s back while the skeleton in front continued to jerk upwards, trying to get at her face.
Focusing on the maimed skeleton in front of her, ignoring the cruel bites the child skeleton was attempting to land on her neck through her long, platinum hair, Reza latched both hands on either side of the adult skeleton’s skull and began to squeeze.
The thing at first simply continued to struggle to rake at her face, but after a few more moments of Reza pumping energy into the squeeze, the skull began to crack. The figure, realizing it was about to be crushed, began to writhe wildly, now pushing to get away from its captor.
The vise-like effort Reza was making came at a cost. The blood-frenzied skeleton on her back had mangled her hair and gotten through to flesh, and now it bit down hard, slicing out a chunk of Reza’s neck, blood spraying it in its welcoming, evil visage. Boney craters that pocked its skull filled with blood and it let up momentarily to revel in the gory accomplishment.
Reza, spurred on by pain and understanding that her last wound gave her little time to take care of the two threats before she fell due to loss of blood, pressed with phantom strength her body freely gave, crushing the skull between her hands all at once.
Immediately dropping the powdered remains of the now-lifeless skull, she reached back and gripped the face of the skull of the bloody skeleton and ripped the creature off of her back with one hand, her upper body muscle bursting with power as a last-ditch effort to end the wicked child. Its skull smashed into the crypt wall, cracking the skull enough to render the rest of the body limp.
Reza’s body, seeing the immediate threat averted, instantly dropped its emergency energy ration, dropping her to her knees, trembling as she weakly sat with back against a pillar she was next to, just as Nomad came sprinting up, seeing Reza in dire condition.
No words were exchanged as Nomad quickly ripped cloth from his hem below his armor. Making a pad with the cloth, he moved Reza’s hand that had started to come up to staunch the blood spirting from her horribly mangled neck and placed it over the wound, applying pressure that made Reza jolt uncontrollably from the pain.
She began to shake unintentionally, her eyes rolling back in her head. Nomad was losing her.
He began to chant in a monotone, but firm, droning foreign tongue, his eyes penetrating past her surface features looking further into her core.
Quickly the shaking turned to trembling, and her eyes began to descend, coming into focus.
Sluggishly coming back around, Reza began to raise a feeble hand, which Nomad grabbed, attempting to tell her to rest.
“No,” she whispered, barely audible, even in the silence of the crypt. “Leave me be.”
Nomad stopped his chanting, confused by her request, but released her and watched as she rested her unbelievably white hands, almost seeming like marble after so much lost blood, on her blood-soaked bandage.
Looking her swiftly fading body over, Nomad began to feel panicked—much more so than when he was fighting the restless dead.
Fighting was an activity he was at home in, no matter the enemy, but pending death was a foe that ever had him and his loved ones at its mercy. If the fates wanted her that day, they would have her, with or without his say.
There was nothing he could do at that point to save her; and, though their paths had just intertwined days before, he had had more human connection with Reza than he had with anyone in many, many years. Seeing her spirit’s slow flight from her mortal frame was bringing back a panic he knew so well from when his wife died another lifetime ago.
“Reza—” Nomad began to tenderly whisper, but a tightening knot quickly was making it difficult to speak.
Just as he began to realize that Reza was likely not leaving that tomb alive that day, he began to notice a faint, milky glow start to surround Reza’s hand over her wound. The glow continued to brighten into a pearlescent, soundless light, enveloping Reza and him in an aura of hopeful peace, instantly calming and abating his dread and trepidation.
The light held for a few seconds, and then receded, leaving them in the dim torchlight once more.
Exhausted, Reza’s hand fell to the stone floor, the bandage falling with it.
Nomad’s eyes went wide at seeing the flesh perfectly smooth and blemish free where moments before it had been mangled and exposed.
Reza, though still dangerously pale, was awake and looking at Nomad, weakly smiling at his astonishment, letting out a humored grunt as Nomad fell over her, laughing and embracing her tightly.
Releasing her from his bear hug, Nomad sat back, resting on unreliably trembling arms. His overwhelming smile clearly spoke his relief that she had stepped back from death’s gate.
“I would have tried to fight better if I had known you would have almost lost it over me nearly blacking out,” Reza hoarsely said, trying to lighten up the mood, seeing how deeply affected Nomad must have been at her mortal injury.
“Yes, you make sure to do that next time,” Nomad chuckled, trying to relieve the emotionally mixed tension that still lingered with him.
“How are you still alive? What was that light?” he pressed.
Reza taxingly closed and opened her eyes and let out a sigh. Nomad closed his hands around hers, answering for her, “We can worry about that later. We should get you above ground—”
Nomad halted, noticing that Reza had gone stiff.
He looked over his shoulder at something that had caused her to widen her tired eyes. Looking behind him, he snatched his sword, facing a spectral outline of a girl, faintly glowing icy white.
She was holding a ring in her hand which was barely discernable through her translucent fingers. Stretching it forward, she was about to open her hand to offer it to Reza when she disappeared as an angry fizzing sound popped and sputtered from the bloody skeleton’s skull.
The skull fell forward, knocking off the ground and rolled to a stop, black smoke issuing from a burned rune carved into the base of the skull.
The old silver ring bounced and rolled on the gritty sandstone floor and tinked against Reza’s cuisse plate. Giving a curious look, Reza picked it up and inspected it. It looked as old as the tombs they were in, its silver sheen long lost to time, now coated with a bluish-grey film. Mounted on the top was a rounded diamond, gleaming in the dim light, seeming to defy the taint of age all other materials are subject to.
“We should get above ground. We have disturbed the dead enough this day,” Nomad said, helping Reza to her feet, lifting her arm over his shoulder to aid her as they made their way back to the surface.
8
Reunion
The noonday sun bore down on the two, causing them to shield their eyes to the blinding desert sunlight. The two made their way back to camp a few blocks away from the open crypt, eyes still trying to adjust from being in the dark underground for so long.
Slogging into camp, Reza almost collapsed with Nomad barely holding her up, both squinting, trying to make sense of the scene of Jadu chatting with someone partially obstructed behind the remains of a stone wall.
&nb
sp; Sliding his hand to his sword hilt, Nomad and Reza quietly stalked up behind Jadu, putting into clear view the camp’s visitors.
Jadu conversed with a woman who was in her later years, her skin showing her vast experience mapped out through age lines and scars. Her hoary, fine hair hung down in a braid that trailed along her shoulder and then down her back. Her eyes were an intense greyish blue which stood in striking contrast to her warm, creased smile and worn skin.
Surprising to Nomad was what she wore. Like Reza, she wore a mix between half and full plate, and on top of that, she wore it with ease, not seeming to be bothered by the weight of it.
Directly behind her, who turned his hawk-like gaze to Nomad as soon as he and Reza shuffled into view, was a man adorned in an assortment of daggers, ranging from thin, long ones to thick, stout ones, latched in various fashion to his trim leather outfit. He was tall, with short, swept brown hair. The occasional deep scar littered his copper-tanned skin, but his face was smooth and handsome.
There was another man lying down sprawled out asleep on a blanket behind the dagger enthusiast. Huge plates of armor partially buried in the hot sand lay next to him. He was stripped down to light garments, exposing his massive physique.
Cords of muscles, toned even in rest, braided all along his silhouette. A huge greatsword lay sunk into the sand next to him, which Nomad guessed by the projection of the blade’s taper to be close to over half the length of the man himself, who seemed to be well over six feet tall. He had a wide jawline and a tuff of crow-black hair above his forehead, but was shorn everywhere else. Every slow resting breath he took raised his barrel-like chest many inches.
Reza patted Nomad on the shoulder and pointed to the group of three and quietly voiced, “These are my friends I told you about.”
“Reza, you half-pint, where have you been?” the man standing excitedly shouted when his gaze turned from Nomad to Reza. Coming over to her side, he unloaded her from Nomad’s shoulder to his.
“You don’t look so good. Here, have a seat,” he said, helping her to take a seat on a boulder by the put-out campfire, taking off her pieces of armor as she responded to the man.
“Good to see you managed to survive without me to protect your back,” Reza replied, smiling at the man that was assisting her, adding, “and front and sides.”
The older woman held a hand up and paused her conversation with Jadu, who continued to talk at her, and strolled up to Reza, crouching down to cup Reza’s face in her hands, the two smiling a wordless greeting between them.
Shifting to a relaxed stance, Reza noticed Nomad and said, “Ah, everyone, you’ve apparently met Jadu already. Well, this is Nomad, who I’m greatly indebted to. It’s only been a few days that we’ve traveled together, but already he’s saved my life multiple times.”
Nomad bowed his head in greetings, the dagger man replying to the introduction with, “Taking care of this one ain’t no small feat. Young and foolish she can be. Takes our whole attention to keep her out of trouble and alive.”
Reza jabbed the man speaking hard in the ribs, her elbow still having unforgiving steel armor strapped to it.
The man letting out a yelp mumbled, “Should have known to take off your vambraces first.”
Ignoring the sibling-like rivalry between the two, the old woman walked over to Nomad and gave him a short embrace and said, “Jadu told us about your care for our Reza. That she is alive and praising you is testament to your strength and character. You have all of our heart-felt gratitude, Nomad. It’s refreshing to know there are those in the world that still give to those in need unconditionally.
“My name is Bede. The loud one over there is Finian.”
“Call me Fin,” the man cut in with a flinty look. “Only Bede calls me Finian and gets away with it.”
“Finian, don’t interrupt, it’s rude. Excuse him if you would, Nomad. His manners are still a work in progress. But that big lump over there,” she said, stretching a hand out in the direction of the sleeping muscly man, “he’s Cavok. He might look intimidating, and believe me, he can be if you get on the wrong side of him, but he’s really a humble, loyal man.
“If you need anything, we’re at your service just as you were for Reza. We welcome your company.”
Bowing slightly, Nomad managed a thank you.
Fin helped Reza to her feet, helping her to lay down in the shade of the half-tent to the side of the camp. Nomad had wanted to speak with Reza about the healing light she had produced in the crypts, but he knew she needed her rest now, and he also knew that she was in good company.
Bede, seeing his concern for Reza as he watched her gently lie down on the mat, spoke softly to him, “Poor girl seems exhausted. Speaking of that, I’d like to talk with you a bit on recent events if you don’t mind.”
Nomad, recognizing the prod for information, raised an eyebrow and turned to Bede, giving her his attention.
“Certainly. What would you like to talk about?” Nomad asked.
Bede was quick to ask a question in reply. “What’s got both of you so winded? Reza looks as though she’s ready to collapse, and it’s not but midday.”
Summarizing their eventful morning, Nomad explained, “These ruins have many lingering dangers to them. Against my advising, she insisted on investigating an old burial site. The spirits that resided there did not appreciate our presence. We were attacked and Reza barely made it through the encounter alive. She was mortally wounded and was slipping away when…” Nomad paused, fumbling for words as he tried to describe what he truly did not understand. “I am not entirely sure what she did, but there was a bright, calming light, and then her wounds were gone, but her strength all but left after that.”
Bede, showing open concern when Nomad had mentioned the almost tragic story, asked, “What became of the spirits that harmed Reza? Do we need to leave this site or are we safe where we are?”
Nomad was quick to answer her concerns, “As long as no one enters that burial hall, I believe we are safe here. Their lychgate warned us upon entering to not loiter,” Nomad said, lowering his voice, looking over at Reza who appeared already asleep.
Bede looked to Reza now too, lost in thought just as Nomad was. She whispered to Nomad, “She’s an interesting creature, that girl. Will made of iron and fire. Seems she’s had a rough few days since getting separated from us.”
Bede turned and looked out over the endless dunes past the old town’s borders and continued, “She’s like a sister to them and a daughter to me. We’ve been together for a few years now, but the ties that bind our spirits and friendship make it feel like lifetimes.”
Looking to Nomad, Bede asked, “Have you ever heard of a people called the saren?”
Nomad nodded, clearing his throat and said, “Yes. Saren are exalted gifts from the gods to my people. They are more than respected. There is even one in my land that has a whole city devoted to her. Wherever they tread is considered sacred ground. Her crest shows her allegiance to the goddess Sareth. Only saren’s themselves are allowed to wear that banner, and she does share the same features of the saren I’ve heard about in myths—hair like the finest white gold, features delicate, more fair and beautiful than any human could hope to be….”
Nomad had wandered off in thought as he spoke. Bede smiled and brought Nomad back to the conversation with, “In all the years I’ve known her, I’ve never discussed deeply her heritage. She, for whatever reason, doesn’t like to talk about her people, and hardly ever brings it up, even with those she’s close to.
“You are right though that she is a saren. Her people are said to have the blessing of an eternal life cycle. An exclusively female race, they age slower than humans, and when they do die, be it in battle or by old age, they come back to our realm in the form of a young girl, with the faintest of memories of their past lives. Some retain their past lives memories more clearly than others.
“They are the handmaids and, some believe, literal o
ffspring, of Sareth. We may die and depart from this realm, but they are destined to return to it through the ages.”
Pausing for a moment, Bede met Nomads eyes and said, “That healing light you said you witnessed, I’ve only seen her use it one other time. That’s an inherent trait the saren are said to possess. A healing power that can bring life back to those who are well on their way to the other side. I myself am a healer. I grew up in monasteries learning the sacred practice of mending wounds through the holy powers of the God Elendium, whom I’ve pledged my whole life in service to. Even the powers granted to the highest line of priests don’t amount to a portion of the healing touch of a saren. But their healing comes at a price, as we see,” Bede said, pointing to Reza, collapsed and deep in slumber. “She’s likely to be out the rest of the day and night. That’s what happened last time she used her power,” Bede paused for a moment and tenderly added, “to heal me.”
“I see,” Nomad whispered, looking down, considering it all.
“Oh, you’re bleeding!” Bede said, eyes widening, pointing to a deep-red stain on Nomad’s dark linen smock beneath his chain shirt.
“Ribs might be bruised, but nothing that I can’t sleep off,” Nomad said, holding a hand to the bloody spot, patting a bit too hard, causing him to wince in momentary pain.
Bede gave him a stern look for a moment, considering whether she should press the point with a person she had just met moments ago. Putting a hand on Nomad’s back, she guided him over to a fallen sandstone slab, asking him to lay on it. Nomad obeyed, though hesitantly so, and started to lay on the slab.
“Lie your head on this cloth on the decline, please,” Bede said, placing a bundle of fabric on the lower end of the rock while helping Nomad to adjust in the position she wanted him in on the slab.
Lifting up his chain shirt just enough to clear the area that was stained with blood, she carefully peeled back the blood-soaked cloth from Nomad’s lower rib area, revealing a harsh scratch along his side and front.