Doom and the Warrior

by Lexy Wolfe

  “If not for you, there wouldn’t even be that one.” She sighed, nodding, though still unhappy. She moved to turn the cooking meat and stir the stew. He narrowed his eyes, studying her profile as she rubbed the back of her hand across her brow. “Are you all right? You look flushed.”

  “I’m fine,” she replied with a hint of impatience, shaking her head and brushing strands of hair out of her eyes.

  “No, you’re not.” He sat forward, resting his arms on his knees as he tried to catch her eyes with his. “You are pushing yourself too hard. You used up your reserves with all the close calls you’ve had to recover from and you’ve not had the chance to get back to normal.” He reached towards the food. “Let me help— Ow! Hey!” He shook his hand when she smacked it away.

  Her green eyes were stern. “I am only tired, and most of my wounds are healed. What is not yet healed, I can work around.” She put her hand atop his, her demeanor deeply apologetic for striking him. “I understand why you want me to recover completely, as much as I want you to recover completely.

  “But we don’t have that option. Right now, you are the one who needs to rest and heal. When your wounds have closed and walking won’t risk them reopening, we will need to start traveling again.” She glanced upwards at the ominous rumbling in the sky. “If the weather is going to always be this miserable, we need to find shelter better than this.”

  Reluctantly, Doom subsided and leaned back against the rock again. “You are right. You are a masochist, but you are right.” He sighed, closing his eyes as he tried to relax and suppress the pain as she tended the fire and food. “I wish you weren’t.”

  “I know. Me, too.”

  DESPITE THE DAY being just past noon, storm clouds blackened the sky. Rain poured in piercing, cold sheets. The wind howled through the forest like a pack of starving wolves, whipping ancient trees as though they were merely saplings, some falling prey to the hungry tempest. The creaks, groans and occasional snaps and crashes melded with the thunder.

  A lone, abandoned building stood in the midst of the storm’s chaos, surrounded by the charred bones of its fellows. The solitary barn, standing defiantly against nature’s rage, endured as a testament to an unknown builder’s talent and dedication to his art, a symbol of sanctuary to any in need of shelter.

  A flash of lightning arced across the sky, illuminating the road near the structure. Two cloaked figures ran towards the structure. Seasonal debris wedged the doors shut. The larger figure wrenched the door open, letting the smaller one enter before squeezing inside and dragging the door closed. The storm briefly intensified, as if having a temper tantrum over their escape from its reach.

  Inside, a few spaces between the boards of the wall allowed the wind to blow in, but not nearly as hard as it blew outside. The pair started stripping off their cloaks and gear. Tiwaz stumbled a step; Doom caught her arm to keep her upright. “Thanks,” she said wearily.

  “Are you all right, Ti?” he rumbled in a deep voice filled with concern. He touched her cheek with the back of his fingers.

  The woman nodded as she pulled away, going to sit on the floor against a stall wall in the open area. “I’m fine, Doom. Just a little dizzy. Stop worrying about me.”

  He snorted. “No, you are not fine, and I will worry if I want to,” he informed her pointedly. He pulled his drier spare cloak out and draped it around her. “Looks like others use this for shelter now and then. There’s firewood over here.” She started to try to stand up but he put his hands on both of her shoulders to keep her seated. “You’re exhausted, Ti. Just rest. My hands are good enough for me to start a fire.”

  She looked up at him worriedly. “You are sure?”

  “Absolutely.” Once she acquiesced, he went over to the pile of wood and brought some over, getting the campfire going quickly. He watched her as she pulled the cloak around herself unconsciously, eyes closed. “You don’t look too good.”

  “I’m fine,” she replied, but she was unconvincing. She offered a wan smile, opening her eyes. “I suppose it is a good thing cats have nine lives.”

  He snorted, shaking his head. “Even if that adage applied to you, you used up those nine lives a long time ago. Ten times over, at least.”

  Her smile faded as she shivered and looked away. “Yes. You are right. I’m stupid.”

  “Ti, stop being so—” Doom began, then he stopped himself. He sat beside her, putting his arm around her to warm her. “It will be all right. We’ll find someplace to call our own. We’ll find a home.” They both looked up when birds roosting in the rafters above startled at a loud crack of thunder that vibrated the building to the foundation.

  She put her small, cold hand over his heart. “Forgive me for not killing Alimar for what he had done to you.” He looked down, meeting her bright eyes. “You were born to soar the skies. No one born to fly should have to walk among us grounded ones.”

  “We were just children then.” Doom covered her hand, squeezing gently. “But you tried. That is more than even I had done. And nothing compared to what he’d done to you when you dared attack him to protect me.” He smiled, an expression that would have terrified anyone else. “But I learned to live without. So did you.”

  “But…” Her eyes reflected her troubled heart, holding out her hands to look at her wrists, the scars concealed by her bracers. “But it isn’t right. Not yet. I have what he took from me. You do not.”

  He hushed her. “We haven’t stopped at all for two days. Lie down. Sleep.” She briefly resisted, then gave in, resting her head on his chest as he rubbed his hand across her back. He watched the fire in silence, feeling her finally relax into deep sleep. “Neither of us have what we lost. Your magic was never taken from you. The glyphs had blocked it.” He sighed heavily. “Your memories of your life before slavery. Of your people and your family. Your name. Your sense of self. That’s what he really stole from you.”

  Outside, the storm raged.

  RAIN BIRDS COOED and fluttered through the rafters, slipping in and out of a hole between the roof and the wall as dawn broke. Doom roused with a sleepy groan, putting his hand on his friend’s shoulder and shaking. “Ti, wake up.” He grew concerned when she did not react to his touch at all. “Ti?” He touched her brow. “You’re warm,” he murmured in growing alarm. “You’re not supposed to be warm to my touch.”

  He carefully lifted her head so he could slide his arm from beneath her head, then knelt by her. Her struggling breath wheezed; her skin bore the sickly flush of fever. When he uncovered her midriff to examine her wounds, she shivered violently. The sight made his heart go cold. He cursed to see the livid, half-healed cut in her side. “You should have been changing shape every night so you healed faster,” he scolded her. “I knew I should have gathered golden seal root when I saw the plant between storms.” He caressed her hair, his eyes dark with worry. “We don’t have anything for infections or fevers. I’ll have to go find it.”

  He glanced around the barn grimly. “I don’t dare leave the fire burning with you alone. That is just begging for this place to burn with you in it.” He got to his feet and went deeper in and examined the various stalls. Hay filled one of the stalls towards the back of the barn for travelers to make use of. Bringing their gear to the back, he made a makeshift sleeping pallet and brought Tiwaz to the back. Her soft whimper of discomfort reflected both her pain and her weakness. The latter kept her desire to throw off the blankets in check.

  He stroked her hair, earnestness in his voice. “I don’t want to leave you alone, but I don’t have any choice. You are too weak to get through this kind of infection without medicinal herbs.” He dug through his pouch, pulling out the two dragon coins, looking at them. “I hope what Gareth said is true.” He placed the coins on either side of Tiwaz’s head, then placed his hand on her shoulder. “I don’t know anything about praying, so don’t take insult if I’m not saying anything right.” He closed his eyes tightly. “Please, if you are gods as Gareth said, if you would wat
ch over a mere, former slave…please. Please keep her safe until I can return. I can’t lose her. Not now,” he said before getting to his feet and heading out in search of herbs.

  Stepping outside, he had to blink at the clearest blue skies and brilliant sunshine. He growled as he stalked into the forest. “This is obscene. She never could endure cold. Now, a beautiful day at last and she is so sick.” He looked over his shoulder and whispered, “Hang on, Ti. Don’t leave me.”

  Moments after Doom had disappeared into the forest, a dark shadow appeared on the ground in front of the barn, growing until what created it neared. The same ruby-eyed dragon from Dragons Gate back-winged and touched the ground with his back feet. Without settling completely, his form changed, becoming a tall, human-appearing man. His eyes were still ruby red, his skin dark bronze in color. His clothing was black edged in browns, wings folding back into a cloak.

  The dragon man held up his hand and passed through the door without needing to open it, striding to the stall where Tiwaz lay. He frowned at the sight of her, lowering himself to the crate near her head as he touched her brow. “Sister, this was hardly a matter to make light of.” He paused, glancing at the coin with the emerald-eyed dragon. “Of course I will guard over her, no matter your penchant for understating the seriousness of even the direst of circumstances. Someone must. Neither you nor Keth have the energy to cross the veil beyond our earthly domains right now.”

  Tiwaz opened eyes hazed with fever, sniffing the air as she shifted. “Who is there?” she demanded in a rasping whisper. “Dragon?” She grimaced, struggling to get up from under the layers of blankets and cloaks Doom had put around her. “Can’t be…not Dragons Gate…you said you can’t—”

  “Hush, young warrior,” the dragon man commanded in a deep baritone that was much like his draconic-form’s voice. “One of your wounds became infected. You are very weak right now. You must conserve your strength.” He rummaged through the nearest backpack, took out a rag, and dampened it with water from the water skin, placing it on her brow. She sighed in relief at the cool rag on her fevered skin. “There. That is better.”

  Her eyes slit open, looking in his direction. She tensed again, struggling to get away from him. “You aren’t Dragon,” she grated out.

  Amused, annoyed, and concerned all at once, he put his hand over her heart without touching. “For the love of…relax, would you?” She went still with a heavy sigh as he wicked the tension away. “You said yourself once that dragons are more magic than not. Why do you not think we cannot do as you and change our forms when we wish?”

  “Here…not Dragons Gate. Why…here? Where…” She swallowed, having trouble speaking. “Where is…Doom?”

  “He seeks medicinal herbs that will aid you in your recovery.” He dampened the rag again, then held it up, blowing on it before placing it on her brow once more. She sighed, relaxing with the relief it brought her. “I am here because he prayed for someone to watch over you. I answered because my siblings could not.”

  Her eyes opened again, her brow creasing slightly in a frown as she tried focusing on him. “Doom prayed…to gods?”

  “You sound affronted.” Carefully uncovering her, he wiped down her exposed skin to keep her cool. “Is it the fact he prayed? Or because there was an answer to his prayers?” He smoothed her hair back with one hand in a soothing gesture. “Did you know that you are correct when you claim there are no gods? By the mortal definition of a god, it is a being who is all seeing, all knowing, all powerful, of which there are absolutely none? Or two, depending on how you view it.”

  She frowned at him, grimacing in pain for a moment. “I do not…understand.”

  “It is complicated,” he told her. “The only way to describe it simply is divinity is the confluence of desire, knowledge, power, and enlightenment fused in spontaneous evolution.” He chuckled at her expression. “I could elaborate?” he offered.

  “Please don’t,” she requested, closing her eyes. “Everything already hurts. Do not need to add a headache.”

  He inclined his head. “As you wish. But. Gods derive their power from those who pray to them. The fewer who pray to a god, the weaker they become, until they are barely shadows of what they once were.” He paused, helping her sit up and giving her a drink of water. She lay back with a sigh. When she had relaxed again, he continued. “All the gods that live now were born before the world fractured. None of us were immune to its devastation, or the crisis of faith many had in the decades and centuries that followed.” He looked at her wrist as he held one arm up to bathe it with the cooled rag. “Recovery is slow when wounds are deep.”

  Silent for a long time, she eventually opened her eyes, looking up at him again with a faint frown. “You really are…a god?” He shrugged one shoulder. “We prayed…why were we abandoned?” She struggled to get up, her anger and indignation giving her a burst of strength, stopping only when the dragon placed his hand against her cheek and she relaxed again. “We were…children…”

  The dragon man looked at her with infinite sadness. “The answer is complicated, dear one, and one that should be explained when you are stronger. I can only tell you that no gods willfully abandoned you. Now is not the time to answer that question. You must focus on recovering.”

  “I thought…being a shape shifter…healed faster.” She gasped, grimacing when an injudicious movement, albeit slight, pulled the inflamed flesh in her side.

  “Natural shape shifting as you possess requires considerable reserves of energy.” His voice held an affectionate chiding tone. “Did you think there would be no cost to not sleeping or eating properly?” He caught the tear that rolled from the corner of her eye towards her hairline when she looked away. He tasted the tear, then smiled sadly. “It is not selfish to care for yourself. Who will watch after Doom if you are gone?” She lay back with a sigh in resigned defeat, unable to counter the argument. “That is better. Rest now.”

  The dragon man glanced at the coin with the blue diamond-eyed dragon, then back to her. “Your friend returns victorious. It is time for me to depart.” He took her hand in both of his, pressing a kiss against the back. Carefully, he curled her fingers in a loose fist and tucked the blanket around her again. “I will not be able to return to this side very soon. There are not enough praying to allow any of us to breech the veil more often. But I will always hear you, dear one. We will always watch over you and Doom.” He stood, looking towards the front as Doom dragged the door opened then shut with impatience.

  “Tiwaz!” Doom entered the stall empty of all but his friend and dropped to his knees, checking on her condition. His shoulders sagged in utter relief. “Oh, thank gods, you’re still alive,” he breathed. “I was so afraid I was taking too long.”

  “Doom?” She roused, looking at him blearily. She sighed, closing her eyes again. “You’re here. I had the strangest dream…”

  “Fever dreams are always strange.” He patted her shoulder carefully. “I’ll make you some tea with these herbs to help with the pain and fever. I’ll need to get as much of the infection out of the wound so the poultice can work better.”

  She pulled out her hand after he left, opening it to look at a dragon coin with a ruby-eyed dragon. Blue diamond, emerald and onyx chips, haloed its head. She curled her fingers around it again. Weakly dropping her hand to her chest, she said softly, “Yes. Strange.”

  AS HE CINCHED the last of their backpacks, Doom looked around for his companion and sighed, going outside. “Of course,” he grumbled. Tiwaz stepped slowly but methodically through unarmed training routines, despite having only just recovered from her nearly deadly fever. “Tiwaz!” he barked, startling her. She stared at him owlishly long enough for him to come over and lift her tunic to glance at the bandages over the wound in her side. “Come back inside so I can redo those bandages before we start walking.”

  Slow to come out of her training zone, she stated matter-of-factly, “I need to get back in shape. I’ve not been practicing. My for
m—”

  “To the thousand hells with your form!” he bellowed, making her wince and startling the birds in the rafters. “Your form won’t mean a damned thing if you let that wound go bad again. Sakes alive, Ti, you nearly died overdoing it.” She sat on the old crate, holding her shirt up while he changed the bandages. “By all rights, you should be dead.”

  “Well, I’m not,” she grumbled, pouting like a small child.

  “Could we please keep it that way?” His voice dripped with exasperation and sarcasm. “Stop arguing with me about what is good for you.” With dexterity belying his size, he dressed the wound with alacrity. “This will never heal right if you don’t stop and give it time to do so.”

  “A warrior must always be ready to fight,” she stated reflexively. “If I can walk, I can fight. If I can fight, I must practice.”

  He paused, sighing heavily and closing his eyes a moment before looking up at her. “Ti, we aren’t slaves anymore. You can take some time to heal up right. You can do anything you want now. Be anything you want.”

  The sudden depth of despair in her eyes shook Doom. “And what else could I be, my friend? I am nothing but a gladiator. I’m the best that ever was. Or used to be.” Letting the shirt fall back in place, she continued. “I can be nothing else because it is a part of every fiber of my being. My body knows nothing else. My heart knows nothing else.” She looked away. “I know nothing else.”

  At a loss, Doom stood without a word, offering her his hand to help her back up. He settled her backpack properly so it did not pull too much on the injury. “How is that? Can you walk for a little while?”

  “Yes, I can walk.” As if to prove it, she headed up the road. “I can do whatever needs to be done.” She blinked when he held his arm out to her. “What?”