She ran her fingers up his wrist. “Dozens of defensive knife wounds, fractures of the carpal and metacarpal, and a completely shattered pistiform carpal. You blocked a kick from an armored boot?”
Storgen nodded. “I got arrested on Fengári Island. The jerks put me into an underground gladiatorial ring.”
She continued up his arm. “Arching uniform lacerations…a large dog bite?”
“A wolf. Caught me on the road at night.”
“It looks like it got badly infected.”
“You think that’s bad, you should see how the wolf ended up.”
Kaia burst out laughing. Agaprei was not amused.
“Compound fracture of the ulna and radius, with a massive perpendicular laceration. A gladius?”
“A bunch of brigands cornered me on Okeánios Shoal. They believed that any stranger passing through their mountains must be killed. There was some disagreement on that point.”
“Looks like you blocked a sword cut with your forearm. It was nearly cleaved off.”
“They were aiming for my head. Given the deal they were offering I felt like it was a good trade.”
She ran her fingers up along his huge bicep. “Deep puncture wound, massive internal scarring to the bicep. A spear thrust?”
“Yup.”
“And three crossbow punctures?”
“I was crossing the border at Korálli Island. Apparently I wasn’t being as stealthy as I thought I was.”
She checked out his shoulder, her fingers moving with medical precision. “Your collarbone isn’t true anymore. When your head turns I can see your skin blanch where your clavicle protrudes. Fall from a horse?”
“Yeah, escaping from Velóna Rock. How did you know that?”
“I can also see a step off in your spine.”
She ran her fingers down his side. “My goodness, five, six, SEVEN fractures. Just how many times have you broken your ribs?”
“You tell me, doc.”
He flinched.
“Oh sorry, did that hurt?”
“No, I’m just…a little ticklish.”
Agaprei blushed a little, then cleared her throat and tried to be professional.
“You’re covered with burn scars. First, second, even some third degree…”
She found the thread still buried in his skin where he had sewn his shoulder closed. “These sutures are terrible, who did these?
“That would be me.”
She cradled his face in her hands. “Your jaw and nose have been broken, twice I believe? Does it make a clicking noise when you chew?”
“Yeah, usually.”
“That’s from a broken mandible.”
But it was his other shoulder that really caught her attention.
“What in the world…”
She adjusted her spectacles and lifted his arm. “Circumferential scarring with suture marks. Internal scarring at the origin of the mectoralis major and minor, deltoid, latissimus dorsi, and the rotator cuff muscles. And I’d be willing to bet that your superspinatus, infraspinatus, teres minor, subscapularis, and teres major were cut, too.”
She sat back, covering her mouth. “I’ve never seen anything like this. Someone surgically removed your arm and then reattached it.”
Storgen nodded sadly. “I think the albino just wanted to see what would happen.”
She looked at him in horror. “Who did this to you?”
“It doesn’t matter. He’s dead now.”
She turned him around to get a good look at his back. “Criss-crossed abrasions and lacerations, all the way down to the subcutaneous tissue. You’ve been whipped…multiple times. Not just with leather but with chains, leather tails with bone fragments embedded into them. Your nerve endings are all damaged, I can see your muscles twitching constantly.”
She looked at him in concern. “You must be in unbearable pain.”
He sat there quietly, without responding. “It’s not that bad.”
“How did you get all these wounds?”
Kaia looked at her sternly. “He got them looking for you.”
Agaprei was very quiet for a time.
“I see.”
She got up, and said nothing as the ailuros returned Storgen to his cell and closed the door. They fished out the most complicated padlock they could find, and secured the door with it.
Paliágáta stopped her as she made for the stairs. “Knives, the ship will be here soon, are we not to send him to the mines?”
She paused. “Um, not yet. Just leave him there for now.”
“Yes, Knives.”
* * *
Beneath the thick canopy of the forest of Mikrí Póli, all was eternal twilight, the dense trees lapping up all the sunlight, the area below lit only by the gentle blue light of the glowing mushrooms. The trees were perfectly still as they slumbered, thick sheets of pollen on their twigs like snowfall. All was quiet, save for two patches of ground that burned with a cold blue flame.
Philiastra yawned luxuriously as she rose up out of the burning ground, stretching as if from the most comfortable nap ever.
“Oh, wow, this feels amazing,” she cooed. How are you doing, Odelia?”
The moon sprite in her armband glowed, licks of blue flame licking out lazily over Philiastra’s green skin.
Wei sat up and stretched peacefully. “Now you feel it. Our people were meant to eat only for pleasure, or in times of emergency, our bodies are designed to get everything they need from the soil and the roots of the forest.”
Philiastra laid back contentedly, the roots beneath her reshaping themselves into a pillow. “I can’t tell you the last time when I felt like this. So at ease. So at peace.” She yanked off her boots and tossed them aside, wiggling her bare feet through the dirt, savoring the wonderful sensation between her toes.
She closed her green eyes and giggled to herself. “I can close my eyes and nothing bothers me. No anxiety, no niggling doubts or discomfort. It’s like I’ve been living my life in fear, always worried that something bad was about to happen, always waiting for the other shoe to drop. And now, I don’t feel that way anymore.”
Wei laid down beside her. “This is who you really are. This is how you were meant to be.”
“Yes, yes that’s it exactly,” she agreed.
He cracked an eye open. “So, why are you still wearing those human clothes?”
She looked down at her soiled coveralls and shirt. “Oh, these?”
She looked at them oddly, tugging at the frail material. It felt so stifling to her, worse than they had ever felt before. A foreign thing, imposed on her. “I guess it’s kind of rude of me, huh? Bringing human clothes into your forest.”
“I wasn’t going to say anything.”
“Yes you were.”
He smiled. “Yes I was.”
An idea suddenly occurred to her. “Well, then let’s get rid of them!”
“Good idea, I’ll go grow some Kálymma leaves.
“Big ones, okay?”
“Okay,” he called back, disappearing into the distance.
She yanked off her goggles and happily spun them above her head, flinging them far off into a mud puddle. She pulled off her shirt, anxious to be free of these unnatural trappings. She wadded it up and was about to throw it aside, but something stopped her. She felt some threads between he fingers, and held up the shirt. There, on the elbow, was the stitching her mother had sewn to repair the tear, a silly heart shaped patch.
Suddenly she wasn’t so eager to toss the garment aside. She felt a little pang of guilt inside of her, spoiling the paradise in her heart. She thought to put it back on, but then the image of Storgen ran through her mind.
“I’m destined to be with another,” he said.
Philiastra pursed her green lips in anger, and tore the shirt in half.
* * *
The heavy metal doors swung open and Agaprei descended the steps carrying a covered tray. Storgen leapt up from the corner he was resting in, and came
over to the bars to greet her.
“Agaprei, I’m so happy to see you again.”
She had to suppress a snicker. He looked so much like a puppy, she could almost imagine a tail wagging behind him.
“It’s not appropriate for you to refer to me by my first name. I am The Knives of Lichas.”
Storgen wrinkled his nose in distaste. “I can’t call you Knives; that’s just not you. How about Miss Sonata?”
She moved to contradict him, but had to admit that she didn’t much care for being called Knives, either. “Ms. will do.”
“All right then, Ms. Sonata.”
Hearing him say that, she kind of missed him calling her Agaprei. “Ahem. Your arm was injured in our duel, I prepared something that should speed the healing process.”
“It’s not magic, is it?”
“Oh no, just a simple broth of psóra root and oulí bark.”
Storgen got the biggest grin on his face when he uncovered it. “You made me a homecooked meal.”
She looked away in embarrassment. “No, it’s not. This is medicine. You’re a prisoner under my medical care, nothing more.”
“Uh huh.” Storgen templed his fingers and offered a silent player of thanks.
“If you don’t stop doing that I’m going to take it back,” she threatened.
“Right, okay.”
She watched him as he began eating the brew, taking the time to savor every spoonful.
“Why do you think you know me?” she asked.
He looked up. “I’ve known your face since the day I was born.”
“You’re being hyperbolic.”
“No, I’m serious.”
“I’m a student of medicine. You can’t know something from the moment you were born. Even if you did, infantile amnesia would have erased your memory of it. No human adult can remember anything before they were four. The human brain doesn’t work that way. Now, if you were a satyr or a dryad, that would be another story.”
“I drew my first picture of you when I was just a few months old. Here, I’ll show you.”
He reached into his toga and removed a small worn book cover. Carefully opening it up, he revealed within a deteriorated piece of parchment, so old it had nearly disintegrated completely, a faded children’s drawing upon it.
Agaprei raised a lavender eyebrow. “That is a stick figure.”
“Yeah, but see the lavender hair? Skotádi mounted it on the wall opposite my cage to torment me.”
“Cage?”
“Don’t worry about it. Anyway, I got better, go see for yourself.”
He motioned over to his things tossed atop a chair, and she removed a folded up canvas. She looked at the portrait in awe, all of its subtle brush strokes, the delicate nuance of the shading. In many ways, it was like looking into a mirror.
“This looks exactly like me, if I were a human, that is.”
“See? I’ve always known you.”
She looked at him in abhorrence. “Have you been stalking me or something?”
“What? No.”
She crumpled up the painting. “You must have found my portrait or something from when I became a champion.”
“They don’t really advertise Agadis champions in Erotan.”
“I don’t believe you. And this is super creepy.”
“Creepy?”
“Yes, how many of these have you made?”
He was reluctant to respond.
“How many?”
“A few…”
“Ugh.”
“…hundred.”
She threw the crumpled up drawing into a waste bucket. “Wow, you’re psychotic, you know that?”
He looked at the discarded painting, trying not to let his feelings show. “I always kind of assumed you’d think it was a sweet gesture.”
“It’s not sweet, it’s disturbing. I feel like you’re going to murder me in my sleep. What, do you have like some kind of serial-killer shrine devoted to me somewhere?”
“Like with bits of your hair I collected and made into a wig or something?”
She grabbed her hair in fear. “I knew it.”
He put his hands up. “I’m kidding. I don’t have anything like that. I would never hurt you. We’re fated to be together.”
“Oh great, you’re one of those. Look, I’m a woman of medicine, I don’t believe in destiny, okay?”
“How can you say that? The Fates…”
“The Fates don’t care about mortals, okay? Much less the human infestation. The Fates locked themselves away on the Isle of the Blessed. Down here, we’re on our own. There’s no plan; there’s no great design. There’s no oversight. Bad things happen, good things happen, it’s all completely random. It’s a big pita full of crap, and we all have to take a bite sooner or later.”
He looked at her tenderly. “What happened to you to make you believe such a thing?”
“We’re done here. I’m not talking to you anymore.”
She turned to leave, but then noticed the sagging bandage on his forearm. She tried to make herself forget it and just move on, but her training just wouldn’t let her.
“Ugh, here. I’ll fix that for you, then I’m gone.”
She unwrapped the bandage, and noticed the patch peeling away beneath. “Why isn’t this working? The synthetic skin isn’t adhering.”
“I tried to tell them, it never works on me.”
She pressed it to make it stick down. “What do you mean it doesn’t work on you?”
“Magic.”
“What?”
“I can’t use magical gifts.”
She looked up at him, her amber eyes wide. “What did you say?”
“Magic, I can’t use it. Never could.”
The patch fell from her hands to the floor.
“You can’t use it either, can you?” he asked.
“H-how can you know that?”
He looked at her tenderly. “I told you, you and I are two halves of the same soul.”
“That’s not possible.”
“Well, then, let’s test it.”
“Test it?”
“You’re a woman of science, Ms. Sonata, let’s do an experiment.”
“This is silly.”
“No, stay with me. Okay, I’m gonna ask you a question, and we’ll both just answer it at the same time…”
“What would that prove?
“…Don’t even think about it, just say the first thing that pops into your head, all right?”
She sighed. “Fine, if only to indulge my morbid curiosity.”
Storgen squared himself as if they were about to spar. “Okay…name you favorite food.”
“Strawberry crepes with caramel,” they said in unison.
Her eyes went wide. “Did my sister tell you that?”
“No, she didn’t. Okay, ask me one.”
Her curiosity piqued, she squared herself to him. “Okay…favorite alcoholic beverage?”
“Brandy and orange juice, hold the brandy,” they said together.
Agaprei’s mouth fell open. “Are you kidding me?”
“You do that joke too?”
“Yeah, all the time.”
Storgen rubbed his hands together. “All right, my turn.”
She leaned in, getting a little excited.
“…Your house is on fire, what’s the first thing you grab?”
“My map,” they said in unison.
She threw up her hands excitedly. “No way!”
* * *
Philiastra stepped out from behind the slumbering tree wearing nothing but a bathing suit woven from Kálymma leaves. In the twilight of the forest, she looked absolutely stunning.
“So, how do I look?”
Wei pumped his fist into the air. “Are you kidding? You look amazing. You finally look like yourself again.”
“Thanks, I feel like myself again.”
Her arm bracelet burned in praise.
“Thanks Odelia.”
We
i stood up and roots rose up out of the ground, bearing him up as he crouched low to balance. “But, the real question is: Can you catch me?”
He was off like a shot, the roots flinging him far off into the still air. He slid up the trunk of a tree, then slid out along the underside, riding along the damp moss before grabbing hold of a vine and swinging off into the distance.
Philiastra smiled. “You’re not winning this time, buddy.”
Her arm bracelet burned to life, and she jumped up. A sleeping tree pulled back its large branch like a bow, and when she landed on it, it flung her out like a catapult, shaking free pollen and scattering birds.
Wei slid along the branches, reversed his direction by grabbing a trunk, then launched himself down towards the forest floor. Giant leaves bore him up, pulling down, then snapping to launch him him like an arrow through the forest. Tree trunks whizzed by as he flew.
He glanced back and found Philiastra right behind him. She put out her arms to feel the breeze and cheered, closing her eyes as they zipped between branches and trunk, practically flying.
Without even opening her eyes, she turned herself sideways to slip between a split trunk, and Wei nodded approvingly. Already she was learning how to see through the trees and rely less on her own vision.
“You’re really getting the hang of it,” he called back. “But can you keep up with this?”
Wei grabbed a branch and vaulted himself upwards, sliding along a mossy trunk, corkscrewing around and then grabbing a branch. He flipped himself three times, planting his feet on the underside of the branch, then rocketed down through the thick brush, entering a deep gully. The exposed roots folded over to bear him up, and he slid horizontally, racing through at mind-numbing speeds, the cliff-like walls on either side speeding past in a blur.
He smiled as he felt her keeping pace, swinging above the gully on a vine, laughing joyfully.
He formed a ramp before him and shot up through a hollow trunk; he commanded the wall of trees to part before him, then snapped them shut behind. He threw out his hands, and all the trees shook, releasing a cloud of pollen that obscured everything. Hidden in the cloud, he slid down a branch and curled himself into a hollow to hide, and then went perfectly quiet.
For a moment, all was silent, then Philiastra dropped down from above and grabbed the sides of the hollow.
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