Standard Disclaimer: Warlords, et al, belong to Sunrise. My characters and concepts (including the snake-gods) belong to me, do not use without asking. If you ask, I probably won't say no.
"Histories: Snake God"
By Amanda Swiftgold
Part One - Pain
The forest was deep and dark, a gloomy, eerie wood that the people in the town below didn't dare to enter, twisted trees and thick foliage encroaching upon walls that could only just hold it back. It was the evil twin, the Dark Sister, the antithesis of the forest on the other side of the valley, where the children played and the men hunted. In this world, beauty was worshipped and ugliness scorned. The Dark Sister was cursed and alone. It suited the boy. The forest was his mother, his self. The forest, deep and dark, hid him from the hating world.
Sekhmet stood in his clearing, surveying the splintered tree limbs he had stuck upright in the wet ground of the riverbed. He straightened one, and then raised a thick, straight stick in the air before shouting a challenge and lunging for the limb, slicing sideways as he'd seen trainees doing in a fallow field outside the town's walls. The pieces of wood hit together with a satisfying whack, and the limb toppled over to the ground.
He blocked out the distracting sound of the rushing river close by and attacked the next one, thrusting with his stick. Sekhmet struck at the limb again, but as the branches connected, he lost his grip and his weapon ricocheted away and went flying off behind him. He spun around and discovered to his dismay that the stick had landed in the river. He ran over to the bank, hoping to grab it before it floated downstream, but was too late.
"Now I'll have to find another," he mumbled, kicking at a nearby rock, round and smoothed by the water's ancient caress. It rolled a small distance before stopping, and he stooped to pick it up, testing its weight in his hand. "And that was the perfect sword, too." Sekhmet turned to start his search for a new practice weapon, but his eye was caught by the reflection in the water. His reflection. He scowled at it, watching as the reflection frowned back.
He hated it. It was all because of the way he looked, the only reason he was here alone in the damp, with only the large trees and the river and his reflection in the water for company. He stared at the green hair, the large, colorless eyes, the face his mother and his clan despised. He was a demon, everyone said so, and this was why. This was why the other children were afraid of him, why everyone made warding symbols as he passed to protect their spirits from harm.
Sekhmet gritted his teeth and threw the round rock in his hand at his reflection; it fell in with a large splash that got water all over him, though he didn't even notice it. But, the ripples fading away, his image reformed, taunting, leering back at him. Sekhmet turned away.
He wanted to leave the forest now, tired of its games, although that meant going home and enduring the stares and the insults. However, it seemed that the Dark Sister wanted to keep him a little while longer. Something in the river flashed, metallic and almost green, and he turned back, his curiosity piqued. He returned to the bank, and it shone again from under the water, almost as if calling to him.
I wonder what that is? I've never seen anything in the river before... That was certainly strange, as he'd been coming to this small clearing for several years now, and knew almost its every pebble. Sekhmet quickly stripped, tossing his two fairly ragged robes uncaringly to the mud, and dived into the cold, clear water. The currents were strong, but he had been a strong swimmer since he was little and went against them, kicking his way across, the chill of the rushing liquid making his skin numb. He reached the spot where the gleam had come from and, filling his lungs with air, went under, hands searching around in the muck of the riverbed, stirring up dirt.
His fingers brushed something hard and heavy and closed around it before he heaved upward, lugging it back to the shore with an effort. He pushed the mud-covered thing onto the riverbank, shivering as he climbed out behind it onto the loose, sandy dirt and the air bit his wet skin. He dried off with his overrobe and dressed again, wishing that he didn't always get so cold, and then turned his attention to his prize.
The muck slid off easily with a swipe of his fingers, revealing the red-splotched metal underneath. Sekhmet gasped in awe as he cleared more of the mud away. It was a sword, a real sword like the clan's warriors had, although it was a bit rusty. He traced the odd carvings on the blade with a finger, feeling as though he ought to be able to know what they said, and then grasped the hilt with both hands. It took all of his strength to lift it upward. It was as big as he was, and he was rather large for his seven years.
He let it drop, the point scratching a line in the mud that was squelching up between his toes, and dragged it over to a patch of sandy soil. There he crouched down next to the sword and picked up handfuls of the sand, rubbing it on the metal to get the rust off as he'd seen a servant woman do to get corrosion off cooking ware. He worked diligently as the sun began to sink, finishing off the job by polishing it with his much-abused overrobe.
When he had finished, Sekhmet lugged the sword upward to look at it critically. It shone in the last rays of the sun, but he could swear that the color it reflected was green, and not the orange-red of the sunset. Sekhmet looked up again in surprise as that thought caught in his mind. The sunset! It would be dark soon, and even he wouldn't want to be in the shadowy forest at night. Who knew what could be lurking here, lured out by the darkness? Ghosts from the bonefield that lay here, certainly, and all kind of monsters he'd heard stories about. Maybe even the demon who was his father lived in this black space under the trees, and that scared him most of all.
He began to drag the sword after him as he left, but then stopped. I can't take it home. Viraz would take it from me and try to sell it. It's such a nice sword, better than the warriors have, even. Sekhmet fumbled with the knot of his sash and yanked the short overrobe from his shoulders before awkwardly wrapping the sword in it and holding the heavy object in both arms like a bundle of sticks. Scanning about for a good place to hide it, he found a little rift in the earth and laid it there. Covering his new possession with rocks, he glanced up to judge the time by the sun's position, and then hurriedly left the forest down the path he'd made after years of coming to the clearing.
It was dark by the time he had reached his house near the middle of the town, dark and cold. Sekhmet shivered again as he slipped in through the back kitchen door of the large thatched-roof house, the second-largest home in town next to the one his grandfather, the town's leader, owned. Everyone was scornful of his stepfather's merchant profession and the money he'd earned that way, for all that they bought things from him anyhow.
He looked at the tatami mats on the floor as their two household servants passed, trying to ignore the gestures they made to protect themselves from his evil. By now those gestures were mostly out of habit, though they still hurt him anyhow. But he knew that the servants - two unmarried women who lived together in a small hut behind the house - had grown used to him and didn't really mind it when he stayed in the kitchen, as he so often did.
He'd missed dinner again, as usual, and so he found some scraps of fish and the leftover rice in a bowl and approached the large cooking fire. Sitting down near it in a corner, feeling the warmth seep back into his chilled limbs, he ate what he'd found, watching the two women move around quietly, cleaning up from dinner. The dancing flames were so warm and comforting, and he felt a little drowsy, blinking back the want to sleep.
Suddenly, a voice broke the stillness, and Sekhmet sat up straighter. "They're at it again," Natani murmured to the older woman, rolling her eyes toward the outer rooms. She was rather new, and had yet to get used to the household she was now a part of.
"Nothing unordinary about that," Eri returned back, her gaze focused on the wet, stained rag she was scrubbing the table with. "She ought to just be quiet and take it, and he'd go easier; but she's always been a shrew, just like her mother, ever since she were a baby. I should know. She deserves all she asks for."
Sekhmet listened intently, and soon the sound of loud, angry voices and breaking things filled his ears. Despite the old woman's words, he was rarely in the house when a fight broke out, and had always left when one started. However, it was much too cold out for that, and dark, too. He'd used to want to protect his mother, despite the fact that it did nothing but get him hurt too. Now he was perfectly intent on staying here, where it was safe.
He'd nearly nodded off by the fire before the motion of the bowl in his hands being wrenched away woke him from his doze. He looked up to see Eri, who jerked her watery eyes from his gaze. "You, get out of here," she ordered, pointing toward the door. "Kitchen's the last place we need bad luck. You don't get out and I thrash you."
Great, the green-haired boy thought sourly, getting up to leave. Stay here and get hit or go out there and get hit just the same. The old woman had never made good on her threat, but then again he'd never given her the chance. After all, no one else had ever bothered to warn him before beating him.
"Oh, Miss Eri," he could hear Natani's soft voice exclaim; she had hidden her face with her sleeve the whole time. "Aren't you afraid he'll steal your soul?"
"Nonsense," the stout servant muttered, but even so she never met the boy's eyes with hers as he passed. "The master takes care of that, sure enough."
Sliding the door closed behind him, he carefully followed the noise of bellows and screams toward the room where his mother and stepfather slept. Oh, things were just wonderful, now. He slept in a different space, but the only way he could get there was through theirs. He would have to wait out in the entrance room
From here he could distinctly hear the bellows of his stepfather, Viraz, interrupted by the higher-pitched shrieks of his mother. They were yelling about something, everything - that hardly mattered anymore. They'd scream about anything. Sekhmet peered cautiously into the room; maybe he'd be able to sneak by.
Rielvia, her face bruised and bloodied, had futilely ducked behind a chest that held clothes for protection, desperately trying to evade the blows Viraz threw at her, screaming at the top of her lungs. Her long black hair flew out everywhere as she grabbed the nearest thing at hand, a vase holding wilting flowers, and flung it at her husband. He sidestepped easily, the ceramic cylinder shattering against the beam behind him and the water splashing the oiled paper of the walls, and swung at her, the blow catching her just behind the ear. She was stunned for a moment, and he grabbed her arm, yanked her swiftly across the top of the sturdy chest and threw her to the ground. She flopped there for a moment before dragging herself to her hands and knees, trying to choke back tears of helplessness.
Viraz chuckled in a self-congratulatory way, scratching the orange bristles of his beard, and Sekhmet made a muffled squeak of alarm. Oh, shut up! he berated himself, covering his mouth with his hand. Why should I care? She doesn't! he thought fiercely, jerking back out of the doorway.
Seeing the movement, Viraz turned his coaly eyes on the boy, and his face grew a twisted grin. "You!" he exclaimed. "You cursed little piece of shit! What are you doing here?"
He swallowed the fear, knowing that he had to answer or it would just be worse. "I wanted - to go to bed," he choked.
"Oh, so you wanted to go to bed," he repeated, flexing thick fingers in anticipation.
Rielvia looked up woozily, shaking her head in obvious pain. "Viraz, leave him be," she said in a voice so soft he could have pretended to ignore it, although he rounded on her with a sneer and delivered a hard kick to her side before following up with a whack to her head.
"Stop it," Sekhmet nearly whined, trying to be brave but not succeeding very well. There was nowhere he could go, and it was so cold outside; he couldn't run, because if he ran he couldn't come back and there was nowhere he could go! "Why do you have to do that? Don't do that!"
"Why? I only do it because I love your mother, whore that she is," the large man said, clenching his fist again as he recovered from his swing, the woman's sobs rending the air as he turned on the boy trying to disappear into the shadows. "But you - you will not control me! I should have broken your neck years ago. In fact, that whore should have drowned you the moment you were born, the way I told her to." He began to advance on Sekhmet, who backed out of the room but suddenly hit against the wall, eyes huge and panicked. "Yes, demon, try casting your spells now. It won't do you any good. You can't control me with those reptile eyes. I will make you pay, you wretched bastard!"
Sekhmet pressed his back against the wall, trying to sink through it. He began to whimper softly, looking for any way to escape. Viraz could run so much faster than him and there was nowhere he could go. He shrieked as the man's fist slammed into his jawbone, sending his head back to collide against the wall. His bare feet slipped on the mats and out from under him, and he couldn't keep the tears from coming to his eyes.
Viraz picked him up by the front of his robe and began to shout, punctuating each syllable with a shake. "You - will - not - control - me! You - will - not - control - me!" He threw Sekhmet against the wall with a roar, shaking the thin partition, and the boy clutched his head in agony.
"Stop it! Stop it! Stop it stop it stop it!" he moaned, tasting the blood in his mouth and wishing for nothing else but to be able to control him, to make him stop and go away for good. Viraz began to kick his prone form, yelling unintelligibly until he stopped protesting.
Satisfied, Viraz wiped his hands on the front of his furry vest, leaving streaks of blood there. Sekhmet watched, uncaring, through one swollen eye as he stumbled back through the doorway and over to his mother, mumbling, before dragging her to the rumpled sheets of the bed nearby and descending upon her, hands tearing at clothing. He swallowed, tasting salt and more blood, and then everything went black.
* * * * *
Sekhmet ran his hands through the thatch, pulling loose pieces away and picking apart a piece of straw as he watched the gathering below. A group of traveling performers had come to town, and they had been paid for two nights of music. Although performers were looked down upon as being of low rank, people still enjoyed watching them, and they were a rarity in these parts. He sat alone and out of the way, observing everyone as they milled around the packed dirt that made up the town commons, waiting for dusk to arrive.
Sekhmet pushed at his loose tooth absently with his tongue as he looked down from the roof, watching as people bustled about full of excitement. At least Viraz hadn't knocked it out this time, and it was falling out naturally. He rolled over on his stomach, wincing as he put his head in his hands, poking his bruised jaw with a finger to judge how much it still hurt.
The other children were running around, getting in everyone else's way as the adults tried to light the large fire or set up their instruments. Some of them had also grabbed vantage points on the roofs and were happily throwing straw on the heads of their parents and others below.
He watched a group of boys tease a small brown-haired girl, who immediately punched the closest one in the face. He stifled a laugh as her father, a tall, lanky man who visited Viraz once in a while, came up to pull her away before the boy could hit her back, shouting angrily. The girl looked up at Sekhmet and gave him a toothy grin, or so it seemed. She was probably just looking at the large crow sitting on the chimney... he told himself, brushing the thought aside.
The excitement rose as the fire was lit, and soon everyone moved in to sit down, trying for the best seats, smoke filling the air, and even some of the village dogs coming to join them, flopped over on their sides with tongues lolling out contentedly. He looked on as it grew darker, anticipation overtaking everyone. It was not often that musicians, or anyone, for that matter, came to visit the clan, and hearsay had it that this particular group was very good. They were especially welcomed because they were largely made up of outcasts and people descended from barbarians, just like the people of the clan itself, which was why they were so isolated from the rest of the country.
The troupe of five soon approached and took up their places, four of them posing silently in the shadows as one held up a screen in front of the light of the fire, and Sekhmet pulled back further into the shadows. Viraz had warned him to stay away from the visitors so that he might not scare them away, and he wasn't about to do anything purposely to get him mad.
Even so, he thought that one of them, a young rust-haired woman, might have seen him. For some reason, she was gazing up at his roof with a strange look on her makeup-covered face. He held his breath until she looked away, wondering what that look meant - it wasn't the usual fear, he thought. They performed the customary opening formalities, and he crept forward again as they began.
The woman who had noticed him earlier was singing as the others played, acting out the words of the songs. She had a high, clear voice that was nice to listen to as she sang, "The far waters are bitter, the near waters are sweet. Pass through the bitter, and come to the sweet." Many of the songs were wild and noisy, and later on more than a few were slow love-songs. They almost seemed to captivate everybody, lull them into a trance, calm them and relax them.
And then came the stories. Three of the others acted out the other parts now, bringing to life their favorite folktales while the last member of the troupe played the pipe and also the drum, using a strange little contraption attached to his toe. "Long ago and far away," the rust-haired woman said with a sweeping gesture, "there lived a bamboo cutter and his wife. The bamboo cutter enjoyed his work, though he had never heard of a wealthy bamboo cutter. He relished the freedom he had to wander the forests in search of the precious wood"
Raking his eyes over the crowd, Sekhmet noticed Viraz and Rielvia sitting side by side somewhat near the large bonfire. He watched as his mother's hand crept to caress her husband's briefly before he caught it in his own and squeezed, and the boy shook his head. He couldn't understand it. How can Mother let him hit her and still love him? What wrong with them, anyway? He must have hurt her head or something, because that's really stupid. I hate him and I'll always hate him.
"The light seemed to radiate from the center of the tiny thicket, from the largest bamboo tree in the grove. As if moved by forces beyond his control, the man walked to the glowing tree and raised his axe. The tree fell with but one swing of his blade, and there in the center of the hollow trunk sat a beautiful, tiny baby girl."
If I came from bamboo, or a peach, maybe they'd like me then, he thought sourly. Weird people in stories are always good luck, and they always grow up and do interesting things, but I'll probably just get hit until I die. He watched the other families sitting together, smiling drowsily, and sighed. They weren't thinking about him, his curse, and his mother didn't care where he was at all, and somehow, it was better this way. He lowered his head down into the straw and closed his eyes, letting the sound of the woman's voice and the familiar stories put him to sleep.
* * * * *
He gasped and sat upright suddenly, blinking away the drowsiness. It was dark, dark everywhere, and he couldn't see. Sekhmet felt the thatch under his fingers and clutched it reflexively, finally closing his eyes and counting slowly before reopening them. He was able to make vague shapes out now, and looked up at the sky. He was relieved to see that the stars were still the same, the sky still a dark shade of blue, clouds a dark gray against the blackness. Somehow, he thought that it had changed, that the sky was different and the stars were different, but now it just seemed like part of a dream he couldn't remember.
As he stared at the dark, sleeping town, he saw the distant glow of a fire, near the surrounding wall. That was the place where the wall came up against the Dark Sister, and there the wall was weak, full of holes, creating the perfect entranceway to his forest. Who would be over there? The musicians? The others would have told them how nasty the forest was. I better go check and make sure.
Sekhmet climbed over to the edge of the roof and slid off, hanging by his fingers for a moment before dropping and landing, hurting his feet with the movement but managing not to fall. He knew the town very well, of course, and so was able to navigate easily to the spot where he had seen the fire. Careful not to get too close, he saw the musicians sitting around outside their wagon, talking softly or resting. Apparently, they had decided not to stay at the inn, which was a good idea; the innkeeper was lazy, and so the rooms were even dirtier than outside and the beds full of bugs. Someone must have given them the tip, or they'd gone and seen it for themselves.
He hid around the corner, behind a house with darkened windows, watching the strangers curiously and making sure to keep quiet so the occupants inside wouldn't hear him and think him a thief. The performers weren't doing much, though, and his eyelids began to droop, his head suddenly becoming too heavy to hold up. Sekhmet forced himself awake once more, and was horrified to see that the singer had definitely seen him, her dark eyes piercing the shadows surrounding him. He didn't dare move, lest the others see him too, but froze, wishing he had stayed on the roof, or just gone home.
She stood slowly, murmuring something to the others, and walked over to him. He looked up at her, not afraid of what she might do, but afraid of what Viraz would do if he found out he had been bothering them. He started to take a step away but was frozen in place by the gesture to stop that she made at him. She turned the corner and then stopped just in front of him, staring. He wanted her to do something, gasp, shriek, run, do anything except just stare, although he was used to that, too. But it felt different coming from this stranger, and as he looked back at her he saw not fear but sadness in her eyes.
The woman smiled at him, and said softly, "Hello." He began to back away slowly again, not trusting the unusual reactions she was giving him. She held out her hand. "Wait! I won't hurt you. I promise." He frowned, still mistrustful, but stopped, wondering what she was about. She knelt in front of him, eyes large and dark in the moonlight, the hem of her robe and the ends of her long sleeves, embroidered with birds and serpents, trailing in the dust. "I am called Cirian. What is your name, little one?"
He shivered a bit, not just from the chill in the air, and replied, "Sekhmet." He didn't particularly like his name, either, especially because he knew Viraz had given it to him, that it was a word from the place Viraz's grandmother had come from - probably a bad word, knowing him. It was too strange, even among his clan where not everyone was wholly Japanese, just one more oddness he didn't want or need.
Cirian repeated it faintly and then cautiously reached out a hand to touch his emerald hair. His mind yelled at him to jerk away, but he forced himself to stand still. Somehow, he felt that this woman wouldn't harm him. The light pressure felt strange and made him fidget a little, fighting that urge to move.
"You you are the son of a snake-god?" she asked him seriously, her hand still on his head.
He shrugged; she wasn't the first one to ask, though she was the first one to not fear looking into his eyes. "That's what everyone says," he answered. She smiled up at him sadly, but her eyes looked far away, almost right through him. Something was obviously wrong, but he had no idea what. Sekhmet tapped her shoulder hesitantly, hoping it wouldn't anger her. "Miss Cirian?" he began, and her eyes came back into focus.
"I'm sorry," she said, shaking her head to clear it. "I was just remembering something" She looked away for a moment. "I had a daughter like you, Sekhmet. I loved her very much. Her name was Nilaie."
He frowned thoughtfully, more shocked by this news than he let himself show. "You mean there's other people like me?" Cirian nodded. "Where's your daughter now?" he asked, pretty sure that he knew the answer to that.
She closed her eyes briefly. When she reopened them, she had gone back into the past, concentrating on something he couldn't see. She spoke almost emotionlessly. "When Nilaie was born, my father tried to take her away and kill her. I ran away with her, hiding. None of the villages would let us stay long, and we were always running, always looking for somewhere to stay. Finally I met our group, and they took me on as a singer. They didn't mind Nilaie's looks, and she was always beautiful to me
"She was three years old when they found us. My father had spread word that I was keeping a demon they attacked us. I escaped, but Nilaie" Cirian shook herself out of her reverie. "She was killed by the people, the ignorant people, who judged my little girl just because of her face. People much like the ones in this town," she added, tracing one of the splotchy bruises on his jaw with a finger.
Sekhmet wasn't sure what to say. "I Miss Cirian, you're the only person who's ever been nice to me before. I'm sorry about your daughter, even though I didn't know her. I want to, but"
She smiled at him, thinking for a moment. "Come with me," she finally offered. "Leave this place and come with us. We'll protect you. I know you can't replace my daughter, but at least you can have my love. You deserve better than this, Sekhmet."
He stared at her in surprise. Leave the clan, leave Viraz, leave... He nodded and smiled. "Yes, I'll go! When? Now!" Her face broke into a grin, and he was glad that he'd made her so happy, although it was all still a little overwhelming. Cirian, hesitating only a moment, opened her arms and then hugged him, and he tensed involuntarily as he was drawn into her embrace. He knew she wasn't trying to hurt him, but another person's touch felt so strange
Pulling away, she sighed sadly, looking thoughtfully at him again, and then stood up, taking his hand. "I will introduce you to the others now. We will leave early-" She looked up and cut herself off, gasping in surprise.
Sekhmet's blood ran cold, his heart wanted to stop Viraz was standing right there! He quickly tried to hide behind Cirian. No, no, he can't ruin it now! I was going to get away!
"He's not going anywhere," Viraz announced. "Let go of him now, woman. He obviously has you under a spell."
"He does not," Cirian said angrily. "And why do you care? You obviously don't want him, don't love him. You should be happy for me taking him off your hands."
Viraz snarled at her. "It is none of your affair. Go back to your little performing friends, you low-class wench, and stay out of what doesn't concern you." Sekhmet felt Viraz's hand close around his wrist and protested as he was yanked away from Cirian. He tried to go back to her, reaching for her, but Viraz held him almost effortlessly. "The demon must suffer for the curse his birth has brought upon us. If his will is not broken and we cast him out, then his spirit will return to eat our souls. He is staying, singer. How dare you try to bring doom upon our clan?"
"You are just trying to ease your wounded pride," she said decisively with a shake of her head, her dark eyes looking right through him. "He can't hurt you, he's just a boy!"
No, don't fight him, don't argue with him or he'll hit you! Sekhmet thought at her, trying without success to pull his wrist out of the big man's grasp. The hand tightened hard enough to hurt, and he cried out, feeling like his bones were snapping under that pressure.
Viraz began to advance on her slowly. "Oh, yes, you'll pay, woman," he snarled, his hand suddenly darting out to grab hold of the front of her kimono, twisting it in his hand and pulling her up close to him. She pushed against his chest, glancing back over her shoulder toward the wagon where the others were lounging, and he growled low in her ear, "Make one sound and I'll snap your neck before they even get up." She choked back her cry, and he looked down at Sekhmet. "You! You get back to the house, now!"
"No, I won't," he spat back, struggling hand, and the man let go of his wrist just long enough to backhand the green-haired boy, knocking him into a stand of itchy grass that grew around the edges of the house.
"You - will - go - now!" he commanded in the same clipped way he always ordered Sekhmet about, driving each word in like nails. "Now!"
Choking back helpless tears, he backed away from his stepfather's anger, grass rustling around him as he crawled backward, more afraid of Viraz than he had the courage, or even the ability, to help Cirian. She gave him an apologetic, understanding look, the fear in her eyes to match his own, and in that moment he thought that the slim singer really understood then why he'd flinched when she'd hugged him.
Blearily through his tears he saw the bearded man lean to kiss Cirian roughly, holding her tightly to him as she tried to fight away, and then he began dragging her away toward the wall and the dark forest on its other side. He saw no more, then, as he turned to run back home, back to his cold bed and his mother who would give him no comfort.
* * * * *
The clan was angry. The people talked about it all over town during the next day, at the well, as they walked down the streets, as they tended their fields. The performers had gone, disappeared without a trace, and they had taken the money the clan had paid them for the next night's performance. They were also confused; why had the musicians left after only one performance? If they were frauds, they wouldn't have performed at all. Only Sekhmet and Viraz knew the truth, and they kept that knowledge to themselves. So the clan was forced to wonder, and the general mood of the town was not good.
As usual, Sekhmet didn't stay around his house. As soon as morning-meal had been served to Viraz and Rielvia, he took his portion from the kitchen, also as usual, and then left for the forest. He traveled through the trees, following the path he had followed for so long, kicking rocks and enjoying the dull ache that left in his toes. It was his fault. He had bothered the singers and made Viraz chase them away, made him hurt Cirian, made them all angry. He wished he could forget about it, but it hung onto his mind. The guilt was there, as always. If only he wasn't a demon, a curse, then maybe he could play around town with the other boys, and train with them out in the fallow field.
He didn't feel like going to his clearing today, even with the thought of that bright, heavy sword to practice with. Sekhmet decided to keep walking when the path turned abruptly. Perhaps there would be something interesting in the forest that he could explore; perhaps, like the bamboo-cutter, or the man in the tale of the fox-wife, he would find a strange creature here who would give him a wish, and then he would wish to leave and never come back.
The path he saw through the pine needles and dead leaves was beaten down a little, oddly enough, but too light to be a deer trail, he knew. Curious, he decided to follow it, and it wasn't long when he saw a long piece of cloth, an obi from a kimono, just lying there on the ground. That caught his attention right away; he hadn't put it there, but there were few others who would come into this forest. He felt almost indignant at this sign of human intrusion; the Dark Sister was his, and it was all he had, so they'd better still be afraid of it.
He moved forward a little further, bare feet rustling the leaves on the forest floor, and saw a heap of cloth among the trees, in front of a large rock lightly stained with a rusty brown. Suddenly, the pile moved and an arm appeared, streaked with blood, reaching out for him-
Panic overtook him, crashing through him like waves as his heart pounded in his ears. He shrieked and ran, crashing through the brush until he tripped and fell on a root protruding from the earth. He gasped violently as the wind was knocked out of him, instinctively covering his head with his hands, waiting for the monster to rip him apart
Nothing happened, and soon his breathing slowed, and he tentatively uncurled. He got up and looked back, calmer now. So far it had just stretched out toward him, not moved; maybe the thing was not a threat, and so he walked back over towards it, curiosity getting the better of him. Closer now, he was able to tell what it was, or, rather, who it was. "Miss Cirian!" he exclaimed, kneeling at her side.
She looked awful, covered in bruises and dried blood, her left arm twisted at a bad angle and her fancy kimono and underrobes torn and hanging open in front. But she moved, still breathed, and Sekhmet knew exactly how this had happened. He took the pale hand in his own, watching as she fully woke up, coppery eyelashes fluttering. She cried when she saw him, and he found that he was crying, too, for no reason that he could fully name.
He helped her sit up and pull the edges of her torn clothing together to cover her body, wanted to comfort her somehow, wanted to be comforted as the familiar feeling of guilt rose inside him. So he hugged her, not knowing if it was the right thing to do; the others of the clan had always seemed to like it, however, and the warm feeling of Cirian's arms felt nice as he tried to stop crying. Finally he wiped his face on his sleeve and turned to look at her. "Viraz did this," he stated plainly, and she nodded in reply.
"Yes, he - brought me here," she said in a low, hoarse voice, her eyes looking to him like shattered mirrors. "He hurt me, left me for dead afterwards" She trailed off, unwilling to describe to the child what had really happened.
"I'm going to kill him," Sekhmet told her in a stern voice, hoping it would comfort her. "As soon as I can. I have a sword now, I'll use it and kill him. That will revenge you."
She struggled to stand with his help, leaning heavily on his shoulder and making him adjust his balance in order to stay upright. "Killing helps nothing, little one," she said, more tears sparkling in her eyes. "Revenge will only make you as bad as him."
I'm not going to be like him! He shook his head stubbornly; how could she say that, after what he did? "But if I don't, he'll just hurt more people. I've got to kill him." He took her hand, trying to pull her along; she stumbled and winced, as if walking hurt her. Feeling solicitous and anxious, the boy went on, "I'll show you to the road from here. Your other people who were with you already left, and I bet they can help you fix your arm. If you go to town, Viraz might find you again."
Cirian nodded and let him lead her to the edge of the forest. It was a slow trip, as she often stopped to fall down on her knees, curling over her lap with fists clenched, eyes shut tight in pain before she found the strength to move on again. He waited for her to get back up wordlessly, although most of the way he'd found himself babbling about one thing or another.
Finally, they reached a small ridge lined with trees. "There's the town wall. The road is off thataway," he said, pointing to the north. "It goes all the way to Kaze, the capital. I've never been there but I bet it's big. Have you ever been there?"
She didn't answer, instead looking down at him again, squeezing his hand tightly with her own cold and clammy one. "Please, come with me now, Sekhmet." She looked at him searchingly, as if she was trying to see in him something of her daughter, or perhaps something else entirely. "Leave this place. There's still time"
"I can't, Miss Cirian," he said plaintively, regretting every word. But a new purpose had sprung up in him, a new reason for enduring what he did. "I've got to stay now to kill Viraz. I can't just go away when he'll still alive. When he's dead I'll come find you, all right? I'll come find you in Kaze; I bet you'll know me for sure, no matter what."
She sighed, perhaps in disappointment, nodded, and hugged him once more before turning away. He watched her move slowly down the path, disheveled russet hair loose and swinging behind her, and choked back some more tears. Someone who wanted him, really truly wanted him, and he was making her leave without him. Her voice came floating back to his ears, and he wanted to go with her, almost ran to her again. But he thought of Viraz, and knew he had to stay. "Be safe, little one perhaps one day you will return to me."
"I will, Miss Cirian," he said after a long time, knowing she wouldn't hear him by now even if he did yell. With a half-hearted wave at her retreating back, he turned and ran into the Dark Sister's waiting arms.
