2. Assuage

His head felt heavy, and his injury still stung; it was a detached, swirling pain, courtesy of the bandits' attempt to take his arm away as a parting gift. But what really got him worried were the greetings, salutations, curtsies and accolades he was receiving.

"God keep you, young lad!"

"If it weren't for you they would've burnt my tavern to the ground… Oh! I cannot thank you enough…"

"You saved us from those evil men!"

And Reynard's priceless look of stunned confusion: "Since when could you fight like that?"

Truth be told, he was not used to everyone treating him so – politely. Thirteen years as a breeder of horses and a tiller of the earth taught him he was just one rank above y-o-m-a in the marketplace of humans. But then again, the master of the tavern had brought him to the apothecary and the physician, and had paid for all his medication (which was at least three months' wages) – and this in spite of the fact he had already sustained a nasty cut from the bandits too.

He massaged his forehead with his good arm and sighed.I need a good meal. Not tavern food. He clutched on grimly to the side of the carriage he was sitting on as it went over a boulder. Maybe some sleep would be forthcoming too.

With an unexpected tinge of fear he chided himself for that thought. Sleep was not what he needed to think through now, especially after what had happened at the tavern. He was suspicious of his own movements, and even his own version of what happened. Had he really cut down three armed bandits with their own swords and moved with the speed of a Voracious Eater, as Reynard had told him? Sure, his slippery "brother" was a master at hyperbole, but he could tell from the serious narrowing of eyes that his words were not completely metaphorical.

Still, Raki was a simple man. Well, he knew he was a simple man; not a man of letters or flowery prose. But even if it hurt his head more to put it into words, his self-analysis of the last few hours led him to an unnerving, queer conclusion:

Were his dreams were slipping into his waking life?

The carriage careened across the path and came to a less than satisfactory stop, but he still dismounted without complaint. He carried with him one of the swords from earlier in his good hand, washed and cleaned. He did not really want it. But the witnesses insisted. Think of it as the spoils of battle, he tried to convince himself.

"Peace be to you, dear brother!" went the man who had just given him a ride home. He did not have the faintest idea who he was, but at his insistence he let him give 'Diryakar's hero' a free ride home.

"And peace be unto you, too," he responded as it was the custom.

Raki trudged towards his house, not wanting to think about the morning's events anymore than he wanted to have the blade he was holding pointed at his face again. Realising he should not scare Sabeena or the children with a weapon, he tossed the blade aside, to his pile of farming tools. And sighing he opened the door and crossed the threshold, back home.

Home.

Wham! Something small slammed into his torso – and he grimaced, suddenly alert – but he saw a blonde mop of what could be only be hair clinging onto him and, – and he let the fear evaporate.

"Aestee! What – "

The words were hardly out of his mouth before he realised there were three times more people than normal in his house.

"Aestee," he said, addressing his youngest daughter, "what's going on?"

"They said father saved the town! Reynard told us you saved the town!" she squealed.

Another question came at him: "Father. Are you hurt?"

"No, Alina, I'm fine. Tell me why - ?"

"Family gathering just to make sure you were all right, that's all," she replied.

With Aestee still stuck to him like glue, he was greeted from all directions by his in-laws. He was not extremely fond of all of them, but they were the closest thing he had to family after all. Alina, his oldest daughter, bowed to let him past. Am I training her to be a nun or what? Right now he just wanted to be with his wife; his relatives had other plans though: many of them rushed to him and began patting him on his good shoulder.

Not again, he sighed. He shrugged them off, heading to Sabeena, but he found himself face-to-face with his father-in-law. He stretched a small smile across his face to greet the stern, old man who – to his surprise – returned it. And this was the man who refused my dowry?

He moved aside and walked to the far corner of the room. And there was his beloved. Before he could say a word, she crashed into his arms.

"Why do you have to play the hero again, Raki?" he spoke into his shoulder, her voice upset. "You had me so worried!"

"I was just – there. That's all." It was a lie.

He squeezed her to him. She felt warm, warmer than usual. He let out a huge sigh of relief.

"Good to see you in one piece, brother." Through Sabeena's hair, he could make out his brother-in-law, Usman, grinning from ear to ear. His only son was with him as well. "Finally put your skills to good use, eh?"

Sabeena shushed him. Turning to Raki, she said grinning, "Usman, get everyone out of the house. This is private."

Raki should have laughed too. But right now he was just content to be home.

"I've gathered the horses, father," his son told him. "They're in the keep."

"You didn't have to, Kain. I was going to do so myself – "

Kain shook his head. "You've been through enough today, and since you always wake early for the horses, it's only right that I take care of them at night," he said. Swinging his saddle and stirrups over his shoulder, he headed for his quarters. "You should spend time with mother. I promise I won't interrupt."

He swore his son was teasing him. But nonetheless he wandered back into the house to find Sabeena. He remembered he needed to do his evening prayers too.

He found her putting Aestee to sleep, whispering their evening prayers by her bedside, before extinguishing the taper burning by the bedside. Silently, he stood by, mesmerized, watching her – his wife – silently as she knelt down to anoint Aestee's forehead with a kiss. In the dark, she moved, lithe and effortless like a Claymore in battle.

When she stepped out of the shadow and into the light, she confronted him. Raki caught the full force of her powerful gaze.

"You were watching me," she accused.

"Can't a husband even take a moment to look at his wife?" he returned, with mock hurt.

She gave him a soft smile, turning into their room. As he followed, she said: "You still haven't told me your version of what happened earlier today."

He had already buried the day's events in a small corner in his head. Instead, he caught her by her shoulders, hands pressing on the soft linen of her simple dress. He could smell her scent, a wayward, deep aroma of basil, wildflowers and – Sabeena.

For a second he halted, staring at the contour of her neck, brown as the southern soil in harvest time – it was as if he needed convincing she was real flesh and blood, a living soul separated from the previous hours' blood, fear and uncertainty.

"Let that wait till morning," he insisted.

He heard Sabeena chuckle, and he could not suppress a laugh himself. This was what his life was. This was, he believed with absolute certainty, what he was meant to protect. Running his hands through her dark, undone hair, he delivered a kiss to the back of her neck, till all that filled his senses was her rich, overpowering scent like a religion, satisfying his soul.

So much for evening prayers.

But he could not sleep.

The next time he opened his eyes, the room burst into a sub-darkness which could finally rival the forest he was running from – or towards? He was breathing deeply again, but the shoulder wound made his breaths ragged, punctured with pain – he had felt exactly like this, drained of blood and energy – when he last left her standing in the forest clearing on the far side of the mountain.

As the familiarity of the room slowly began to condense around him, he stabilized, letting the images of dead branches, scarred trees and ruins drain from his thoughts. Why do I panic? Why do I fear? The pain finally got to him, and his hand went to his shoulder, trying to assuage a sharp, cutting agony.

Then the image seized his mind, one which he had forgotten but which his own senses had scraped out from the dirt of his memory: he was wounded in that same spot, by another Claymore, while he was trying to protect –

He drew breath again; the pain was slowly subsiding. This time he was looking at Sabeena, her bare back as smooth as a blade beside him. Why am I afraid to mention her name?

He lay back in bed; and the winds lifted the curtains by the window. He was afraid to fall asleep. He was afraid he might see her again, and wake up nauseous with the guilt of unfaithfulness.

Because tonight, he had thought of her so relentlessly, even with his wife's face in front of him.

The publicity he had been getting these few days irked him, so he had stopped his usual routine of heading for the tavern immediately after dawn. Today, however, he headed out earlier than usual, wanting to seek a mentor's advice. Again, as he let his favourite horse out to graze, he peered at the star-sprinkled sky, before making for Diryakar, his leisurely pace betraying his troubled thoughts.

The wind-caressed trees were whispering a silent devotional as he took a different turn at the city gates, going for the cathedral. Diryakar was not the most holy city in the province, but it was good enough for a cathedral. Because the people here still have un-confessed sins and daily transgressions, he thought, just like me. The man he was seeking was just beyond those doors.

At the foot of the steps leading to the doors, he paused, hesitant to carry his burdens into the sanctuary. But that moment passed, and he glided through the opened doors unnoticed but uneasy. He greeted the first person he could see.

"Father Titus."

The old man was framed with a mane of white hair, which matched his gold and white robes. All these features did not compare to the smile he gave him upon being greeted. Raki bowed respectfully and kissed his hand. This man had presided over his marriage, christened all his children and offered him advice the last time this situation appeared out of control – he deserved the respect.

"Peace be upon you," he intoned, his eyes kept low as a sign of respect.

"You seek to talk to me, my son?" he asked. Raki nodded silently and the father beamed. "Come, let us proceed outside."

In the presence of this man, he felt uncomfortably vulnerable, yet relieved at the austere air he seemed to radiate. He took a seat beside the man on the cathedral steps, anxiety still making him glance across the housetops to pick out the very first indications of sunrise.

"Before you say anything," the old man started, "let me just say that taking a life is not easy, and your willingness to share this with me proves you had to do it out of a sincere necessity, and…"

"Father Titus, it's not about the incident in the tavern," he corrected. "It's about something else."

The old man appeared perplexed. "Is there something wrong with you and Sabeena?"

"No. Sabeena is well, as are the children. This is about," and Raki's voice descended into an unconfident whisper, "the dreams we talked about, last time."

Father Titus's eyes widened with understanding. "You are saying, the dreams you talked to me about all those years back?"

Raki fought to keep his face straight, but the truth was well overdue anyway. "It's different this time. The visions are more vivid, more real… I keep believing I will one day wake up and see – "

Her. He almost said her name out loud. If he had, it would have been a single syllable he dared not utter for some fifteen years.

"Fifteen years, yes?" Father Titus observed. His expressions remained unreadable as he addressed him directly: "You have always seen these visions as a kind of weakness, because it reminds you of something that you think shouldn't be brought into your current life. Or was that the impression I gave you?"

He turned to Father Titus both astounded and puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"Tell me, my son. She is real, isn't she?" he stated, and Raki stared even harder. "And she must be very important to you – "

"My grace, don't…"

" – Which is why I believe, as I advised you those many years ago, that for the dreams to stop, you need to find the maiden you departed from,"

He looked curiously at the man who was supposed to give him sound, godly advice. Did he really mean what he was saying? Right now, a thick, iron-weight of dread smashed through every single one of his self-convinced arguments. Sabeena. The maiden at the other side of the mountain, at the far end of his dream was not Sabeena. It was silver-haired girl who –

"Raki?"

His stuttered reply came as if he was choking on it: "Father Titus, I'm living with the persistent guilt of infidelity, whether you or Sabeena believe in it or not. And it distresses me."

A thousand times over, his conscience baited him, much more because you don't even know if you were good enough to protect her.

"Raki," the old man sighed, looking well beyond his years suddenly, "there's no solution to this. There are reasons for things which I, a mere priest, cannot explain. I can only give a context to your fears."

He bared his teeth, suppressing the urge to show weakness not forthcoming for someone of his age. But Father Titus still had words for him: "So when you say your prayers, think of her. Ask why she haunts you, and ask the reason behind these dreams. And, if God willing, that you might be reunited."

He stared at Father Titus as if the man had turned into a Yoma. But instead of reassuring him further, the man merely laid his hand on his shoulder, and ventured back into the cathedral and out of sight.

That was helpful. Yet, throwing aside his sarcastic outlook, he actually felt compelled to unclench his mind, release his own recollections on his own accord and to come clean, with himself. I'm the one who needs convincing, that I did all I could, given the circumstances, and that's why things are the way they are today.And then to come clean with the person whom he felt he was forsaking: I need to tell Sabeena, the truth.

Once within the cathedral, he found a spot set alight by the sunshine screening through the stained glass. He stood there and, after months of deliberately forgetting his evening prayers, he made his own atonement. The mountain, the forest, the sword of Rabona I'm carrying, the wounds and cuts I'm bearing, and – you.

Was it a sign of weakness that he was giving in to temptation? He let the scenery and images inside his mind zoom in and reverse back to the silver-haired, blaze-lit eyes of the Claymore warrior he had left standing in the clearing. Finally, back. Back even to the last brush of her lips over his and full taste of them.

Am I being unfaithful? He questioned himself. But as if he had stepped off a cliff, his thoughts had nowhere to centre on and no response. So immersed in memory, he could not even feel Sabeena. There was only one thing he could think about right now.

Heaven smile upon you, and keep you safe. Clare.

It was already evening when he left Diryakar, leaving by a side gate to avoid traffic and people who, he feared, might eagerly wish to invoke his celebrity hero status once more. The day's earnings from his helping Reynard with selling livestock and cattle was tied to his waist, making a clean, joyful jingle as he walked.

As he climbed the last rise before reaching his land, he halted. He swore he could smell something burning, even if the rapidly encroaching darkness made it difficult to see smoke. Walking nearer, it was very apparent now: something is burning, like roast meat. The stench was intoxicating. Could it be? An image of Sabeena and the children just seemed to inflate his senses.No, it shouldn't…

He accelerated, till his leisurely walk became a sprint.

He caught gloomy outline of his house as he finished descending the rise. Still standing. He chastised himself while he slowed his pace – I'm really beginning to imagine things.

But when he was near enough to see the bloody red glow of sunset glinting off the windows of the house, he noticed two – no, three men, with one on horseback – just outside the enclosure where he kept his horses. They faces were darkened by the evening, and around them cackled the finishing embers of what was a large fire before.

"Raki, yes?" one of them called as he approached.

He did not answer, but his eyes fell upon the last life of the fire, licking the sides of something big, something which was giving out the smell.

One of the men seemed to know he was staring at the fire, because he yelled: "We waited, but you didn't return. And since we didn't want to burn your house, we thought your horse would give enough stench to bring you back."

He stopped. No muscle in his body dared to respond. His mind went to Sabeena again. Where are you where are you – but his thoughts fell at the feet of the three men leering before him.

And I have no weapon, was all that he could register.


NOTES:

2nd edit, reposted. Dragon-Slayer 2026 helped me with some grammatical errors. Likewise, if you find that this fic is taking a so-called religious stance, don't worry – I'm just using a lot of religious imagery and references to suit the atmosphere. I'm experimenting to see how it goes with the mediaeval context ofClaymore.

As of 9 Jan 2008, my target for this fic is 4 chapters, below 15,000 words. Expected to post all my chapters before 20 Jan 2008.

(12.12.07) & (08.01.08)