Note: Thanks for all the reviews, everybody. :-) Here's Part Three.
***
Part Three: "Little Mysteries."
***
Jack woke up again. For a moment, he just laid there and throbbed and breathed. He was alive, he reminded himself. The pain, even in his ankle, had receded to a dull ache. But he was one big tender spot.
Beyond him was a closed wooden door. Shafts of sunlight were piercing through the tiny gaps between it and its mud-brick frame. He finally noted that the room where he lay was a perfect circle, with a small fire pit in the middle. An iron cage stuck out of the pit. It was shaped like the top half of an egg. Smoking coals were all that remained from a sometime flame.
This room was well-worn. It smelled of earth and dried herbs and a life lived well and fully. It was comfortably crowded. Enough room to maneuver, yet enough room for all the baskets and barrels and tools all neatly lined up against the walls.
Across the room, on another cot, sat Uta. She was bundling ragweed. Instinctively, she raised her head and blinked at Jack.
"Good afternoon," she said. She put her work down and shuffled over to him.
"Hello," he croaked. He cleared his throat.
"How are you feeling?" she asked, and smiled.
The samurai was a little perplexed by this question. In his limited experience, caring inquiries like these were simply not made to a man. He was in a quandary: too proud to say "Sore," too polite to say nothing, and too honest to lie.
"Much better," he said finally.
This was true. He was much better than almost dead. Pleased with himself for walking the line, he smiled at her.
Uta was not convinced. She eyed him sharply, raised an eyebrow, and poked his chest.
All his resolve left. He hissed in pain. Lumps formed in the blankets as he shielded his poor, slashed torso with one arm.
She was slightly amused and shook her head at the floor. "There is an old adage that goes 'Good men are bad liars.' And you, sir, fit the bill!"
"I was not lying," Jack said, affronted. "I do feel better. I simply do not appreciate being poked."
Uta regarded him, saw through his ruse immediately, and smirked. But he looked better to her.
"Well then," she said finally. "If you feel better, then you ought to sit up."
Jack was happy to try. He got dizzy at first, but an hour later he was sitting up and sipping a thin gruel flavored with honey. The fire was burning cheerfully in its grate. Uta did not ask him his name. She only cajoled him to eat. Later, she bundled him up against the elements, took him outside, and helped him limp to a nearby tree.
That night, they talked. The fire cast a golden glow, and the room was warm.
She was stitching up some tears in his torn gi. He was lying on his side in bed, facing the fire. It flickered in front of her.
"So," she said. "What is your name?"
"Jack," he said. "I gave it before, did I not?"
She shook her head. He blinked, amazed at her patience.
"Forgive me, then. I did not mean to be rude."
She stopped stitching. "You were not rude, my dear. You were unconscious. Hm. 'Jack.' Such a short name for such a tall man. You need a longer one."
He smiled grimly and stared off. "I did have a longer one, once. It was in the language of my people. But they were taken from this earth long ago, and I have no reason to use it. So now I am just Jack."
Uta straightened up. She found this answer evasive. Jack was being mysterious, in her eyes, and this made her nervous.
"I see. Tell me, Jack. Humor a terrified old woman. Are you a bounty hunter? A thief? A murderer?"
"No!" he said, alarmed. "Why would you think that?"
"Because you carry such a formidable weapon."
She pointed. His sword, leaning against the wall, winked light at them both.
"I carry that for protection," he explained. "In my world I was a samurai. A warrior enlisted to protect others. I still try to do right, but in this strange world, everything is topsy turvy. I am running from the law."
He yawned. His strength was ebbing.
"Of course you are. Evil would make a fugitive of a saint. You can give me the details later, warrior," Uta said. "Now, you should sleep."
He nodded with a vague smile and closed his eyes.
Days passed. He and Uta talked about meaningless things, laughed, ate, and played curious card games near the fire. His usual vigor returned. With the exception of his ankle, he was nearly healed.
Bundled up in his patched gi, leather snow boots, and an odd cloak made entirely of gray feathers, Jack began to limp around outside and help out. He never strayed far from the hut. An iron shovel became his instrument of purpose. He was forever keeping the snow away from the door. In his free time he tended the fire and bundled herbs.
But one morning while he was shoveling, he saw something astonishing. It had not occurred to him that Uta lived near others --- no one had come to her home while he was there. And yet, not 600 paces away, was another hut. And another beyond that. In fact, Jack made out a whole colony of them. He blinked in wonder.
So many little mysteries. Where he was. Who Uta was, really. For in fact, he knew her only as a kind woman. A kind woman living next to a silent village. He decided, if she asked questions, to tell her everything. He only hoped she would not be afraid of him, and reciprocate.
He was not disappointed.
That night, they were on opposite sides of the fire, as usual. Uta was sitting on her cot, knitting a gray muffler. Jack was lying in bed, on his side.
"Where are you from, warrior?" she asked.
Jack thought for a minute. "The past," he said. "I am from a time of peace and harmony, and relatively little evil. I am from a time before Aku."
*SNAP*
"DO NOT SAY THAT NAME."
The fury and sadness in Uta's voice stunned the warrior. He stared. She was red about the face and had snapped one of her knitting needles in half. Her hands were trembling.
"I'm sorry. I meant no offense."
She licked her lips and tried to calm down. "I know," she said finally. "I just . . . Please, samurai. Forgive my anger. I --- I want to know more about you. For instance, how did you come to this place?"
"Well," Jack said, "I am a wanderer. I travel alone. I am on a quest to defeat . . ." He stopped short, unsure if he should go on.
"The Shogun of Sorrow?" Uta asked, her eyes wide.
Jack nodded.
"Ah! Now it all makes sense! I was blind, warrior. I saw, but I did not think. You are he! You are The Deliverer!"
"Excuse me?"
"I have heard tell of your exploits in lands far to the west. You roam the earth, helping wretched souls." Uta paused. She seemed to consider something. Shaking it off, she went on. "What happened to you in the forest? Who hurt you?"
Jack sighed. "I was stupid in the forest. I went in unprepared. I hadn't eaten in a day, and I had no cloak. I was attacked by flying demons, but in a sense, I hurt myself."
"Flying demons?"
Jack described his assailants. Uta listened, then shook her head in disgust.
"Iyerogaal's minions," she said. "I call them Ashari-o-rukulu. The Crow Men. They are ruthless bandits. They terrorize this land when their leader sleeps. But when he wakes, they all cower before him, lest he kill them, too."
Jack stared at her, the picture of cluelessness.
Uta smiled a little. "I can see I'll have to start at the beginning. Settle in, warrior. This could take all night."
END PART THREE.
More soon! :D I know it's been a bit long since my last post. *embarrassed grin* I will hopefully have Part Four up on Sunday. Hopefully. :D
***
Part Three: "Little Mysteries."
***
Jack woke up again. For a moment, he just laid there and throbbed and breathed. He was alive, he reminded himself. The pain, even in his ankle, had receded to a dull ache. But he was one big tender spot.
Beyond him was a closed wooden door. Shafts of sunlight were piercing through the tiny gaps between it and its mud-brick frame. He finally noted that the room where he lay was a perfect circle, with a small fire pit in the middle. An iron cage stuck out of the pit. It was shaped like the top half of an egg. Smoking coals were all that remained from a sometime flame.
This room was well-worn. It smelled of earth and dried herbs and a life lived well and fully. It was comfortably crowded. Enough room to maneuver, yet enough room for all the baskets and barrels and tools all neatly lined up against the walls.
Across the room, on another cot, sat Uta. She was bundling ragweed. Instinctively, she raised her head and blinked at Jack.
"Good afternoon," she said. She put her work down and shuffled over to him.
"Hello," he croaked. He cleared his throat.
"How are you feeling?" she asked, and smiled.
The samurai was a little perplexed by this question. In his limited experience, caring inquiries like these were simply not made to a man. He was in a quandary: too proud to say "Sore," too polite to say nothing, and too honest to lie.
"Much better," he said finally.
This was true. He was much better than almost dead. Pleased with himself for walking the line, he smiled at her.
Uta was not convinced. She eyed him sharply, raised an eyebrow, and poked his chest.
All his resolve left. He hissed in pain. Lumps formed in the blankets as he shielded his poor, slashed torso with one arm.
She was slightly amused and shook her head at the floor. "There is an old adage that goes 'Good men are bad liars.' And you, sir, fit the bill!"
"I was not lying," Jack said, affronted. "I do feel better. I simply do not appreciate being poked."
Uta regarded him, saw through his ruse immediately, and smirked. But he looked better to her.
"Well then," she said finally. "If you feel better, then you ought to sit up."
Jack was happy to try. He got dizzy at first, but an hour later he was sitting up and sipping a thin gruel flavored with honey. The fire was burning cheerfully in its grate. Uta did not ask him his name. She only cajoled him to eat. Later, she bundled him up against the elements, took him outside, and helped him limp to a nearby tree.
That night, they talked. The fire cast a golden glow, and the room was warm.
She was stitching up some tears in his torn gi. He was lying on his side in bed, facing the fire. It flickered in front of her.
"So," she said. "What is your name?"
"Jack," he said. "I gave it before, did I not?"
She shook her head. He blinked, amazed at her patience.
"Forgive me, then. I did not mean to be rude."
She stopped stitching. "You were not rude, my dear. You were unconscious. Hm. 'Jack.' Such a short name for such a tall man. You need a longer one."
He smiled grimly and stared off. "I did have a longer one, once. It was in the language of my people. But they were taken from this earth long ago, and I have no reason to use it. So now I am just Jack."
Uta straightened up. She found this answer evasive. Jack was being mysterious, in her eyes, and this made her nervous.
"I see. Tell me, Jack. Humor a terrified old woman. Are you a bounty hunter? A thief? A murderer?"
"No!" he said, alarmed. "Why would you think that?"
"Because you carry such a formidable weapon."
She pointed. His sword, leaning against the wall, winked light at them both.
"I carry that for protection," he explained. "In my world I was a samurai. A warrior enlisted to protect others. I still try to do right, but in this strange world, everything is topsy turvy. I am running from the law."
He yawned. His strength was ebbing.
"Of course you are. Evil would make a fugitive of a saint. You can give me the details later, warrior," Uta said. "Now, you should sleep."
He nodded with a vague smile and closed his eyes.
Days passed. He and Uta talked about meaningless things, laughed, ate, and played curious card games near the fire. His usual vigor returned. With the exception of his ankle, he was nearly healed.
Bundled up in his patched gi, leather snow boots, and an odd cloak made entirely of gray feathers, Jack began to limp around outside and help out. He never strayed far from the hut. An iron shovel became his instrument of purpose. He was forever keeping the snow away from the door. In his free time he tended the fire and bundled herbs.
But one morning while he was shoveling, he saw something astonishing. It had not occurred to him that Uta lived near others --- no one had come to her home while he was there. And yet, not 600 paces away, was another hut. And another beyond that. In fact, Jack made out a whole colony of them. He blinked in wonder.
So many little mysteries. Where he was. Who Uta was, really. For in fact, he knew her only as a kind woman. A kind woman living next to a silent village. He decided, if she asked questions, to tell her everything. He only hoped she would not be afraid of him, and reciprocate.
He was not disappointed.
That night, they were on opposite sides of the fire, as usual. Uta was sitting on her cot, knitting a gray muffler. Jack was lying in bed, on his side.
"Where are you from, warrior?" she asked.
Jack thought for a minute. "The past," he said. "I am from a time of peace and harmony, and relatively little evil. I am from a time before Aku."
*SNAP*
"DO NOT SAY THAT NAME."
The fury and sadness in Uta's voice stunned the warrior. He stared. She was red about the face and had snapped one of her knitting needles in half. Her hands were trembling.
"I'm sorry. I meant no offense."
She licked her lips and tried to calm down. "I know," she said finally. "I just . . . Please, samurai. Forgive my anger. I --- I want to know more about you. For instance, how did you come to this place?"
"Well," Jack said, "I am a wanderer. I travel alone. I am on a quest to defeat . . ." He stopped short, unsure if he should go on.
"The Shogun of Sorrow?" Uta asked, her eyes wide.
Jack nodded.
"Ah! Now it all makes sense! I was blind, warrior. I saw, but I did not think. You are he! You are The Deliverer!"
"Excuse me?"
"I have heard tell of your exploits in lands far to the west. You roam the earth, helping wretched souls." Uta paused. She seemed to consider something. Shaking it off, she went on. "What happened to you in the forest? Who hurt you?"
Jack sighed. "I was stupid in the forest. I went in unprepared. I hadn't eaten in a day, and I had no cloak. I was attacked by flying demons, but in a sense, I hurt myself."
"Flying demons?"
Jack described his assailants. Uta listened, then shook her head in disgust.
"Iyerogaal's minions," she said. "I call them Ashari-o-rukulu. The Crow Men. They are ruthless bandits. They terrorize this land when their leader sleeps. But when he wakes, they all cower before him, lest he kill them, too."
Jack stared at her, the picture of cluelessness.
Uta smiled a little. "I can see I'll have to start at the beginning. Settle in, warrior. This could take all night."
END PART THREE.
More soon! :D I know it's been a bit long since my last post. *embarrassed grin* I will hopefully have Part Four up on Sunday. Hopefully. :D