Hi, people! Thanks for all the reviews. Here are parts seven and eight!
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Part Seven: A Herd of Ghosts
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A nervous energy filled Uta's house as sunset approached. Jack was still and calm while the old woman and the young one flitted about like moths, finishing chores. They gave him any advice they could think of, even if it didn't make sense, like "Wear clean underwear." Sankra offered Jack a chest plate of iron for the battle. He politely refused.
Finally, both women were exhausted. Sankra bowed to Uta, smiled shyly at Jack, and left for her home. She wanted to tidy up before the whole village left for the cave. The fire flickered and crackled, filling the silence between Uta and Jack.
"I wanted to ask you something," he said.
"What?"
"If you taught Sankra how to heal, then you must know it yourself, correct?"
Uta got a sharp look on her face. "Yes," she said cautiously.
"Then if you could heal me, why did you not when I first came?"
There was no accusation in his tone. Uta scratched her head and sighed. She suddenly looked ancient.
"Do you want the selfish answer, or the unselfish?"
Jack thought for a bit. "Both."
"All right. The unselfish answer is that you needed the rest. Had I repaired you quickly and told you of the ogre, you would have run off in an instant, half-cocked, without even a goodbye."
"I would not be that ungrateful!" he protested.
"Ungrateful, no. Bullheaded, yes."
The whole fainting incident came back to him vividly. He changed the subject. "What is the selfish reason?"
Uta shrugged. "I enjoy your company. I don't get many visitors, Jack. And between your proud stance and your courtesy . . ." She bit her lip. "It was like seeing my son again. And now you are going . . ."
"I am not your son, Uta."
His voice was gentle, but the comment stung. She glared at him, even as her face quivered.
"I apologize. That was harsh. But I am going to fight, and I do not want you to worry for me," he finished, approaching her.
She smiled sadly. A tear dripped down her face. "Too late," she murmured.
They stood there for a moment, close, the firelight dancing on their faces. Another tear nestled itself in the wrinkles around her eyes and she couldn't look at him. He was bewildered.
"If only you'd never come. If my name had been called for sacrifice," she said with a sniff, "I would have gladly gone. Try as I might, I cannot forget Aliok or Rayen. It is the curse of memory."
"Uta ---"
"Ah, Jack!" she cried, beginning to weep in earnest. "May you never know the nightmare of living with your body in the present and your mind in the past!"
She fell forward and clung to him. He wrapped his arms around her. His pained smile was private, but his words were not.
"Too late," he said.
"I want to join my family!" she wailed. "I want to go home!"
"You *are* home," Jack said, trying to comfort her. "You pledged yourself to this village and to Sankra. You still have much left to do. All your bravery is wasted if you give up now."
"Brave? Bah! Look at me, a sniveling old woman!" She chuffed against his shoulder.
"Do not dismiss me," he said gently. "Courage is relative. When one is in danger, it is action. When one is in misery, it is goodwill. And when one is in Hell, it is existence."
His words seemed to calm her. The heaving sobs slowed. After a bit, the coughing stopped. Finally, she raised her tearstained face and began to pull away, wiping at her cheeks.
"You are wiser than most, warrior. And you're right. Go. I will follow and cheer when you kill Iyerogaal."
Jack smiled. Uta smiled back, then gently shooed him out of the house.
The sun was setting, staining the sky pink and red, when Jack entered the town square. Every woman in the village was there, bundled up against the cold. Their robes swept the ground. They all blinked at him somberly, with their expressionless white faces. To Jack, it looked like a field of death masks. Sankra and Uta were there too, on the fringe, their tanned faces sticking out like specks of earth under melting snow. Their presence reminded him that this was real.
The Ashi stood at the head and motioned Jack forward into the middle of the women. It was a silent, very fast procession. He kept pace as the women began to run. Since their robes covered their feet, they seemed to glide along the snowy ground. A herd of ghosts.
Jack had wisely made two concessions to the cold. One was a cotton body suit that came to his elbows and knees. Uta had made it for him. He wore it under his gi. The other was a pair of split-toe cotton socks, to fit his sandals. He saw his breath as he ran and was grateful for both.
The women raced on and on, past frozen streams and rock quarries, climbing high into the forested mountains. Finally, they stopped just shy of a large clearing. A powerful, bitter stench hung in the air. The women backed away into the trees, letting Jack have a look through the skeletal oaks and maples.
Fifty feet beyond the tree line was the rocky mountainside, nearly black in the dwindling sunlight. In the middle, Jack made out a large, gaping spot. A cave entrance. He looked to his right. Uta and Sankra were side by side, holding hands. Uta stomped in the snow like a wild horse. Her nostrils steamed and her bushy hair wafted in the breeze. Sankra had fastened her black hair in a long braid. She blinked her big eyes fearfully at him and waved a little. He gave her a little grin.
Show time.
Jack drew his sword and burst through the trees.
END PART SEVEN.
***
Part Seven: A Herd of Ghosts
***
A nervous energy filled Uta's house as sunset approached. Jack was still and calm while the old woman and the young one flitted about like moths, finishing chores. They gave him any advice they could think of, even if it didn't make sense, like "Wear clean underwear." Sankra offered Jack a chest plate of iron for the battle. He politely refused.
Finally, both women were exhausted. Sankra bowed to Uta, smiled shyly at Jack, and left for her home. She wanted to tidy up before the whole village left for the cave. The fire flickered and crackled, filling the silence between Uta and Jack.
"I wanted to ask you something," he said.
"What?"
"If you taught Sankra how to heal, then you must know it yourself, correct?"
Uta got a sharp look on her face. "Yes," she said cautiously.
"Then if you could heal me, why did you not when I first came?"
There was no accusation in his tone. Uta scratched her head and sighed. She suddenly looked ancient.
"Do you want the selfish answer, or the unselfish?"
Jack thought for a bit. "Both."
"All right. The unselfish answer is that you needed the rest. Had I repaired you quickly and told you of the ogre, you would have run off in an instant, half-cocked, without even a goodbye."
"I would not be that ungrateful!" he protested.
"Ungrateful, no. Bullheaded, yes."
The whole fainting incident came back to him vividly. He changed the subject. "What is the selfish reason?"
Uta shrugged. "I enjoy your company. I don't get many visitors, Jack. And between your proud stance and your courtesy . . ." She bit her lip. "It was like seeing my son again. And now you are going . . ."
"I am not your son, Uta."
His voice was gentle, but the comment stung. She glared at him, even as her face quivered.
"I apologize. That was harsh. But I am going to fight, and I do not want you to worry for me," he finished, approaching her.
She smiled sadly. A tear dripped down her face. "Too late," she murmured.
They stood there for a moment, close, the firelight dancing on their faces. Another tear nestled itself in the wrinkles around her eyes and she couldn't look at him. He was bewildered.
"If only you'd never come. If my name had been called for sacrifice," she said with a sniff, "I would have gladly gone. Try as I might, I cannot forget Aliok or Rayen. It is the curse of memory."
"Uta ---"
"Ah, Jack!" she cried, beginning to weep in earnest. "May you never know the nightmare of living with your body in the present and your mind in the past!"
She fell forward and clung to him. He wrapped his arms around her. His pained smile was private, but his words were not.
"Too late," he said.
"I want to join my family!" she wailed. "I want to go home!"
"You *are* home," Jack said, trying to comfort her. "You pledged yourself to this village and to Sankra. You still have much left to do. All your bravery is wasted if you give up now."
"Brave? Bah! Look at me, a sniveling old woman!" She chuffed against his shoulder.
"Do not dismiss me," he said gently. "Courage is relative. When one is in danger, it is action. When one is in misery, it is goodwill. And when one is in Hell, it is existence."
His words seemed to calm her. The heaving sobs slowed. After a bit, the coughing stopped. Finally, she raised her tearstained face and began to pull away, wiping at her cheeks.
"You are wiser than most, warrior. And you're right. Go. I will follow and cheer when you kill Iyerogaal."
Jack smiled. Uta smiled back, then gently shooed him out of the house.
The sun was setting, staining the sky pink and red, when Jack entered the town square. Every woman in the village was there, bundled up against the cold. Their robes swept the ground. They all blinked at him somberly, with their expressionless white faces. To Jack, it looked like a field of death masks. Sankra and Uta were there too, on the fringe, their tanned faces sticking out like specks of earth under melting snow. Their presence reminded him that this was real.
The Ashi stood at the head and motioned Jack forward into the middle of the women. It was a silent, very fast procession. He kept pace as the women began to run. Since their robes covered their feet, they seemed to glide along the snowy ground. A herd of ghosts.
Jack had wisely made two concessions to the cold. One was a cotton body suit that came to his elbows and knees. Uta had made it for him. He wore it under his gi. The other was a pair of split-toe cotton socks, to fit his sandals. He saw his breath as he ran and was grateful for both.
The women raced on and on, past frozen streams and rock quarries, climbing high into the forested mountains. Finally, they stopped just shy of a large clearing. A powerful, bitter stench hung in the air. The women backed away into the trees, letting Jack have a look through the skeletal oaks and maples.
Fifty feet beyond the tree line was the rocky mountainside, nearly black in the dwindling sunlight. In the middle, Jack made out a large, gaping spot. A cave entrance. He looked to his right. Uta and Sankra were side by side, holding hands. Uta stomped in the snow like a wild horse. Her nostrils steamed and her bushy hair wafted in the breeze. Sankra had fastened her black hair in a long braid. She blinked her big eyes fearfully at him and waved a little. He gave her a little grin.
Show time.
Jack drew his sword and burst through the trees.
END PART SEVEN.