Chapter 7: Cruel Tradition
Without a second thought, Torn rushed into the Palace after Jak, taking the stairs. He feared the worst.
The adrenaline surge that he had gotten was now beginning to fade as he neared the top of the long flight of stairs. By the entrance to a large hall, Torn passed a beaten corpse of a Marauder. Judging by the pool of blood that had collected around the body, he guessed that it had been killed a while before Jak came.
The exhausted General walked into the room and looked around. Shattered glass and rubble littered the floor. He spotted Jak hunched over something on the floor next to a fallen portrait of Mar. Walking closer, he saw Keira's limp body in the youth King's hands, badly beaten. He started towards them, but then saw something stir out of the corner of his eye; it was Claire. Torn hurried over to her side and kneeled on the ground. She was holding a bent metal candle holder and he wondered if she had been responsible for the dead Marauder. Claire moaned in pain as the tattooed elf slowly propped her up against the wall so he could examine the gash on her forehead.
Jak felt his whole body weaken as he pleadingly whispered in Keira's ear for her to wake up. He held her face in his hand and lightly ran his finger over her bruised cheekbone and saw the purple color fade strangely. He knew his precious son had been taken and tried to take one step at a time, beginning with Keira.
Finally her eyes began to flutter open and she looked about wildly.
"Where's Trajan?!" She shouted hysterically, trying to get up.
Jak said nothing, trying to fight back the tears that now welled in his sky blue eyes. He pulled his fiancée into a hug as she weakly tried to separate herself from him, continuing to cry and shout.
"Did they take him?!" she cried into Jak's chest, her body shaking in shock.
"Claire!" the powerful voice of Damas shouted as he ran into the room towards his wife and Torn. Torn quickly stood up and backed away from them, giving them some space.
Ashelin came in a moment after Damas and ran to Torn's arms. The two looked each other over for wounds and embraced warmly when they saw nothing fatal.
The cries of the mother who had lost her child continued and Ashelin looked from Torn to Keira, then back to Torn, staring into his eyes for the answer to what was going on.
"Trajan was...taken," Torn whispered to her and the Governess clapped her hand over her mouth and gasped. "You and me," he continued, "We'll take the fresh reinforcements and go after them."
"Not without Jak-?" she began, also whispering.
Torn shook his head, "Keira needs him here."
Torn had not disobeyed an order since his retirement from the Krimzon Guard in Praxis's days. Jak had refused him the permission to lead troops after the Marauders without him. But Torn knew that Jak was too tired mentally to even attempt to go into anther fight. He also knew that Jak's current craving for revenge could lead to deadly mistakes on the battlefield.
Damas, however, Torn could not control. After making sure that his wife, Jak and Keira were seeing medical attention, he commanded what was left of his Wasteland army to assemble in the garage area.
As Torn and Ashelin restocked their guns with fresh clips, a tall and lanky Wastelander walked towards Damas. The red-haired pair exchanged a glance and watched as the elf whispered into the King's ear, and promptly left after he delivered the message.
He stood still for a moment, and then looked towards Ashelin and Torn, "There is a large sand storm heading our way. By time it passes it will be night. We cannot go out now..." Damas said discouraged, walking out and going down the elevator.
Damas walked alone slowly to the conveniently located hospital across the street. He felt like he was drowning in his own thoughts. His own two sons, and now his grandson had been taken, leaving behind his brutally beaten wife and soon-to-be daughter-in-law for dead. The Marauders had hurt everyone he cared about; he would get his vengeance in time.
Watching the doctors have to sedate Keira was one of the most horrific things Jak had seen. When he had helped to bring her in, he witnessed her painful screams as she fought back against the doctors, crying out that she had to get her baby and only further injuring herself. Now, he was alone with his sleeping girlfriend in a small, white hospital room. It seemed that all Jak and his friends ever saw anymore was the blank walls of an infirmary or hospital.
As the day's events began to replay in his mind, he no longer had any strength to hold the tears back. His son, his only child, a part of him...had been snatched from him. He buried his face in his hands in an attempt to stifle is sobs.
First his older unknown brother, then himself, and now Trajan? Why did this cruel 'tradition' continue?
Three loud taps on the door metaphorically slapped Jak out of his depressing state as he quickly wiped away his salty tears, trying to hide any evidence of the raw emotion.
"Come in..." Jak squeaked, his throat felt tight and swollen and he tried to clear his throat, embarrassed.
Damas walked in and his eyes darted to Jak's face. His red eyes and battle-worn appearance was almost enough to send him into the sandstorm anyways. There was no true comfort he could give; he knew, having gone through it before twice already.
"I'm sorry Jak...there's a bad storm heading right for us...We can't go after them now. Tomorrow, though, we will go at first-" Damas was cut off by Jak putting his hand up to stop him.
"Don't try to give me false hope," Jak snapped in a low, angry voice and breaking eye contact with his father.
"We will get Trajan back, Jak," Damas declared firmly, praying to the Precursors that it would turn out well.
Judging that words were of no use now, Damas looked once more at the miserable Jak and left, heading for Claire's room down the hall.
Alone again, Jak settled into his misery once more and scooted his chair nearer to Keira. Her wrist was purple from where she had ripped an I.V. needle from it.
He looked to the rip in his shorts and saw where he had been slashed by the blade. All that was there now was a blood stain on the material of his shorts, no scar or even sign of a scrape on his skin. Light eco... echoed in his mind. He remembered vaguely when he had channeled the white substance on top of the Silos, defeating Gol and Maia. Though, he vividly recalled the incredible feeling that had swam through his veins that day, and how he hadn't looked or felt like he'd been hit by the two yellow-eco blasts that he had indeed suffered.
Surprisingly, an idea popped into his head. Careful not to disturb her, Jak picked up Keira's swollen wrist and tried to focus his mind on channeling, like he had with blue and yellow eco back in his younger years. He stared as, amazingly, the sickly colors retreated from Keira's fair skin and any sign of swelling disappeared.
Jak was so concentrated on her healing wrist that it startled him when the sound of a sharp inhalation of air came from Keira.
Fearing that she might have another fit, he stood up and hovered over her, watching her closely.
"Jak?" she asked quietly, her voice a little rough.
"I'm here," he said relieved, putting a hand on the side of her neck.
A tear slid down her cheek and Jak tenderly wiped it away. She tried to sit up, but was too weak. Jak helped her, supporting her back by sitting behind her and letting her rest on his broad chest.
"I tried Jak, I tried...to stop them..." she began to cry.
"I know you did...it's alright..." he tried to soother her, even though he himself was deeply troubled.
"Is Claire okay?" she sniffled.
"Yes...She's good, they got you both pretty badly," Jak kissed the side of her head.
"I love you..." she said twisting around and leaning into his open arms, beginning to cry harder.
"I love you too..." Jak said in return, holding her tightly, his body shuddering as he too, broke down once more.
Okay, so how am I doing?
Any suggestions?
Is it going to slow at all?
Let me know...!
