#3 The Beginning

Once in the living room, Kirra paused and stared at the unconscious man on the couch. His round face was almost grey and pinched in pain, though he was unconscious. A nasty gash over one eye, trickled blood into his long hair darkening it more then the rain had.

His hair was long and messy, not the way that men usually wore their hair. As it was still quite wet and now bloody, it was hard to tell but looked to be some sort of blonde because a blonde beard covered most of his face which made it impossible to determine how old he actually was. Kirra supposed he was handsome, in a disheveled sort of way.

She was shocked to note, however, that he looked much bigger lying on Niara's small floral couch then he had folded over Fate's neck. His shoulders were almost broader then the couch seat and his arms were, well, defined was the only word that came to mind. He definitely looked like a guy who worked out -- a lot -- with really heavy stuff. Not that Kirra knew anyone like that. Kirra had never been one to have a lot of guy friends, or boyfriends for that matter. Most of the guys in her high school had been too caught up in their fast cars and really tall, leggy cheerleader girlfriends to notice anyone like small, dark, different Kirra.

The man's clothing was strange as well. Kirra had no idea what to call each article. He wore a strange studded, short-sleeved shirt. He had wide leather wrist bands and a knife, for heaven's sakes, strapped to a belt at his waist.

Kirra rolled her eyes, where did this guy come from?

Had he attended some weird tourist festival in one of the nearby towns? One of those where the players got dressed up and re-enacted historical stuff? Could one of their little plays gotten out of control? It wouldn't have surprised her; Kirra had always been a little leery of those people. Who would want to do that, go back in time? It was hard enough for her living in the here and now, to ever want to go back to a time when there was not even the luxury of a flushing toilet or running water.

Surprisingly, Kirra felt a sting of disappointment when she thought about it. It was a pity if he was one of them. Her face flamed when she felt Niara watching her and she stopped in her analysis of the weight lifting tourist re-enactor with a sheepish little grin.

"How do we start?" She asked, hoping the low light of the room would hide her interest and red face.

Normally, she would have dived right in -- if it had been an animal, but things went differently with humans. It was slightly daunting. She pushed up her sleeves and washed her hands thoroughly in a bowl of water that Niara had prepared for just such a purpose.

"Maybe you should try to wake him," Niara offered, "so that we can find out his name. It will be easier with his name and permission to help."

Drying her hands, Kirra looked at the man dubiously; he still had a red mark on his cheek from where she had last tried to wake him. It looked like it was going to bruise. "I tried that already. I am not sure he would want me to do it again. It took considerable … force."

"Well, then I will just have to teach you how to without using force." Niara replied.

"You know, that information would have been helpful yesterday, Niara."

Ignoring the sarcasm in Kirra's voice, the old woman went on, "Yes, I am sure he wished you would have learned that particular talent yesterday as well, but you didn't and that can't be helped now, so stop talking and concentrate."

She proceeded to teach Kirra a low crooning chant. When the girl's pronunciation was correct and she had memorized the syllables, the language being so ancient, there was no direct translation, Niara had her kneel near the man's head.

"Just place your hand on his head, close your eyes, say the chant, and look. You will know when you find what you are looking for."

Having worked with Niara before, Kirra relaxed, drew in a deep breath and did as she explained. The old woman covered her hand with one of her own soft, gnarled ones. Kirra had just finished the last syllable of the chant when she was pulled into a whirlwind. Strangely enough, she stayed stationary while everything else around her swirled in a kaleidoscope of color and sound.

All in all, it made her rather sick to her stomach and Kirra realized with a start -- it almost broke her concentration -- that she was inside the man's head. And she felt as though she were an alien presence that she knew he could feel even if he couldn't see her and she knew he didn't like it. There was a pressure building up in the back of her head and Kirra had the nagging suspicion that it was him trying to dispel her perceived presence.

The pressure built up considerably, causing her head to ache fiercely, and feeling his strength even injured as he was, Kirra preferred that he didn't see her. She stood motionless on the edge of his mind looking in and listening until the words swirling in the pictures began to make sense. It was hard to know the importance of the pictures because they were moving far too quickly for her to understand, which was just as well because they were not her memories, but the man's and it is definitely not polite to sit in on another's memories.

The words rose and receded somewhat like a tide, growing louder at the start of a new memory and then softer until it was just a whisper in the wind and finally ending in a second of silence before another memory began.

Kirra squeezed her eyes shut, listening hard, it took all her concentration to understand the rapid Latin assaulting her from all directions. Then she heard something being said by another man. The same was laughing and egging the man on the couch on in some venture and it took Kirra a second or so before it became clear what the man's name was.

Gawain.

Kirra opened her eyes and in surprise murmured the name, calling the man, without removing her hand from his head and distancing her presence from his mind. In that moment the swirling wind stopped and he saw her clearly and knew her as something apart from himself. It was comfortable for neither of them, but especially for Gawain because he had no idea what was going on. But it was done and so caused several things to happen at the same time.

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Gawain suddenly regained consciousness and upon seeing the young woman who had been hovering in his mind only moments before now sitting beside him, staring at him with startled gray eyes, he reacted, grabbing her wrist before she had a chance to jump away. His blue eyes glittered dangerously as he applied pressure.

The girl gasped and went still and pale; she could see shock and something like fear in those eyes and didn't want to risk him doing something that both of them would regret. It was clear by the slight intake of breath when Gawain had grabbed her that the girl was quite certain that he could inflict some real hurt on her person.

"Who are you?" He rasped, sounding weaker then he intended. He didn't have the strength for interrogation at the moment, but he didn't want the witch to know that.

Kirra, startled as much at the sudden consciousness of the man as at his perfect Latin, but also not happy about having her wrist crushed by an ungrateful bastard re-enactor, so-and-so, who probably only learned it so that he could run around the country being an idiot, didn't answer, only glared at him in stubborn defiance.

Niara, recognizing the stubborn look on Kirra's face, moved so that Gawain could see her and answered in a soft voice, "You are safe with friends, we won't harm you."

Gawain's eyes flicked over the old woman, but came to rest again on the girl, who was looking at the old woman in surprise. She resembled someone … but that was impossible. She had to be a witch and he had to be dreaming, yet he was in far too tired and feeling too much pain to be dreaming.

He repeated his question and squeezed her wrist harder, grinding the bones together. The pain was excruciating and he knew the girl was working hard not to whimper. The force of his crushing grip caused her to bend a little closer to him, definitely not something she desired. She fought the urge to panic and pull away knowing that, regardless of his weakened state, Gawain had a hold of her tight enough to break her wrist if she moved. She could see in his eyes that he knew it too.

So through clenched teeth, she told him, "I'm Kirra, that's Niara. I found you near the forest looking like a human pincushion and decided to try and help you out." Sweat had beaded on her forehead and her breath came in small gasps.

Niara stood behind Kirra looking over her shoulder, watching, "That is quite enough of that, Gawain," she said sharply.

The blonde man's icy eyes flicked to the old woman again. Was she another witch?

"You turn her loose at once. She needs both hands if she is to help you."

He held on to the girl for a moment longer while deciding on whether or not he truly wanted her help until she half-growled half-hissed, "When you have decided, I would like to have my hand back before it is snapped off."

When he released her, she sagged, her breath coming out in a small whoosh, then she bounded to her feet and cradling her wrist moved well out of his reach, glaring at him with hard, almost black eyes. Gawain watched her warily. That expression in those eyes was so familiar, it was frightening. She looked as if she would enjoy nothing more then giving one of the arrows stuck in him a good hard twist and had she been someone else, she would have.

"Well, I hardly think that was necessary. You were taught better then to harm an unarmed woman, especially one trying to help you." Niara's voice was cool and reproving.

"Kirra?" She turned to the young woman and held out her hand, Kirra slowly came to her and let her take her wrist. After examining it Niara turned back to Gawain, he was pale and trembling from the exertion. "She was lucky, dear," she said calmly, "you nearly broke it."

Gawain said nothing and looked less then repentant.

Niara stroked the Kirra's wrist gently and murmured a few words, "Better?" The girl nodded, moving her hand around. "Good, we will attend to that further, after him." Again Kirra only nodded silently, her eyes dark and stormy.

Niara fixed the man with a sharp look, "We are healers and want only to help you. Are you going to behave?"

Gawain, feeling his weakness and realizing he had no other alternative, gave a sullen nod, "Yes."

"Good, Kirra, you know how to start."

Kirra knelt down to look Gawain in the eyes. Her controlled rage made her low voice hard, "We have to take a few arrows out of you. There is going to be pain, probably a lot of it, do you want to be conscious or unconscious?"

Gawain was confused by her manner of speaking. His was so cold and his head was spinning so that her face flickered in and out of sight. He still had no idea who these women were and was uncomfortable with the fact that they were familiar, especially the younger. Maybe he was dead? But if that were the case why was there so much pain? He honestly hoped death did not feel like this. He knew he had committed many forced crimes, but an eternity of pain? Well, that was really just not fair.

He echoed the girl's words, "Conscious or unconscious?"

"Yes, I can put you back to sleep, or you can stay awake until you pass out again from the pain. It's your choice and your pain." She said tightly, still indignant from the wrenching he had given her wrist. It didn't seem to matter to her that he was the one with blood leaking from multiple wounds.

"Kirra …" Niara started, but was interrupted by Gawain's answer.

"Awake," The expression on his face plainly stating that he didn't trust them and even though he was damaged almost to the point of not being able to move, he wanted to be conscious enough to at least make an attempt to resist whatever it was they wanted to do to him, if it became necessary.

"Fine, let's start." Kirra was surprised when he forced himself to sit up.

As he did so she noticed a large blood stain on the couch where he had been lying that had not come from any of the arrow wounds. Even though she was angry, her hands were gentle as she ran them down his side. Gawain twitched away when she touched his ribs and he saw her hand came away stained red. Niara handed her a pair of scissors and Kirra cut away some of the shirt to expose his side.

She sucked in her breath at the sight; pale bone gleamed dully in the candle light where a large gash crosshatched his ribs. A section of skin and muscle had been scraped off and was now hanging to the side, like what ever had cut him had slid and peeled back the skin. Kirra's stomach churned violently and she glanced over at Niara with sickened eyes. It was a mess and he had lost a lot of blood.

"Are there any other … uh ... wounds we should know about?" she asked shakily.

Niara passed her a cloth, which Kirra placed on his side after gingerly folding the flap of skin back into place. She held it there applying gentle pressure to slow the bleeding a bit more. She whispered strange sounding words and amazingly Gawain felt the pain ease.

He trembled with cold. His skin was ashen and his breath caught as he spoke, "Just these," he nodded to the arrows, "and something on my side. Don't remember …" His voice was faint and Kirra noticed for the first time that it was oddly accented.

Kirra gulped, forcing her stomach to behave and made quick note of the positions of the arrows.

"You'll have to break the head off in order to get it out." Niara instructed, gesturing to the one in his shoulder.

It had gone all the way through and the bloody tip had broken through the skin. It would be somewhat easy to remove, provided there were no slivers of wood left when the shaft was snapped. Another, imbedded in his thigh, had already been broken. Making it harder to remove depending on whether or not it had hit the heavy bone. Kirra prayed it hadn't.

Decided in her course of action, Kirra removed the cloth that she had been holding at his side and placed both hands on the feathered shaft in Gawain's shoulder one on either side. She counted to three, and snapped the arrow, so all that remained was what was still in his shoulder and the tip that had broken through the back. It was a clean break and Kirra knew that nothing would be left to fester in the wound. Gawain jerked, silent but unable to hold still. A muscle could be seen rippling along his jaw, visible even through his beard. Kirra tossed the shaft onto the table and wrapped the tip in a rag. Grasping it firmly, she slowly and steadily pulled. It slid out with a soft sucking noise and Gawain sagged.

The hole was bleeding profusely. Kirra grabbed a few more cloths, dipped them in the herbed water and applied pressure. She started a tuneless humming and Gawain felt his shoulder catch fire.

He groaned and squeezed his eyes shut. Leave me and let me die, he thought. Sweat ran in rivulets down his face and he was shaking convulsively, but as suddenly as it had flared up the fire stopped and his shoulder cooled to a steady but manageable throb. He released the breath he hadn't realized her had been holding and smelled something that he hadn't in years, the wild smell of the steppes where he had been born mingled with a faint floral scent. His heart jumped in his chest at the thought even as his mind rejected it.

It was impossible; he was here inside a cottage in the middle of the night, in a rainstorm, further than he could ever believe from his homeland. Gawain licked his lips, amazed to find his mouth awash in the taste of fresh cool water and turned his dazed eyes to look at his shoulder, Kirra was no longer holding it and there was no longer a gaping hole, but what looked like a cut. A little blood trickled from it and it needed stitching, but it was now something that could be managed.

He felt the girl's cool hands on his shoulders, pushing him to lie back again. He let her and lay there limply looking into her calm grey eyes. Who was this woman? What had she done to him? Why did she look so like … oh … who was it? Gawain couldn't recall at the moment what was so familiar about her. His head was spinning and rational thought was difficult; he was so tired. He closed his eyes, only to re-open them when she asked him something he didn't catch.

Kirra repeated her question, "Are you sure that you want to be awake for all this? We still have another arrow to remove and some sort of nasty slash to clean and sew up. Do you really want to go through that?"

She couldn't even begin to imagine what he was feeling and she watched the look in his eyes slowly change from pain and exhaustion to something like shame and he looked away, much like a child who reaches for something he knows he shouldn't have. Kirra sighed, her anger completely gone, and reached for a clean cloth that had been soaking in the herbed wash water.

"You know," she began to gently wipe his face, cleaning it of mud and the blood from the cut over his eyebrow. Gawain closed his eyes at the momentary sting. He would have a spectacular bruise there too. Gawain felt himself slipping into the dark, lulled by her voice and the motions of her cool hands stroking his face and hair. As he listened to her he felt himself beginning to trust her, she continued.

"There is nothing wrong with not wanting to be in pain. In fact, the absence of it usually helps to heal faster." Then she smiled a sweet smile and chided, "I think that all you men, even you really manly-men, would do a little better if you took that to heart. So," Kirra's soothing ministrations stopped and Gawain opened his eyes once again to hers. Her voice was sober, "I'll ask only once more, you want pain or not?"

Niara was watching the whole exchange with interest. It was taking precious time, but she had never seen Kirra quite like this. There she was gently, almost tenderly, wiping the face of a man she didn't know -- who had almost broken her wrist, in attempt to get him to relax and agree to go back to sleep. It confirmed the feeling that Kirra was supposed to be doing this and that she would be fine no matter what the future held for her.

Gawain was quiet for so long that Kirra finally said, "Well, I will take no answer as a yes. That way your manly-men buddies will never have to know that you wussed out."

He smiled faintly in appreciation, though he was only sure of the meaning behind the words, not the words themselves.

Kirra moved to place her hand back on his head, "You sure you're not going to try and snap it off again, right?" Gawain shook his head. "Good." She placed her hand on his head and whispered the words that would send him back unto the cool, dark oblivion