Second Stroke – Cold Cleansing
Sylvia's thoughts were split down two very different roads as she walked through the late afternoon, leaving the farmfields that surrounded the accursed town and entering once more into the forest. The first pathway was truly dark, the cooperation of humans and yoma, a foul concept indeed, and one she had never even contemplated before. It seemed so frightfully impossible, but the day's events had proven it real. A fortuitous encounter was all that had managed to save her from dying at the hands of such an impossible alliance. The Claymore truly hoped this had been a one time aberration, an erratic event that would not repeat itself. She worried though, where yoma were concerned, experience had taught her that it was almost always worse than you dared to imagine. For now she tried to avoid dwelling on it until the chance to ask a few key questions presented itself.
Thankfully there was something else to think about. Though this pathway was not particularly pleasant, neither was it openly ominous, indeed, it was simply curious to Sylvia's reckoning, and that was a matter wondrous in its own right. A woman who does not fear me, it was an amazing thing to think on, looking at Tyrin's armored figure out of the corner of her silver eye. And I owe her my life, Sylvia was controlled enough not to shake her head thinking that, but it was very strange. To owe her continued existence to another of her kind, that she might have been prepared for, though somewhat ashamed of, but to a human was different.
Tyrin's pace had quickly locked in with Sylvia's own, so that they clicked and clanked together in time, something the half-human half-yoma had only experienced with others of her kind previously, but she was grateful for it. Had they been out of time with each other the dueling sounds would have been truly grating.
Sylvia had expected the female warrior to launch into a stream of questions as soon as they were some distance from the town, but instead the pair marched essentially in silence. This didn't bother the Claymore, as it was how she usually traveled, accompanied only by the thoughts in her head, long trained never to speak them out loud, but she had not expected it from Tyrin, whose eyes held many inquiries eagerly sought and face shown with a bright and engaging way in many moments. Is this the training of a human soldier? Sylvia wondered. She did not know, knew really next to nothing about human ways of warfare. Still, the silence was fine with her; there would be time to talk later when they stopped for the night. For now the conversation was limited to a few serviceable remarks about paths and obstacles.
As the day wore on and the sunset came to dominate the western sky the pair moved fully into the woodlands. Tyrin bore up well, despite the obvious weight her armor and gear must be. She was clearly used to marching with it long distances, which boded well for the future. Battle is still likely to kill her, Sylvia sighed silently. But at least I should be able to keep my pace.
Sylvia charted a course downslope to a riverbed, and there found a clearing. "I suppose we can stop here for the night," she declared.
Tyrin gave her a questioning look. "There's still some light left, and why this particular spot?" she asked.
"It is fairly secure," Sylvia answered. "Besides," she explained carefully. "As yet I have no real destination, just a direction of this side of the town."
"Really?" Tyrin asked, putting down her knapsack, unbuckling her blade, and then starting to take off the pieces of her armor. "You don't have a place to go?"
Sylvia shook her head, and began removing her own weaponry and tack, grimacing at the many holes in her uniform as she did so. It was beyond patching with her simple sewing kit, she'd have to wait for a new one again. In the meantime she'd dunk herself in the river this evening, once they got a fire going. Otherwise the blood sticking to it would get really bad. That had happened once before, an unpleasant memory, and not one she was eager to repeat.
"Since this job is finished I have to wait to get another one," the Claymore explained to her companion as she stacked her shoulder pauldrons and hip guards and leaned her sword against them. "That may take some time. There's a village two days north of here where we could stop if the interval is long, but there's no need to hurry otherwise."
"How will you know you have a new job?" Tyrin wondered, her face betraying a hunger for knowledge, but not completely bereft of suspicion. "They say Claymore requests are sent to some mysterious location and nobody really knows how they get answered."
She is quick witted, Sylvia decided, and would have smiled, had that been an expression she used anymore. "Representatives from our organization come and contact us," she told the other woman. "I'm afraid I can't let you see such things."
"That's alright," Tyrin replied, managing a weak smile of her own. "I'm sure almost all my expectations are unreasonable. That you have the honesty to tell me when something is forbidden; I appreciate it." She stacked her helmet atop the last of her equipment. Her voice when she spoke again no longer held any sadness. "Do you have a preference to gather wood or build the fire? Or should we flip a coin?"
The simple, survivable aspect of this question took Sylvia back for a moment. I guess…she mind turned hurriedly through many strange and foreign scenarios. This is what traveling with a companion will be like. Hesitantly she replied. "I'll gather wood; I suspect you're better at fire-building than I am."
"Why's that?" Tyrin asked idly, already starting to scrape clear a piece of ground with a plate of her armor that obviously did regular shovel duty.
"Well," Sylvia thought about it. "I cannot say for certain, but it is always my impression that humans always build a fire, even in the worst conditions," she was cautious with her words. "For myself, I only build a fire when heat is useful, like tonight, since clearing out this blood will be wet and cold." Noticing Tyrin's continual activity even as she spoke, Sylvia too turned to her task, resolving to work and converse at the same time, though that was another somewhat unusual practice for her.
"You mean you don't bother when it rains, stuff like that?" Tyrin was not facing Sylvia as she spoke, but the Claymore could not help but feel the other woman conveyed far more warmth with every line.
"Yes," Sylvia answered. "That is the truth of it. Rain, snow, wind, or even lack of energy, all these are reasons to forgo fire for me." She had managed an armful of tinder and kindling as a start and walked over to pass it to Tyrin.
"Thanks," the soldier dropped the pieces down and quickly began to configure them by size and type, already forming the basics of a fire. Sylvia could tell she had done this many times before, could probably do the task in a blinding rainstorm on a moonless night. "But without a fire, what do you do about food? Just eat biscuits and such?"
"Food…well," Sylvia paused looking carefully at Tyrin. The other woman said nothing, only took out a small metal pouch from a hidden pocket in the tight-fitting padded garments that formed the base of her armor. From these she took flint and steel and firestarters and began the process of lighting the basics of a fire. There was no suspicion there, and no pressure to speak anything that could not be easily offered.
In the end Sylvia supposed it was not a secret, and it would have been more or less impossible to hide anyway. Nevertheless, she made a broader resolution then. I will keep only those secrets I absolutely must, she swore. For the rest this woman who has saved my life and claims a sister among my comrades deserves to know the truth. The Claymore could recall Tyrin's statement that they be friends. She did not know if that was possible, or if she even dared to hope it was possible, but she would do what she could; the truth, or as much of it as could be managed, would be a place to start.
Gathering up more wood, Sylvia offered her explanation. "No we do not just eat such things as biscuits, though the little food I carry is of that kind," she acknowledged Tyrin's intuition. "It is simply not necessary for us to eat very much. A mouthful or so every few days is enough to sustain me, and I could go without food for a week or more without trouble. We only take in more when seriously injured, and even that is not much compared to a human appetite."
"Really?" Tyrin turned and looked to Sylvia, and caught the truth there in the Claymore's unchanging expression. "Nice," she giggled slightly, a girlish sound in her otherwise aware and mature countenance. "That must be convenient, not having to carry food, not having to cook meals every night. I bet you don't have to worry about freezing to death on cold nights either do you?"
"No, we don't, at least," Sylvia amended hastily. "I have never heard of one of us dying by exposure. We do feel the cold though, so it may be possible."
"Damn," Tyrin whistled softly as the fire took shape and she added more wood after Sylvia brought another bundle over. "I almost wish I could travel like that, it would be so much easier. I've been on a winter campaign and gods the cold…"
"I do not think the advantages outweigh the price," Sylvia spoke softly, almost without realizing it.
Tyrin's warm face stiffened instantly, and colored with shame. She turned deliberately to Sylvia. "I'm sorry, truly, I never meant to say that-"
"I understand," Sylvia cut her off, not wanting her to speak more. She did not think she could withstand being pitied by this woman. "It is not your fault. Indeed, it is no one's fault, what is, is."
"Right, well…" Tyrin shuffled about the fire, now flickering with yellow flames. "Anyways, I've always found a fire to be a comfort in rain or snow, even when you might be able to get by without it. I'll show you some tricks to build it next time. We're going pretty good here, I can take care of the rest. I've got some sausage to cook up for dinner, and some biscuits and carrots to throw in. You should go clean yourself off first. I got lucky with the battle paint so I'll wait a bit."
"But you do not have a pan or pot," Sylvia remarked carefully. "How will you cook?"
Tyrin walked over to her stack of armor and flipped up her shield with her foot. She gave Sylvia a wicked grin beneath the frame of her wavy hair, glinting in the firelight. "Pots are for soldiers who like to march with extra weight."
"How ingenious," Sylvia nodded to her companion. Thinking on it she suspected that cooking over a piece of one's armor was common enough among human soldiers, but it was still ingenious how Tyrin used pieces of her gear for so many purposes. Everything a Claymore carried had a single role and she'd never considered trying to make them useful for additional tasks.
Turning to the slow running river just beyond the circle of their firelight Sylvia decided it was time to clean herself off as best she could. Her uniform would surely tear further as the blood came free, but she was not about to sit with a mixture of yoma blood and her own caked onto her body. The water will be cold, Sylvia noted. Best all at once.
Breaking into a quick and barefoot jog she dashed to the riverbank and hopped into the deepest looking spot she could see.
The water reached onto to Sylvia's narrow waist, and it was bitterly cold, but fiercely refreshing. The cold made everything feel cleaner instantly, and her half-human half-yoma body adjusted to the difference in temperature almost immediately. Bending swiftly Sylvia plunged her head and shoulders deep into the water there, holding them submersed in cold darkness as she scrubbed blood from her hair.
When her lungs at last begged for air the Claymore surged upward, taking in a large and free breath, feeling cleansed. A few moments more sufficed to remove the last of the worst bloody patches. Then she was quick enough to jauntily exit the river and return to the circle of fire. The smell of Tyrin's simple meal, simmering in the greasy insides of her shield, was welcome, even though she felt no real sensation of hunger.
"You look prettier without all the blood," the female soldier remarked idly. "And you're lucky, to have hair that behaves so well."
Pretty? Sylvia wondered. She had never thought of herself so. It was said that many men found the slender and sleek form of her kind alluring, but she was nothing special. Her face was simple and unrefined, not like the imperious and serene beauty some of her kind possessed, nor was she very busty, something her uniform made obvious. About her hair, Sylvia admitted Tyrin had been right. Her chin length stands grouped together free and easily, falling about her head in a fashion that caused no hindrance and looked acceptable without any work. That much she could take pride in, and it spared her the vanity of some of her kind, who spent far more time on maintaining their hair than any demon hunters ought to.
Thinking on this Sylvia took a more appraising look at her companion. What she saw, without the steel armor to hide it, surprised her. Why, the Claymore noted. She could almost be one of us. Tyrin was wider in the shoulders and a bit in the waist and slightly more buxom than Sylvia was, but she had seen other Claymores who might fit this pattern. The light and thin blond hair, in unruly waves now that it was freed from the helmet, fit the template as well. Only the eyes, soft gray-blue rather than piercing silver, told the truth of the difference. Her helmet partially hides those eyes, Sylvia recalled. With it on she could pass for one of us. I must remember this.
Tyrin noticed that Sylvia was observing her, but interpreted things differently. "You want some?" she asked, spearing a hunk of sausage with a small sharp knife.
Sylvia shook her head. "I have my own food for what I need," she pulled a chunk of jerky from the small waist pouch she carried with her armor. She felt no hunger, but knew a bit of food would help repair her strength after the wounds she'd taken earlier. She forced herself to take three bites and chew slowly. "If you would like we can work out the supply arrangements once we get to the next town."
"Oh, right," Tyrin nodded. "That'll be soon enough." She gave Sylvia another look as she wolfed down the last of her meal, eating with the speed of someone who always worries food will be interrupted. "Fire warm enough to dry you off?"
"Its fine," Sylvia answered.
"Good, 'cause it's my turn to take the cold dip then," Tyrin stood up, taking her shield with her. "I might as well clean this off while I have the chance," she quipped, and Sylvia realized she must have worn a questioning look.
The human warrior mimicked the Claymore's earlier charge into the dark river, with one key difference.
"Oh god that's cold!" Tyrin shouted the moment after she plunged in.
Sylvia looked on with a bit of amusement, almost smiling. Nevertheless, she had mixed feelings. This companionship is going to take some getting used to, she decided. Yet her hopes were high.
Carefully, Sylvia took Tyrin's moment in the river to extend out her senses as far as she could, searching for an obviously artificial sound. She closed her eyes briefly, focusing as much as she was able, but there was nothing. Hmm, she considered. I suppose he'll wait until tomorrow. That's acceptable. She was grateful for the extra day to sort her thoughts out at least.
Tyrin spent very little time in the river, veritably running out only a few moments following her entrance, back to the warm glow of the fire, shivering slightly. "I underestimated the chill," she shook her head silently. "I should have known better after what you said about exposure not being a bother and all, but I guess it didn't take."
"My apologies," Sylvia managed, suppressing a bit of giggly laughter, a rarity for her.
"Don't worry about it," the human warrior replied. "I've learned my lesson."
Struggling for something to say as the lay drying by the flickering flames, Sylvia realized there was a small matter that had been niggling away at the back of her mind. "Excuse me," she began. "But there was something that surprised me earlier. When you ran in to aid me today, you didn't seem to fear the yoma. That is unexpected coming from a human, most freeze up, especially the first time seeing one's true form."
"It wasn't the first time I'd seen a yoma," Tyrin answered, her eyes dark.
"You've met another Claymore before then?" Sylvia wondered, slightly confused, for that had not been the impression she'd received.
"Nope," Tyrin shook her head, but smiled weakly. "That was one we handled without your organization's help."
"Are you serious?" Sylvia blurted, losing control for a moment in her shock. "That's impossible…"
"Not impossible," Tyrin shook her head again. "Just really messy. It happened during a battle, way east of here. I was with a mercenary unit; we'd been hired to clear the bandits out of the hills. It ended up in a nasty little fight in some slash. Then it turned out one of the bandits was a yoma, he'd been staying in human form, but he just couldn't hold back with all the blood that was spilled. Both sides turned on him," the human warrior managed a smile. "First time I've ever been thankful for bandits."
"And you managed to slay him?" Sylvia knew there was the occasional freak case where humans managed to kill yoma, but it was always some combination of extraordinary stupidity on the demon's part and incredible luck on the human side.
"Hard to believe is it?" Tyrin shrugged. "Certainly, it wasn't easy. That monster claimed almost thirty lives before it finally went down, ten bandits and twenty trained soldiers. We surrounded it and kept spearing and spearing and eventually it had lost enough blood that it couldn't stay standing, so we were able to hack the limbs off bit by bit with our swords. One of the most gruesome things I've ever seen."
Sylvia considered the story and Tyrin's expression. The soldier did not seem to be lying, but it was hard for her to accept. She'd been taught that only Claymores could slay yoma, that without them humans were helpless. This case, it made her wonder.
"I think we got really lucky though," Tyrin went on as Sylvia remained silent. "We'd have never been able to deal with the yoma if it hadn't revealed itself first. The damn bastard could have killed the whole unit in the night probably, changing skins the way they do. You'd never root them out of hiding. I've no idea how you do it."
"We can sense them through their yoki," Sylvia explained idly, though her thoughts raced down other channels. "As half-human half-yoma we have it too, and can sense that energy, almost like a scent. They can sense us too in return. It makes disguises of limited use." Is that it? The Claymore wondered. Is it our eyes, and not our swordarms that makes us so necessary? She had never thought of things that way before, but faced both with humans killing yoma and humans aiding a yoma in an attempt to kill a Claymore, she was uncertain of many things.
"I guess that makes sense," Tyrin nodded. "You are sure full of surprises. I suppose I have a lot to learn."
"I hope you are very careful with your life then," Sylvia admonished, though not harshly. "It would be a shame for you to lose it before you learned all that you wished."
"Thanks, I think," the warrior gave Syvia a sly grin. "Anyway, I'm pretty tired, cold water drains the energy right out of you. You ready to douse this fire and turn in?"
"Certainly," Sylvia too was tired, being wounded had drained her energy more than she wished.
"I don't suppose there's any point trying to set watches or so on, with only the two of us," Tyrin considered aloud. "I bet you'd be awfully hard to sneak up on anyway, wouldn't you?"
"That is true enough," Sylvia answered, lending her a hand momentarily as Tyrin smashed down the fire to smoldering coals that did not smoke but retained welcome warmth.
"See you in the morning then," the human soldier said in the now darkness, resting her head against her bundled knapsack.
"Indeed," Sylvia replied, lying back against a tree, her sword within easy reach. She did not fall away to sleep immediately, but took a moment to look out at Tyrin. A traveling companion then, she thought in a state still filled with disbelief. I wonder how it will work out? The soldier had said she wished to be friends, and Sylvia thought on such a statement with awe and wonder. Do I even know what it means to have a 'friend?' It was a thought of little hope, but she dared just for a moment, in the soft glow of the coals, to hold to that hope. Don't die Tyrin, Sylvia silently wished. I'd like to try and make a friend.