Third Stroke – Dour Reflections
Dawn brought awareness of the cold morning, rousing both Sylvia and Tyrin from their slumber. Light, it had been in both cases, Sylvia as it always for her, the troubled and alert sleep of her kind, and Tyrin likely from the many nights as a soldier, trained to be ready so very fast.
The ordinary morning routine for Sylvia was very simple, she'd put on her armor and strap on her sword and be off, and that was all. It was a moderately bothersome discovery to know that Tyrin's presence made things somewhat more complicated.
It was not that the human woman was not quick or efficient, for she was clearly both, having broken camp many times with what was surely commendable speed even for a human soldier. Nevertheless she had to bank up the fire slightly for warmth, roll her blanket into her knapsack and then put on her own armor. All these things Tyrin did while breakfasting on bits and pieces of cold food, hardened cakes mixed of grains and nuts it seemed.
The difference in their readiness was not long, as absolute time might be measured, but it was a disruption to the carefully practiced routine Sylvia had developed in her normal course. The armor was the key difference, the Claymore recognized as Tyrin strapped and tied on the many pieces. It was simply a much more complex procedure than the reduced bits her uniform required.
I must be patient, Sylvia told herself, and suppressed her irritation. It is not important, only a few minutes at most. It will make no real difference at the end of the day. She tried instead to examine the process Tyrin underwent to don the armor, learning the way of it, a study in human protections. This was only partly successful. I am going to have to modify my routine in many ways, Sylvia now recognized, as she had not the evening before. Perhaps everything will change, at least slightly. Forebear Sylvia, she told herself in the weak dawn light through the heavy boughs above. You would have lost your life if not for her aid; the obligations of that act will bring change.
As Tyrin tucked her knapsack on and tugged her helmet under her arm the Claymore gave the slightest shake of her head. A new beginning this, I had not expected it to be so tedious.
"The worst part of any morning is how cold the damn armor is," Tyrin joked lightly, gray eyes fluid as the breaking light caught them. "So where too?"
"North," Sylvia responded. "We will head for the next town."
"Right," her companion nodded, and they were off.
The day progressed mostly as the previous afternoon had, in simple movement, with comments few and widely spaced. Each woman kept her own counsel and they walked accompanied only by the sounds of the woods and clinking of armored heels upon the sod.
Sylvia did not set a fast pace, there was no need. Why bother, with no pressing assignment? There was nothing to say she would not receive orders to turn around and head south, so pushing hard was pointless.
So far as she could tell Tyrin did not seem to mind the simple pace, or even Sylvia's occasional stops to look at the scenery of the forest. The soldier took those opportunities to sip water from her canteen, or shift her knapsack from one shoulder to another. She said nothing and asked no questions as to why a Claymore might spend time taking in pretty views. Sylvia was glad for that in a way, as she did not think she had a good answer, but it also saddened her. Though it would not have been easier to describe her hopes regarding the other woman, this all-but-silent march did not fit her impressions.
Between Claymores such lack of speech was common, since they rarely got along well, considered each other rivals, and often refused to admit that they'd ever rely on anyone for anything, but it troubled Sylvia to find that the case with a human woman. She had hoped Tyrin would take the lead, but it seemed they would be left to ask questions around the campfire. So it goes, she decided, only the smallest bit regretful. I should not try to force anything.
Only once did they discuss something beyond the immediacy of travel, during the brief stop for lunch. "Having those holes in that outfit doesn't bother you?" Tyrin had mused, looking at the damage the puncture marks had left on Sylvia's clothing.
"There's nothing to be done about it," Sylvia replied without any enthusiasm. "I only have one uniform until they provide me with another one."
"Couldn't you wear something else though?" the soldier had offered. "I mean, buy something in town or the like?"
"No!" Sylvia responded with unexpected force, and then looked downcast before the other woman, ashamed at her reaction to an innocent question. "I am sorry, it's not your fault, I overreacted, don't be afraid to ask me such things in the future."
"I'll remember," Tyrin replied, but Sylvia met her eyes and could tell she was not convinced.
"The uniform marks us," Sylvia had tried to explain. "Taking it off would be an act of desertion."
Many things had been left open in that reply, and Sylvia thought Tyrin knew it, but the other woman had asked nothing, and they had continued on as before.
They stopped again in an open patch of forest with the setting sun, near a small lake. "You get the wood again?" Tyrin asked as they shed their gear.
"Certainly," Sylvia nodded, doing her best to be accommodating.
As they worked Tyrin built up a larger fire than she had the night before. Sylvia gave her an odd look when she realized this, and the soldier must have caught the question in the silver eyes.
"We've got more time this evening," Tyrin explained. "Also, I saw rabbit sign here, so I thought I might set a snare. More coals would be useful come morning if I caught anything."
"Right," Sylvia answered, not quite understanding. She did not know the common things of trapping, fishing, or hunting that many human travelers talked about, for she did not need to know such things. The only thing a Claymore knows is how to hunt yoma, she noted as she had several times in her past. Is that a strength? Or a weakness?
"So is this how it goes all the time then?" Tyrin asked as she simmered her dinner. "Wandering from place to place until a request comes, then going to some fetid mess like that town, kill a yoma, and do it all again?"
"More or less," Sylvia replied a bit sourly. Described like that it made her life seem truly empty, but then perhaps it was. She tried not to think on it deeply. "We do occasionally form teams if there's a problem too big for one of us to handle."
"That happen often?" there was a bit of worry in Tyrin's tone, as there might well be, anything that required the attention of multiple Claymores generally left a mound of human bodies in its wake.
"No," Sylvia shook her head. "It's not that common." She was not being entirely honest at the moment, and felt somewhat ashamed, but it would be too hard to explain the rest.
"Huh," Tyrin turned back to the fire to extricate her meal.
It was then that Sylvia heard the sound she had been expecting. It was nothing too obvious, only the low sound of a rock striking a tree some distance to the east. Fleeting though such a signal was, it was not the kind of thing that happened naturally on a night without wind. It had also been soft enough that Tyrin, with her somewhat more limited human senses, probably had not been able to recognize it. That much told Sylvia a great deal, and sent her a queasy feeling.
She stood abruptly. "Apologies," she told her companion, just now starting to eat. "I'll be taking my leave for a brief while. I need you to stay here, it is very important."
Tyrin met Sylvia's silver eyes, blinked once, and then nodded. The Claymore could sense the many questions there, but Tyrin obviously knew when not to press the issue. Sylvia was very thankful for that discipline.
It was only a short march through the dark woods after that; far enough to leave the flickering light of the fire behind.
There was no clearing, or any other obvious sign, here along the crooked lakeshore, but Sylvia knew his habits. She found a large tree with a splint trunk, shadowy darkness even deeper than the soft night dwelling there. "Well?" she asked.
"Hmph," the voice was gruff and bored. "This is getting too predictable." Following the words a small man stepped smoothly out of the shadows between the tree trunks. He did not step into light, only to a lesser darkness, and covered all in black it hardly made him more visible. The entirety of his face was hidden by the dark cowl he wore perpetually upraised. Not that his face was anything memorable, Sylvia recalled as always from when she had glimpsed it once in the past.
"Is predictability offensive?" Sylvia asked without the slightest whisper of sarcasm. "I had thought you preferred it Luny. Should I endeavor to be more erratic in the future?"
"Nevermind," he grumbled. "Here," he added, tossing a bundle at her. "Try to make this one last longer, alright."
"I'll endeavor as best I can," she returned, already stripping off her damaged uniform to slip into the new one, gratefully free of holes. Sylvia had said nothing to Tyrin, considering it crass, but having the air on patches of skin usually covered had indeed been a somewhat awkward feeling.
"You have done one unpredictable thing though," Luny muttered, his voice flat, but Sylvia did not think him pleased, though it was little more than a guess. She'd never been able to read his moods, even after so long. "You picked up an unusual bit of baggage."
Silent in the darkness Sylvia forbade herself to take offense. Luny liked to needle her, from what she'd spoken with others of her kind, they all did. She had no idea why, but it was simply the way of things. She'd always done her best to behave appropriately in such cases.
"Is there a problem with having a companion travel with me?" It was half a retort, but half a truly serious question. Sylvia did not know what rules there might be, had never heard of something quite like this happening before.
"Besides the obvious risks?" he quipped, or at least, it might have been a quip.
"I'm aware of the dangers," Syvlia spoke slowly and deliberately. "But she saved my life, so I must make whatever sacrifices I can. She seems willing to accept the dangers. There won't be a problem with my duties."
"I wonder…" his cowl-covered head turned off to look out at the lake.
Sylvia was silent for a moment, wondering what she should do. There had been many fears coming into the meeting, wondering what the organization, what Luny, would say. Her own feelings were very mixed. The life owed to Tyrin was not a thing to be taken lightly, by no means. Yet there was no denying that the woman was all but certain to die traveling with her, and possibly, should things go wrong in certain ways, become a risk to Sylvia's life as well. It was hard to believe the human soldier had truly understood what she had asked in coming with a Claymore.
Weighing these things was not easy. Sylvia had no desire to see Tyrin die; she did not want a human, and a lady who seemed admirable enough at that, to be on her conscience. The image of a Claymore sister weighed in against that equally strong, as did the terrible and tantalizing hope of friendship, as unlikely or impossible as it might be. That was a siren song most difficult to resist. In the end, unable to make up her mind, she gave Luny the unvarnished truth. "I will leave the decision to her, unless of course, there is an order otherwise. If there is then I would comply of course," and she would, as much as it might hurt to have to say such things to those earnest gray eyes in that almost-reflection of a face.
"I know you would," Luny remarked. "Of course you would… Well, keep the woman then, there's nothing that says you have to travel alone. It's your own problem though, and make sure she doesn't deal with me. The organization has no business with human soldiers; your relationship is entirely personal."
"I understand."
"By the way," Luny seemed to muse, though Sylvia did not believe the question was idle. "Why is she so keen to travel with you? Most soldiers are smart enough to not take such risks."
Do I owe him an answer? Sylvia wondered. Would it betray Tyrin's trust? No, she decided. He could probably find out anyway, and I should not be evasive. "Her sister," she explained. "She has a much younger sister, who one of you took to become one of us."
"A sister?" for the first time in her recollection Luny seemed at a loss for words. He found them again swiftly. "That is unanticipated. We don't usually take any who have living relatives."
Sylvia said nothing.
"Well…" Luny mused. "A sister is it. How unusual, perhaps it is worth seeing what happens."
No Claymore fully trusted the organization or the men in black who gave them their orders; the training that had made them what they were was just too hard. Still, Sylvia had always tried to believe in everything the organization taught, to find her work worthy, but it was never easy and frightful comments like that from Luny, which could have many nefarious meanings, made it a truly arduous task.
She remained silent, not trusting the words she might say, or her temper, always dangerous given her yoma half.
"Did she give the sister's name?" Luny asked at last.
"No," Sylvia answered, a bit surprised herself. "I had not thought to ask that."
"You and your courtesies," the cowl-covered head shook slowly. "Well, what's the soldier's name? We can find out that way."
"Tyrin," she told him honestly.
"Tyrin is it? Unusual enough name," he nodded slowly. "Well, that should be easy enough to figure out."
Sylvia figured they had covered the topic more than enough, at least for now. "While I know having an associate is unusual," she moved gently to deflect the conversation. "I think it the less important oddity of my past mission."
"Hmm…yes…" there was nothing more immediately.
"I have never seen or heard of this happening, ever," Sylvia stressed this, for she wanted to make certain Luny knew how shocked she had been, and how she was not happy about it. Though the possibility was slim it might jar the black-clad man to reveal a hidden truth or two. Little more could be hoped for in times like these.
Luny raised his left hand, gnarled and bony fingers fading together in the shadows, to the inside of his cowl. Certainly was not in it, but one assumed his hand rested on his brow in some fashion or other, a strange artifice for one so garbed, and likely retained only for its oddity. Sylvia had long struggled to determine just what it was that the gesture meant. "Occasionally," he spoke slowly, deliberately, in a scratchy voice. "Yoma have worked with humans who knew their identity. It is something that grows out of working with human dupes for a time. Still it is very rare." Luny's head shook slightly. "Twice before yoma have managed to arrange for humans to attack one of you; both times by mimicking your shapes and wreaking great havoc. This case is somewhat similar, but the scale is unprecedented."
Sylvia took comfort in this knowledge, but only the barest bit of it. It seemed many yoma had hit upon the idea of using humans in the past. Worse, more than a few humans had been willing to side openly with monsters who would consume them. She could not understand that choice, it seemed mad. This record Luny mentioned, and she suspected that her idea of rare and his did not match up, was very worrisome. Alone humans, even in numbers, could usually be dealt with despite the ban on killing. Sylvia herself had experience in lopping the limbs off those who thought they could do whatever they wished to a Claymore. Yet with yoma to aid them it was very different. Even a few yoma would occupy the complete attention of all but the strongest of her kind, leaving them vulnerable to just the kind of ranged attack that had been staged in the town. A true alliance of demons and men would be terrifying.
"Hopefully this will be the last time then," Sylvia spoke without conviction.
"It seems to have been an aberrant episode," Luny shook his head slowly. "The evidence of it will be erased and mention will be avoided, so no yoma gets any foolish ideas to copy this endeavor."
"I wonder if you will investigate further?" Sylvia broached cautiously.
"That is not your concern," Luny silenced her, snapping his hand out from under his cowl, the first three fingers widespread and the last two curled in that strange sign he favored. "Simply follow your orders and deal with problems as they arise."
"Of course, I understand," Sylvia apologized swiftly. "Do you have a new assignment for me then?"
"Yes," Luny lowered his hand once more. "Go to the village of Forel, three days north. There should be two yoma there, as there have been two distinct patterns of murder. Get rid of them both. I trust you can handle it?"
"I anticipate no problems," Sylvia answered. Two yoma at once was perhaps as much as she could handle by herself with some degree of safety, so long as neither was especially experienced. Luny knew that as well, he wouldn't send her on a mission she couldn't manage, at least not deliberately. "I will carry out my orders directly."
"See that you do, and don't let that woman get you killed," he muttered under his breath, though he would have certainly known Sylvia could hear him, before turning and walking off into the darkness. His black figure faded from sight rapidly.
Sylvia shook her whole body slightly once the man was gone. She had never liked dealing with him; it always made her feel somehow sickly inside. Normally she kept the encounters as short as possible, reporting her results and receiving new missions and the occasional salary. That was all. Clearly things are going to change, she mused darkly. Amazing how it all becomes more complicated from one little event.
She almost wished the walk back was longer, but she had not gone very far beyond the distance of firelight, so it was with troubled thoughts yet that she returned to see Tyrin waiting patiently, watching the flickering flames.
The soldier turned her head upon hearing her approach. "You're back," she noted, and nothing more.
"Yes," Sylvia let the words lie in the air for a moment, wanting to create separation. This situation is personal, not business, she told herself again, recalling how Luny had demanded things work.
She sat down beside Tyrin, looking into the flames and finding them not as calming as she'd hoped. Convoluted feelings flowed through her, undecided. Friendship is clearly not going to be easy to achieve, she recognized with an infinitesimal shake of the head. "Tyrin, can I ask a small question?" she began.
"You don't need to be so cautious," the other woman managed with a light smile. "Traveling together means being open you know."
Then we've made a mixed start of it haven't we? Sylvia noted. "Well, it's just that it might be considered personal, so I was hesitant." Surging ahead she asked. "What is you sister's name?"
"Celeca," Tyrin said quietly. "That was her name." Her face darkened. "I haven't seen her in four years you know. She was so young then, so small. She must be taller now, but…beyond that…" Tyrin paused for a moment, and Sylvia thought she saw tears gathering in the woman's eyes before they vanished away and her control returned. "I imagine everything else has changed. She had brown hair, different from me, and brown eyes too, more of her father in her than in me, but I suppose that's gone isn't it?"
"It is hard to say," Sylvia replied cautiously, and she felt a deep regret, not having wished to probe in this direction. She had only asked the question because Luny's remarks had piqued her curiosity. Now though, she must tell the truth, as best she could, unpleasant though it was. Tyrin deserved that much, a family member ought to have the right. "Becoming what we are, half-human half-yoma, it is only part of our training. Different children undergo the transformation at slightly different ages, depending on when they are believed to be ready."
Tyrin's head turned to stare directly into Sylvia's eyes as she spoke, drinking the words with a force bordering on desperation.
"Your sister is only nine," Sylvia continued. "She might not have begun the transformation yet, though I imagine it would be within the year."
"Begun the transformation?" Tyrin breathed.
Sylvia scowled and turned her head to the ground. "It is not instantaneous," she explained, grimacing. "Far from it, it takes a great deal of time, though again it varies from girl to girl. Though it is not pleasant to say I must tell you the full truth: becoming like this is extremely painful, integration of the yoma flesh into the body is unnatural, the human body resists, and it hurts and hurts. The organization forces you to train throughout the process, which is probably a kindness, as exhaustion and muscle pain help to overwhelm you, push the reality of what's happening out of the mind."
"The pain does stop right?" Tyrin asked desperately. "You're not still in agony right now are you?"
"No," Sylvia was glad to be able to say that. "Eventually balance is achieved, an equilibrium if you will. And the experience hardens us, makes us resistant to pain, which is very important to what we do." Sylvia paused, and then said one thing, barely audible. "The body's adjustment is easy; it is the struggle of the mind that never ends."
"So my sister will have to go through all that?" Tyrin's face was drawn with terrible sadness. "And then she'll be sent out to hunt yoma?"
"Not immediately," Sylvia wanted to stop speaking, worried that anything she said would simply hurt Tyrin further. Further, she was revisiting her own dark memories now, things she had tried to forget. It wasn't easy, only the greater misery of the lady before her made it doable. Funny that I can tell her all this, she was filled with dark fascination. We never, ever, talk about our training or our lives before the organization amongst each other. I wonder why?
"Training continues after the transformation is complete," Sylvia went on. "The organization keeps trainees for a while, a few years at least, before letting them into the active pool. Usually we join in small groups, to replace loses that have occurred. I imagine your sister could wait up to five years or more before being given her sword."
"Is that what they do make you a full member?" a bit of color returned to Tyrin's face, and Sylvia felt some relief. She was dour enough on her own without the other woman feeding into depressing moods.
"Yes, we receive our sword marked with our own symbol," Sylvia lifted hers from among her gear and displayed the marking so Tyrin could see it. φ : It was not a special or remarkable symbol, the only oddity was the curved nature of the marking. "It's also here," she gestured to the tabard of fabric hanging from her neck.
"Five years then," Tyrin shook her head. "A long time, I'll be almost thirty. Oh well, I've learned patience, I can wait."
"And perhaps we should sleep and wait for tomorrow," Sylvia noted. "We can make the town by nightfall, and conversation will be better around a table than here in a dark forest."
"Perhaps," Tyrin replied, but her mood seemed improved. "So we still head north then?"
"Indeed," Sylvia explained. "To the village for Forel, three days from here. There are two yoma there to kill."
"They keep you busy don't they?" Tyrin smiled slightly.
"Yes," Sylvia said nothing more, and helped instead to douse the fire, but her true thoughts went on. It is a pity that we are so busy. I do not enjoy being idle, but less work would mean less yoma, and that would be a blessing for the world.
Notes: A few things about this chapter. First, about Luny: like all of the organization's members he's named after an art museum, in this case the Musee de Cluny in Paris, a museum of medieval artifacts, particularly tapestries.
Also, since I did not note this officially before, I should do so now: this story is set significantly prior to the events of the Claymore manga (partly because it might eventually leap toward them temporally). As the timeline of Claymore is not very specific I can't say exactly how long ago this is happening, but Sylvia is probably similar in timeframe to Raphaela (who is the earliest claymore shown in the manga).