Tenth Stroke – Cloudy Conversation

Jessica, Sylvia quickly discovered, believed in walking fast. While it would be the rare Claymore who did not possess a stride that chewed up terrain efficiently and swiftly, the sharp eyed single digit was in a different league. She walked with a preternatural catlike grace, gliding over the ground with level speed, her legs moving without any visible impact on the rest of her body, which remained forcefully alert. She's pretty good at this, Sylvia admitted to herself as she struggled to keep up, thankfully not alone in the endeavor. Lynne surged on next to the single digit, matching her stride for stride, but with a grim look on her face that proved it was putting a great deal of strain on her muscles.

Sylvia kept wondering when Lynne would break into either a run or an angry shouting match, but the flair-haired woman managed to grit her teeth and persevere.

Racquel, by contrast, didn't bother with any such show of pride, but was content to continually fall back slightly and then break into a jog to catch up with the others. She occasionally appeared a little embarrassed about this, but it never seemed to upset the young warrior, something Sylvia considered surprising.

For her own part Sylvia managed to keep the pace more or less, earning back steps in moments when the terrain allowed long, loping strides to build momentum, especially downhill stretches, and then slowly losing them again on flat ground. Her muscles hurt too, but the long march she and Tyrin had made proved to be good conditioning, especially as she had been forced to moderate her pace in the later days, thereby conditioning her legs with extra hours on the road.

They stopped for the evening surprisingly early as a result, at a hillside campsite that had not been used in some time. Such a thing was to be expected, given the nearby nest of yoma. Merchants had obviously been avoiding this region. Sylvia wondered how long it had been since the town had perished. Weeks? Months? There was no easy way to tell. Hopefully not too long, it is a shame to leave these pustules to fester on the landscape.

"The nest is an hour north," Jessica announced. "We'll hit it in the morning."

"What's the plan then?" Racquel asked her expression seemingly curious to Sylvia's eye, not concerned. But then, she is the second highest among us, the older Claymore reminded herself.

"From the east, sun at our backs," Jessica spoke sparingly as before. "I'll lead the attack; the rest of you will cover the flanks."

It was a simple plan, almost basic in design, but Sylvia had no thought for this reducing its effectiveness. Jessica, by far the most skilled among them, would handle the bulk of the killing; it would simply be her task to guard the single-digit's back, preventing encirclement. Easy enough, Sylvia thought, almost like butchering cattle. Silently she frowned; the image was not a pleasant one to digest.

"Sylvia, what exactly are you doing?" Racquel's voice was pleasant, but the query was not precisely humorous.

Sylvia looked back to find the other three Claymores all watching her. Puzzled she looked about, only belatedly realizing what was happening when she glanced down, and caught the pile of tinder in her arms. "I'm sorry," she managed, both embarrassed and astonished. "It seems I've picked up a habit without realizing it.

"Firewood?" it was really quite amazing how Jessica managed to ask complete questions with only a single word. Sylvia didn't exactly appreciate it, such a thing made it seem as if all the warriors were silver-eyed copies of each other.

She answered nevertheless. "Yes, a consequence of traveling with a human is the need for a fire to cook dinner most nights. Tyrin is a better fire-builder than I, so the task of gathering wood falls to me."

"Why bother helping out that human?" Lynne asked.

Sylvia met the rough-edged warrior's glare with her own. "It would be rude to just sit and watch one's companion work, don't you think?" she asked in a perfectly level voice.

Lynne merely shrugged, admitting nothing.

"You said you owed that woman a great debt," Racquel broached the topic with some care. "What did you mean? What kind of debt?"

"You're full of puzzles this time Sylvia," Lynne rasped out a bitter laugh. "Not just that woman, but your uniform too. How'd it get like that? That's not yoma blood, so have you been slaughtering cattle?"

"The blood is human," Sylvia spoke with resignation, she had not thought of a good way to explain it all yet.

Racquel gasped, while Jessica said nothing but focused her gaze perhaps a fraction more sharply. Lynne merely laughed, without the bitterness this time.

"Why is that so funny?" Racquel's words spilled from her abruptly. "If she's violated the rules, then…"

"That's the funny part," Lynne muttered, smiling with a tiny edge of cruelty. "It's obviously not that, whatever the reason, or Jessica's black friend would have ordered us to kill her. The look on your face was pretty good though."

"I doubt the rest will be so amusing," Jessica interjected. "Explain," she told Sylvia.

"It began on the day I met Tyrin," Sylvia began, resolved that she would start with the initial moment, and explain from there. It was perhaps not the swiftest course, and it was rather personal, but she must be honest, especially among her own kind. Even if some of them grated on her, as Lynne did, they needed to know this.

She kept to the facts of the explanation, covering the two incidents in detail, and answering such questions as were offered, mostly by Racquel, as Lynne seemed to find the entire idea too disgusting to contemplate, and Jessica said little as always.

In the end it was Lynne who summed it all up. "Just weak, these humans," she hissed. "Weak. We give everything up, everything! And they have the gall to side with yoma? Don't they have any pride?"

"Maybe they just don't see a difference," Racquel spoke sadly, her voice bleeding sorrow with every breath. "I was told that humans would fear us while in training, but the organization can't describe how they really look at you, the fear in those eyes, they way they group us with the yoma, not with them. You three may be used to it, but I must say, for humans who've paid us money, why would they care if it was yoma or half-human half-yoma, so long as they were promised security?"

"You may have a point," Sylvia admitted, considering Racquel's words. "The organization offers safety from yoma, but the prices we charge are ruinous. I have seen what happens, sometimes," she could recall these memories, and they were among the most unpleasant she carried, filled with an unnamed, incomprehensible emptiness, devoid of hope or future. "Pass through a town once, slay two yoma, and the payment is made. Come back two years later, and the town is all but gone, crumbled to nothing, with starving children and old people." She could still see the recrimination in those faces, the hatred that had come at her. "They threw rocks at me once, another time some farmer tried to stab me with a pitchfork. Those people I can see hating us. Men from such a town, turned bandit, might well listen to the promises of yoma, hoping for a fortune and to get some kind of revenge."

"Don't treat the humans so nice Sylvia," Lynne returned. "Maybe the organization asks a lot, maybe too much, but that's the world, yoma exist, there's nothing to be done otherwise. Siding with yoma's still weak. I think I'd rather starve to death myself."

"Ultimately, it matters not," Jessica intruded into the conversation once more. "We serve the organization; it is not our place to consider the wider plan. Sylvia has explained a danger, and for us is only to watch, until we can destroy it."

A heartless thing to say, that, but Sylvia could not refute the single digit's words. They were hunters of yoma, nothing more and nothing less. The choices of the organization were not to be questioned, for what right did a half-human half-yoma to question. Even if she couldn't trust the men in black, she had to follow, and for herself she had to believe it was ultimately better that way. If we did not exist, Sylvia asked herself as she often did in moments of doubt. What would become of the world? Would yoma herd men as men heard cattle, or would men live in caves on the run, and every city become a ruined charnel house? She could not know, but even with the world as it was, without them it would surely be worse.

"Sylvia," Lynne said abruptly. "You said that woman wore your uniform and you fought with her sword. Does that mean she's been teaching you?"

"Yes," Sylvia refused to be embarrassed by that statement. "We should not be above learning from humans."

"Like I care," Lynne giggled, tilting her head quirkily. "I just want to know if you think that's made you any better."

"I believe so," Sylvia answered, suspecting what the rough-edged Claymore was getting at, and hardly opposed to the idea. "I have learned of weaknesses in my technique, and begun to correct for them."

"Hehe," Lynne giggled further, her face seeming animated fully for the first time. "There's a little light left, shall we find out?"

"With your approval," Sylvia inclined her head to Jessica.

The single digit gave a brief wave of acceptance.

"Then dodge!" Lynne went from sitting to airborne in a single rapid motion, flipping forward through the air and bringing her blade out and before her in a smooth rippling wheel.

Sylvia sidestepped easily, expecting some sort of immediate acrobatic attack from the energetic warrior. Her own sword was in hand swiftly, but she did not yet move to counter.

Lynne came on, smashing stroke after stroke with forceful abandon, smiling and giggling as she attacked, happier than she'd likely been in days. It was a common enough trait among Claymores, to feel most alive and invigorated during battle, to let the rush of blood and yoki surge through the body, increasing sensation and movement, burning with the thrill of power, no matter how putrid. Dangerous such feelings were, and Sylvia had always scrupulously schooled herself to avoid all acceptance of her yoki in her emotions, but Lynne was different. Her blond hair in that flared crest, like some birds might possess, she simply enjoyed movement and form, even with her yoki suppressed to spar.

For a time Sylvia simply met the rush of blows, holding her balance and position, but unable to force Lynne to give up the initiative, the strokes were too fast and powerful.

Then the vivacious Claymore pressed forward, locking blade to blade in a straight block close in, seeking to simply press her strength and force Sylvia to concede or bolt back, vulnerable.

There! Feet moved in a fashion foreign to most Claymores as Sylvia sidestepped and twisted, moving her blade down and along Lynne's own, turning the blade's force to a place she no longer occupied and driving in to her opponent with an armored shoulder.

"What?" Lynne jerked back, barely avoiding the blow without stumbling, only her greater strength allowing her to counter the attack sent to slice away her legs.

The two broke off, and contrary to what Sylvia might have expected, beneath the silver-eyed focus there was only a wider smile than before. There is something to be said for loving your work it seems, she thought wryly, and moved to attack.

Several times they traded passes, Lynne often gaining the upper hand only to see Sylvia slip away when the blade moved close, stymied time after time by little blocks and deflections inside. In return Sylvia's counters teased at little spaces in the guard, but could not break through, there was never enough time.

If I had Tyrin's sword I think I could win, the thought blossomed at some unknown point in the bout, surprising her and breaking through her normal mask to show on her face, or so Lynne's quizzical look indicated. If only I knew a way to use her techniques fully with this blade, Sylvia lamented. The openings are there, but this blade is too large to exploit them.

Lynne was not a person known for her patience and at length she grew exasperated with these slender exchanges. Facing her foe she stood back, breathed deeply, and seized her blade with both hands, raising it upright. Not angled, she poised the blade flat forward broadside parallel to the ground, point directed at Sylvia's breast. "Let's see you knock this aside!"

She's going to bet it all on the charge! Sylvia observed, and instantly recognized that it could well work. Lynne was stronger than she, and slightly faster as well. By putting all her strength in one blow she could hold it to target and negate the tricks of leverage that had been used to exploit her moves before. She had the barest of moments to think of a counter.

Lynne charged, and Sylvia held her ground, but moved her blade to her right, away from the oncoming mass of steel.

The charge came on, and silver eyes stared at the pint, measuring, gauging the moment, the timing would have to be perfect.

Lynne, smiling all the way, burned on, lighting quick.

Now!

Sylvia bent her knees and jerked her hips, moving down and left, then coming up again, just enough to slide her shoulder pauldron under the edge of the sword, and then press up, knocking it off course. I the same moment she clenched the muscles in her right arm, snapping her blade in at Lynne's exposed chest.

She stopped the blow just before it would cut into the white uniform.

"I believe I've got you," Sylvia met Lynne's eyes, and directed them down.

The other Claymore bent her head, and observed the blade resting there. "Aw," her voice was disappointed, but the smile never faded. "Draws are boring."

"A draw?" Sylvia questioned.

Lynne jerked her head.

Turning her neck Sylvia saw the sword edge resting there, poised to slice her head clean off. Lynne had readjusted by pushing forward and sliding her grip down the handle, turning stab to slash in an eyeblink.

"You are better though," Lynne admitted. "But it's a damnable thing, all those little twist-steps."

"It looked like you kept going after the same thing," Racquel commented from beyond the circle of engagement. "What were you trying to do?"

"Tyrin showed me weaknesses in my guard," Sylvia explained. "We are trained to fight at a certain distance, because of the size of our weapons and the length of yoma arms. If you can get inside the guard there are vulnerabilities."

"It seems so," Jessica added. "But your movement was incomplete." It was a piercingly accurate critique for observing one short fight. Sylvia felt she must answer.

"I hadn't trained to adapt short blade methods to our swords yet," she explained. "I can tell now that is going to take a great deal of practice."

"Hopefully you will get that time," Jessica said flatly. "Build your fire, if you wish, it is still early enough."

Uncertain what to make of the single digit's permission, Sylvia nevertheless gathered wood and started a small fire, though it took her several tries to get things going, whereas Tyrin could light a fire in seconds with but a single attempt. She did not build the blaze high, only a little crackling glow, enough to provide light. Heat was unnecessary.

The others sat about, mostly, doing idle things in companionable silence. Such was they way a Claymore filled the hours, patient against boredom. Sylvia stared into the flames, watching the wood slowly burn away, embers glowing with fierce resolve before turning slowly to ash, inevitably.

Unexpectedly Lynne sat down beside her. Sylvia tensed briefly, but the other warrior's usually aggressive posture was relaxed and easy. "Two years, right?" she mused.

"More or less," Sylvia recalled it well enough, that long tracking mission, the most lasting assignment she'd ever served with a group.

"Well," Lynne's gaze seemed to drift past Sylvia into the darkness. "I was actually happy to see you, would you believe it?"

Sylvia did not immediately answer her comrade.

"Yeah, yeah," Lynne laughed slightly. "I know we aren't friends, you don't like me much and I think you're a stuck up little lady, but even so." Her expression lost its ready joviality for a moment. "It's good to know someone keeps on going, you know?"

"I think I understand," staring into the black abyss within oneself was no easy task. Having the knowledge that another had managed it at long as you, and to even chance to meet that person, could be a great help. It had been so for Sylvia as well.

"Time's have changed though," Lynne considered. "At least for you, you seem a bit different to me, and its not just the swordsmanship."

A bit different? Sylvia wondered. Perhaps. "I believe you mean that traveling with Tyrin has had an influence on me. Do you mean to say that I should not have done that?"

"Well, your diction hasn't changed any," the forthright warrior laughed. "I swear you must have been some noble's kid." She paused, tilting her head. "But then, you said you don't remember."

Sylvia noticed here that this conversation was not merely between the two of them. Racquel was watching openly, hanging on their words. Jessica, though more circumspect, doubtless heard everything as well. The crackling fire was insufficient to obscure conversation.

"I can recall only the cold, crawling upon the ice, nothing before that," Sylvia told them all, as she had told Lynne once before, when the other warrior had probed into her past two yeas ago. Most of their kind would never do such a thing, but having nothing herself to hide, it seemed Lynne followed her curiosity with few worries. "I was only four years old, or so it was guessed."

"So young…" Racquel whispered, probably without realizing it, for the youthful warrior did not appear to expect a response.

That was something well known to the older Claymore. Most orphans claimed by the organization were at least five, strong enough to walk to the headquarters in the east. She had been carried. "The organization is all I know," she said, and then lapsed into silence, carrying the bitter thought deep within. How little that is, Sylvia knew with regret. They tell us only as little as they can, never claiming anything but that. For the first time now, recalling this dour truth, she wondered if part of her attachment to Tyrin was in some misguided effort to experience a world beyond that which the men in black had drawn about her. Even if that's true, does it change anything? Simple answers to such a question did not materialize readily.

"A hard life, they all are," Jessica commented. "And a hard morrow awaits, this seems enough."

The others nodded, silently accepting the unspoken command. Sylvia moved to put out the fire, and Lynne, surprisingly, aided her.

"Make sure you hang on," the brash woman whispered to her. "Make it to thirty, at least, that'd be worth something, don't you think?"

Saying nothing, Sylvia only nodded. It would be worth a little something, though, wouldn't it? Thirty was not so few years, disease, childbirth, and a thousand other causes claimed many women's lives much sooner. Making it to that far would provide at least a semblance of human years to the life. How like Lynne to have such a simple, but worthy goal. I do hope I can manage to meet it.

Then the fire was doused, and they each lay alone with their thoughts beneath the stars, no mind on the violence to come tomorrow.

Notes: This chapter was pretty hard to create, since it's the first (and one of very few in all) that Tyrin is not in, leaving me only the Claymores to work with. I've tried to make them all unique, but still be Claymores, which isn't easy.