Winds of Nostalgia
Chapter 8: Defensible
Author's Note: I've tried to grasp the characters of Claymore to the best of my ability. I have not decided a pairing... I don't think I could decide upon a pairing beforehand and still do my job as a storyteller.
I try, whenever possible, to let my characters make those decisions themselves. I know that is maddeningly vague, but it's just my style. It's the reason why I never list pairings in my descriptions. There's no real way of knowing what will happen until it happens.
For those who are interested, I found Steven King's "On Writing", a guide to writing fiction (and tips on starting a career in the creative writing field). It makes for an excellent and informative read, especially if you skip the autobiographical sections. I'd recommend it to those of you interested in writing, as I am. If you have difficulty finding the PDF, a simple google search of 'On Writing Steven King PDF' should do the trick.
Also, SPOILER ALERT (Manga), those of you who have following the Manga closely... while she wasn't one of the #1's that have made their debut in the most recent chapter-does anyone else crossing their fingers for the return of a certain someone?
The wind whispered of the coming battle. It was an intangible scent, but familiar, intimate even, to those who recognized it.
Miria stood in the clearing in the middle of the town, gazing to the north. Initially, Sierra had sensed the large concentration of Yoki coming south, towards them. The horde had since moved close enough for Miria, and the other girls could sense it as well.
The Yoki signature headed their way was quite sizable, though not half the size of the Awakened force at Pieta.
Compared to Pieta, Miria had less than half of her combat power as well, twelve warriors, mostly lower-ranked, only one single-digit besides herself. Nevertheless, the girls were afraid. She did not blame them. When faced with Yoma, fear was inevitable. The professionals just got very good at hiding it.
Miria realized that there was a possibility of losing a few of her warriors in this battle, but the battle also represented an opportunity. In order to ravage the south, as she expected the Yoma horde had been conditioned to do by their handlers, they would need to pass through this valley.
She had the opportunity to both completely wipe out the threat to the south, protecting the humans there, and also, a victory for her and her twelve rebels would unify them even more strongly under her leadership, turning them into a more cohesive fighting force. The victory could perhaps strengthen her army to just the degree that she needed it in order to finally destroy the Organization.
There were risks, but a commander knew when it was time to be bold.
The horde approached. She saw the black dots of Yoma, and the larger smudges of Awakened beings pouring over the hillside towards the town. Their advance was rapid, probably driven by the sight of a new town they could ravage, driven by their hunger.
Seven awakened beings, eighty-three Yoma, she counted. In all probability, the last of the Organization's pet Yoma. The Organization was running out of tricks.
Miria walked forward past the town's many empty, straw houses, emerging from the town's cobblestone center, to the soft brown dirt of the outlying farmhouses, and across the small wooden bridge which marked the Village's border, into the golden field beyond, where currents of wind rippled through the wheat which undulated like an ocean's waves.
There, she met the first charging Yoma. She cut them down one after another, spotting the golden stalks of wheat around her with purple blood as the charging Yoma tumbled, in pieces, to the ground. None offered any real challenge.
The army saw her, a lone Claymore, and surged towards her.
Hilda, along with the others, watched from afar. Miria was a lone silver figure silently dancing among the roars of the swarming monsters which surrounded her. The sheer momentum of the black swarm which pushed in on her seemed enough to move a mountain. Hilda watched fearfully. Soon, oceans of alien limbs and drooling mouths were whirling around Miria in an orchestra of hunger.
Miria cut through the enemy's attacks like a scythe through wheat. She was a small holdout of calm amidst the turmoil, and she brought the peace of death to all around her. Intertwined piles of chopped Yoma began to stack around her. Confusing them with false images of herself, Yoma often mistakenly attacked their own comrades. Her sword flashed in long elegant arcs, her Claymore not slowing as it passed through flesh, bone, and organ, streams of blood in its wake. As the volume of enemies that attacked her increased, she needed only increase the rhythm of her dance. Her eyes narrowed in grim concentration.
Step Step Swing. She felt a splatter of Yoma blood upon her face. She closed her eye at the last moment to avoid being blinded.
Swing Swing Step She cut an X in front of her. Quarters of Yoma splashed upon the ground.
Swing, Thrust, Phantom! She impaled an enemy, and seeing a Yoma tentacle shooting her way, she vanished in a high-pitched roar. The projectile shot through her afterimage, striking another Yoma in the gut.
Step, Swing.
Miria knew she needed to signal her forces soon. If she fought too much longer, she'd kill all the enemies herself, depriving her new army of valuable experience. Miria had set the example she'd needed to as their commander. She gave the signal.
Hilda and the other eleven girls watched Miria rapidly moving among the enemy. It was an elegant and bloody display.
"Amazing."
"It's beautiful."
"Yes," Hilda said with a smile. "she is."
When Miria gave the signal, they leaped to their feet and set off in a run, many of them letting out a battle cry. Their silver armor glinting in the sun, they slammed into the unexpected flank of the enemy horde, slicing through rapidly. Hilda ducked a charging Yoma and impaled another through the midsection. Freeing her blade with a bloody yank, she saw a comrade who'd been knocked over by a charging Yoma. She ran amidst the bloody scene and freed the Yoma's head from it's body before yanking her comrade to her feet.
"Careful," she reminded breathlessly, patting the Claymore on the shoulder.
Her heart was hammering in her chest to the frantic rhythm of battle. All around her, Claymores and Yoma were moving in blurs. Hilda swung at the enemy as they came, dodged ranged attacks which flew past her. Hilda sensed an ominous burst of Yoki from behind and ducked, watching a set of claws whistle where her head had been. She swung at the claws and saw the satisfying spray of purple, but to her surprise, the enemy hardly seemed to notice.
She looked up at the Awakened being she'd cut.
It let out an angry roar. The pitch was sharp, and it hurt her ears. They started to ring.
Big, was the only thought she had time to think before she had to dodge.
She leaped away, rolling through the soft wheat. Behind her, the ground shook as the Awakened being slammed where she'd just been standing. Dirt sprayed in all directions. The awakened being let out a frustrated roar and swung again. A Yoma in the way of his attack seemed to disintegrate.
Hilda's eyes widened, she'd barely risen back to her feet and already a motion blur of sharp steely claws was upon her.
For a moment, it was if time stood still. All should could see was the deadly blades carving towards her. She held her breath.
Then, like a sharp gust of wind, the world blurred around her, and she was gone. She felt two arms around her waist, and a warm body behind her.
"Don't be reckless," Miria said, speaking softly into her ear.
Miria let her free and with a flash, she had vanished again. Hilda took a moment to compose herself, breathing in deep gulps until she stopped shaking. Her comrades cut through the Yoma horde. Miria was within them, among them, around them, flashing in and out like the sun's sparkle upon the waves. She thinned the enemy's numbers, guiding her forces to victory.
She watched over them all. That was the burden of command.
Following her lead, Hilda charged into the fray.
When the last Awakened Being collapsed under the assault of Miria's army, the field had become a butcher's den, littered with gore and pools of blood, which was already draining towards the stream on the edge of the town. The stream, unmoved by the slaughter, continued to babble happily among the rocks.
They were exhausted. Huffing, Lucy, turned to Miria and raised her sword in salute. The other girls did the same, until eleven swords paid respect together. The gesture was a high honor among the Claymores.
Miria remained stone-faced. "Casualties?" Miria asked, approaching the smiling group. The group lowered their weapons and checked their numbers.
"Tria is down!" one of the girls exclaimed. A few Claymores rushed to her, helping her up out from amidst the corpses. Tria was breathing haggardly, one of her legs was missing. Miria's eyes locked on the wounded girl. Her eyes appeared detached and emotionless, but Hilda could see the guilt Miria held there.
Hilda's heart went out to Miria's pain, but there was more pressing pain that she needed to help with. "Where's your leg, Tria?" Hilda asked, kneeling beside her. Tria also had a wide gash on her stomach which was still bleeding.
"G-gone-" Tria said, breathing haggardly, tears forming in her eyes. She squirmed in the golden strands which embraced her broken body, drops of blood on her milky-white face. Her comrades gazed down upon her with grim expressions. Hilda knew that she was an offensive-type warrior. Everyone knew. There was a grim silence as Tria let out a low moan of pain and despair. She might never grow that leg back, Miria thought, clenching her jaw as she forced herself. I should have been keeping a closer eye on her, she was only ranked in the thirties.
"We've saved the people of this village, and countless others," Miria stated, hiding her regret. "We can be proud of this. Help Tria into the village. We can rest here until she is fit to move."
Until she is fit to move, Miria reflected. If they waited too long, they would surrender the initiative to the Organization and face a possible counterattack on the same ground and another comrade might be cut down. We might need to leave her. Miria grimaced angrily, but turned to hide it, setting off to the town. I can't let the girls see me with even the smallest regret. It would undermine their confidence in me. The other Claymores followed quietly behind her in silence. As they approached, villagers rushed out leaping in the air, cheering, and shouting, but the shouts quieted when they were faced with the cold expressions of the Claymores.
Tria, who wept, was carried on the shoulders of two Claymores who knew her better than the others.
An aging man approached Miria with a small bag filled with gold. "We saw you from the tower. You were amazing! Please..." he said, offering the money to Miria. "Please. Take it."
Miria glanced at the bag of money and felt the vast emptiness and insulting meaninglessness of the gesture. "We have no use for it. Use this money to buy some seed from one of the southern cities. We damaged your wheat field."
"I never..." the old man said in wonderment. His voice was quite high pitch for an old man, it sounded like a kind and patient voice. "I never seen someone do such a kindness for another perso-" he stopped himself. "I mean... you know."
"I know." Miria inhaled softly. "One of our people is badly injured. If you could spare it, we need a place for her to rest."
The old man considered. Grateful as he was, Claymores put him at ease, but he could find no reason to deny her. He nodded his assent.
"The windmill next to the stream will be empty. Tell us if we can help her in any way," he said, glancing to the wounded Claymore. "The Claymore there, she lost a foot? Will it grow back?"
"Tria lost her leg and... no, it probably won't." Miria said with a glare. The old man was about to start speaking again, but Miria turned around before he had the chance. She had no desire to hear any more of his words. He didn't understand. He watched in silence as Miria helped her warriors in carrying Tria to the building that the old man had motioned to. Arms lifted, each shared a portion of the burden.
They moved together, pushing a few tightly-wrapped bales of wheat aside so they could set her down.
Tria passed out after a few minutes of heavy, gulped breathing and panting. Miria spent a few minutes gazing at her as she stood beside the door. Even without consciousness, her expression was pained. Every moment of pain just reminded Miria of her failure.
Miria closed her eyes and pushed the door ajar, walking outside. She let her feet guide her to the fields far south of the town. She walked slowly. Moving quickly, she could return to the town in just a handful of seconds.
The windswept land stretched out in all directions. Thick forest loomed in front of her-lazy fields and the town were behind her. She gazed between the many tall trees, their trunks like so many prison bars. There was a certain soothing effect to being alone, with only nature to gaze upon her, gentle and unassuming.
"Commander," Hilda said softly, walking to her side.
Miria glanced to Hilda. "I don't like to lead," Miria said coldly, glancing to the trees. No one ever seemed to notice that point. Miria supposed that she hid it too well for them to notice. It was harder to hide things from Hilda.
"You're a very good commander, Miria."
"Not as good as I need to be."
"You saved us."
Miria grimaced. "I endangered you all and a girl lost her leg fighting a battle I should have handled myself."
"Tria knew what she was signing up for. We all did." Hilda said, frustrated that Miria wouldn't look at her. "You saved my life. Does that mean so little to you?"
Miria looked at her in annoyance. "It means something to me, but I have a responsibility for everyone on the field-not just you."
"You don't have to carry the burden alone." Hilda smiled gently. "I'm here for you."
Miria shook her head. "I don't need your help. Tria does," Miria said stiffly, looking away.
Frustration flashed over Hilda's features, but she let it pass. "All right," Hilda replied before walking back to the town.
Miria sighed heavily, looking back out into the woods. She wondered what it would be like if she didn't have to be so strong all the time-If perhaps she could let her walls down just long enough to smile, laugh, embrace Hilda and kiss her. It was a pleasant, yet unrealistic thought.
Day had not yet fallen when Miria returned. A gray tint had settled over the town. The sun had passed from the sky, but enough lingering light remained to see. Entering the mill where the Claymores were gathered, Miria walked over to Tria to find her conscious. Miria walked to her side, while most of the Claymores watched.
"The worst has passed?" Miria asked.
Tria nodded sluggishly. "I'll be fine, Commander," she rasped. Miria reached, grasping Tria's hand, giving it a strong squeeze.
"You fought well." And I'm sorry.
"I can lend Tria a leg. I'll regenerate one in under a day," Sierra proposed. Many Claymores smiled at the idea. It was a simple solution. Tria wouldn't need to live another day as a cripple.
"It's unfortunate, but we can't spare the delay," Miria said.
There were a few murmurs, but no open dissent. Still, Miria could sense that most did not agree. "When we liberate the training facility, the first order I will give is to send you back here, Sierra," Miria promised. "From there, the Organization's defeat will be certain."
Miria gave Tria a pouch of Yoki suppressants that she'd stolen in their raid of the southern Yoma-production facility. If she took them, she'd be invisible to any of the Organization's scouts.
The girls took what precious little sleep they could afford. They were accustomed to low amounts of sleep, so they all woke up before dawn without problem. The dim light had just started to glow when Miria set out at the lead of her column.
They had nearly reached the bridge at the north of the town, when Miria heard the patter of a man running behind them. The steps were sluggish and clumsy, distinctly human. She turned to see the village elder rushing out towards them. Miria halted the column. Come out to annoy me some more, I suppose? she thought.
"Sir?" she asked.
"I'd have seen you off, but we just delivered a baby."
"I see," Miria said, half-turning to leave.
"We named the newborn girl Tria," he said with a smile. "We will keep your comrade safe. And we won't forget you-any of you."
Miria smiled with pleasant surprise. "I underestimated you, sir." Miria bowed her head in a brief show of respect. The elder returned it.
Miria returned to her road, her steps considerably more light than they'd been.
"Beautiful country, isn't it commander?" Hilda asked.
"Too beautiful."