Chapter 2
"Please! Have mercy!" the woman pleaded. "You're not like other Yoma! I heard you talking to that human! Please! You're reasonable! You have a conscience! Please have mercy!"
"Who is this?" the boy weakly asked Priscilla. It appears he still couldn't see.
"Just a thief." she answered.
"Don't-" Before the boy could finish his protest she stomped on that woman's head. It collapsed like a watermelon.
"No!" he shouted.
Priscilla flinched. His head was resting above her shoulder and his mouth was right next to her ear.
"Why did you do that? She was begging you!" His breathing was ragged. He wanted to say more but couldn't. Raising his voice strained him.
She didn't answer. She started to walk towards Rabona. Maybe she should have made the execution more clean. He might of been less shocked, and her pants wouldn't have been as dirtied.
"Why?" he asked softly, after he regained his breath. "I thought you said you were sorry?"
What did that apology have to do with anything? This was a different issue.
"I don't want the organisation to chase us." Her face still betrayed a hint of the derision she showed that Claymore.
"What do you mean?" he asked.
Did she really have to spell everything out for him? She couldn't be bothered. Besides she wasn't in a talkative mood. She was still irritated after being denied her memories.
The walk was now a light run. The quicker she could get him treated, the better. After his question was neglected he didn't say anything more. And she didn't speak a word either. She travelled along the dirt path in silence.
Around twenty minutes later she turned her face to check his condition. He had passed out. The warm air that rhythmically brushed her neck showed that he still drew breath. She didn't want him to die. She didn't want her efforts to be a waste. She kept running.
Some more time had passed, probably less than she imagined. The stone walls of Rabona were in view. She slowed her pace and she retracted the appendages that tied the boy to her. She wouldn't have been able to get him fixed if humans figured out she was a Yoma. She leaned forward as she walked so the boy wouldn't fall from her back.
A part of her was irked that she found herself in this ridiculous position. But another part thought it was somewhat fun. At least it was better than aimless wandering.
When she had left him in that bloodied town, the sky was without clouds and it was bright. Now it was grey. It threatened rain. She walked towards the entrance. The road was no longer dirt but cobblestone. The blood that coated her naked feet had stiffened. She felt her load slipping. She quickly leaned to the right to prevent its fall. It was stable again. It was tough to keep him balanced without her wires. With a small jerk of her upper body she adjusted him and then continued towards the entrance.
A woodsman wielding an axe was leaving the city. He walked by her. She caught his furtive glance. Nothing came of it. She carried on towards the wall, and he away from it.
She was under the stone frame of the gate. This place was unlike the barren road she had been on until now. There were people idling, strolling, talking, vending. She noticed more and more gazes fall upon her. Some were more discreet than others. She waded through the bodies. The ones that noticed her stepped out of her path. She wasn't sure if it was out of concern or fear.
She saw that some ladies had raised their hands to their mouths and the men threw sideways glances. She heard whispers.
"Is that man dead?"
"Were they attacked by Yoma?"
"Poor girl, she's carrying a corpse."
"Someone help her."
"How filthy."
She had spent enough time travelling with Isley and the boy to know a bit about stigmas in human society. Those that were attacked by Yoma became not victims but leprous pariahs. She expected no help. She just had to find a healer.
"Hey you!" She felt a thick hand grab her shoulder.
She stopped and turned. It was a burly and tanned soldier. He had a scar across his nose.
"What happened?" He demanded. "Were you attacked? By Yoma? Was it by bandits?"
She nodded.
"Which is it?"
"What's going on here?" She heard another voice. It came from behind the large man. It was another soldier, but this one was of a smaller build, with lighter skin and lighter hair.
"Sir!" The larger man saluted, and then relaxed. "It's just that, these people, I think they were attacked on the way here."
She felt her temper knocking at her chest. She was in a rush and these people stood in her way.
The smaller man stepped towards her. Although he was the shorter of the two soldiers, he still stood a forehead above her. His eyes met hers. She looked down. Her headscarf guarded most of her features. She was not sure, but she felt that man's eyes pass over the whole of her figure. Was he suspicious of her? Did he somehow know she was a Yoma?
"Shit!" he hissed. Her eyes flicked up. "I know that guy." He grabbed an arm of Raki. "Joseph, help me get him on my back, he looks terrible."
She was hesitant to relinquish the boy, but her hesitation did not last long. She understood that it would be strange for a bloodied, barefooted woman to refuse help from an able-bodied guard.
"Could you walk?" asked the light-haired man who now had the boy on his back.
She nodded.
"Joseph, get back to your post. I'll take this one to the physician." The light-haired man started to jog. She kept pace behind him.
"I'm guessing you ran into Yoma?" He gestured to the rods that were dug into the boy's back. "Bandits don't do this."
She nodded. They kept running. They passed through several streets and alleys without speaking. The gazes of strangers were incessant. They stopped before a modest, rectangular building constructed of wood. It had a single floor and it couldn't have been more than three metres tall.
The light-haired man pushed open the lone door on the building's front. She followed him inside. It was a narrow, Spartan room. There were a couple of wooden chairs beside the door through which they entered. At the far end there was a desk, and behind it was a bespectacled man with thinning and graying hair. Despite the lack of furnishings, the room still felt cramped.
"Doctor!" said the soldier."This is an emergency!"
The bespectacled man turned his head, assessed his guests, and then he dropped his paper on his desk and rushed over.
"What happened?" he asked.
"These two," the soldier gestured to her and the boy. "They were attacked by Yoma."
The older man circled the soldier. It appears he was inspecting Raki.
"Oh dear," he said, "those things really got to him."
The doctor focused on her. He had hardly looked at her for a few seconds before he turned back to the soldier. Perhaps she was mistaken, but she thought she saw his face harden before he turned away.
"Please hurry," he told the soldier, "bring him to my station." Apparently there was another door at the corner of the lobby. She was the last to enter it.
They were in a second room. It was even more cramped than the first. At one corner there was a bed, and it was so narrow it could only support a single man. At an adjacent corner there was a desk, and on it there was all sorts of metal tools, and cloths, and liquids in containers.
"Put him over here." The doctor pointed to the bed. "Put him on his stomach, the injuries are on his back." The soldier obeyed. The older man fetched a pair of scissors from the desk. He gently lifted the boy's shirt and placed it between the blades. "Pardon me for tearing the shirt, but I don't want to move him too much." Soon the boy's torso was bare.
"What the hell?" the doctor mumbled. He didn't indicate the source of his surprise, but she could assume it came from the piece of her arm she had stabbed into the boy. The hand had dug into his back until the wrist. She had broken it off at the forearm which rested limply on the back. The cracked bone of the forearm was visible and blood had congealed around it.
The doctor poked it with two fingers. "It looks so human."
"Stop." she said as she grabbed the arm of the older man. She pointed to the two rods in the boy's back. "Remove those first."
The doctor turned to her with an astonished face. "Please young Miss, I know what I'm doing."
The soldier was behind her. She felt him tugging her arm gently. "The doctor is a man of experience, he'll take care of this, we shouldn't bother him. Let's wait in the lobby. There are some things I have to ask you."
She ignored the soldier's urging and looked at the doctor steadily in the eyes. "Those rods are dangerous. You will take them out first." The doctor stared back at her.
She allowed the soldier to escort her into the lobby. The old man was left alone in the room with the boy and the soldier closed the door behind him. She would have liked to stay in that room, but she didn't want to say anything that would draw suspicion.
She felt the soldier pat her shoulder, "Don't worry, that man knows his field."
Perhaps the man was familiar with his field, but she doubted he was familiar with Yoma. She took solace in the fact that despite the door, she was not too far from the boy. If the doctor foolishly disobeyed her, she would be able to sense the activity of the rod's infection and she would be able to intervene. Hopefully.
"Anyways," the soldier continued, "I still didn't get your name. I'm Sid."
"...Priscilla." She would have preferred if he didn't talk to her. It would have been easier to sense those rods.
"Did you know that Raki used to be very small, I'm surprised he's taller than me now." The soldier chuckled. "Back then he used to travel with another woman,"
The scented woman?
"-and even as a brat who couldn't lift a sword he would say he would protect her." The soldier smiled, "Looks like that guy finally protected a woman."
Protect her? She refrained from laughing. She couldn't imagine a single situation where that boy could help her.
"By the way, what's your relation to Raki?" he asked. "Are you friends or just strangers who happened to be attacked by the same Yoma." He smirked. "Or did that guy get married already?"
It was hard to describe her relation to that boy. What was he to her? A carrier of the scent she sought? A source of amusement? Potential food? She didn't know how to put it into words. And even if she did it would sound strange to a human. "He's... my companion." Companion. She liked that word. It said everything about her and the boy, and yet it said nothing.
There was silence and then at length the soldier broke in, "Well anyways, I have to return to my post, but after the doctor's done with Raki, get yourself checked too."
"There's no need."
"Just do it, it looks like you got roughed up too. You shouldn't take a chance even with small injuries. Anyhow, take care, but if you need anything come see me." He started to walk away. Just as he was about to leave the building he looked over his shoulder, "I almost forgot, just down this street to the left, there is a fountain where you could wash your skin. I'm sure you must hate having to walk around like that."
She nodded to acknowledge him. And then he left. She'd rather not go outside. She had to be close to make sure those rods didn't act up due to old man's stupidity. Actually, there was no reason to wait in the lobby. She stepped back into the second room. The old man noticed her open the door and he gestured for her to get out. She ignored him and moved herself to the corner furthest from that man and the boy. She wouldn't be in the way over here. The old man glared at her but she didn't budge. After a few seconds he seemed to concede and he went back to his work. He was in the process of removing the first rod. The white bed sheet had many blotches of red.
How much longer would this take? She appreciated her ability to regenerate. She couldn't imagine spending so much time to heal such small wounds. The boy's torso had been wrapped in white cloth and now that old man was putting some pins into that cloth. The man sighed. "I think this should be good."
At last. She walked to the bed and bent over to see the boy's face. "When will he wake?"
"Umm...I can't say for sure, he's still unconscious, but I think he should at least be awake sometime tomorrow. In any case, even when he does wake make sure he doesn't move too much. Though I don't think he'll be in any condition to move anyways."
"And when will his body be completely fixed?"
"A full recovery?" The man paused. He was thinking. "Perhaps a couple of weeks at earliest."
A couple weeks for something like that? These wounds were such a hassle.
"Umm" The man was playing with his fingers. "This will cost nine beras."
But she didn't have any those rods. When she was with Isley and Raki, Isley took care of their money. And after she separated from Isley, Raki took care of the money.
"I have none."
Worry momentarily flashed across his face before he strained a smile. "It's alright, it happens. Can you pay at a later date?"
She didn't know how to deal with this man. She wasn't responsible for these things. "I don't know." she answered.
"It doesn't have to be right away. Perhaps in a few weeks? Could you give me your residence in this city so I can pick it up later?"
Her eyes were locked with his. "We have no residence in this city."
"Oh you're visitors?" He was getting increasingly nervous. "You could give me your residence in which ever city you're from. I'm sure I could have someone pass by one day to collect it."
This man was so insistent. "We have no residence anywhere."
His facade disappeared. His lips pressed into a thin line and he shook his head. "Bunch of vagabonds" he muttered. "You know, when I saw your appearance, your dragging and torn pants, and your drooping linen shirt, I suspected you were beggars. And against my better judgement I didn't turn you away. If you showed some humility in your poverty I wouldn't have been so upset. But you, you take from me, a struggling man, and then stand tall with your head high and say 'I will not pay'. You miserable woman, are you not embarrassed?"
She smiled at this man's luck. If she didn't want to keep a low-profile she would have ripped his tongue from his throat. That is not to say she was upset, she wasn't so thin-skinned. She just thought he was insolent.
His lips quivered. "What are you laughing at you shameless woman?"
She didn't reply. She looked at him with an unflinching gaze.
"Get out!" He walked to the door and thrust it open. "And take him with you!"
This man was very unpleasant. She had an urge to plunge her hand into his stomach and scramble the innards.
She sat on the bloodied bed, and with care she got the boy onto her back. She made her way towards the exit. When she passed by the doctor she stopped and turned her head to look at him. He was glaring at her and shaking with anger. That man's contempt peeved her. She stared at him. It would be so easy.
She turned away and then walked out of the clinic.
The sun had set and the city was dark. The only light came from the moon and from cracks in the curtains of houses. It was raining. Her clothes and skin were wet.
The boy still laid unconscious on her back. She didn't know where to stay. While she travelled with the boy he would usually take care of their lodging. She noticed an alley between two tall buildings. A few thin balconies jutted from the walls. Less light reached this alley than even the street. It was perfect. The balconies would shelter them from the rain and the darkness would shelter them from the eyes of any passerby. She walked into the alley. It was narrow. If she spread her arms she could touch the walls on either side. She walked down the path until she found the balcony under which it was most black. This place would be good enough, at least for tonight. That man said the boy would wake tomorrow. When he did, he would handle their housing.
She lowered herself to the ground and carefully laid the boy down next to the wall. She put him on his stomach and his cheek pressed against the coarse stone floor. His comfort didn't matter, he was unconscious. The wall was to his left and she laid down to his right. She laid on her side and she was facing him. Over the years this had become a habit. She enjoyed falling asleep to a pleasant scent. Admittedly, the scent had lost some of its charm after the disappointment of its source. But that is not to say the scent was bad. It still pleased her. Perhaps she still liked it because she was accustomed to it.
She used her arm to cushion her head. It would take a while to fall asleep. She watched him. How many nights had she spent like this? Too many. Memories were merciful in that they did not allow a person to clearly remember pain. But she knew over the years there were nights she lay awake due to the agony of starvation. And during those nights that boy would have been inches from her, in a peaceful sleep and emitting that tempting smell. She didn't know how she managed such self-denial during those times. But she knew why did. She believed he was the key to her memories. Now that she knew her mistake, he longer enjoyed that security. Regardless, at this time she had no intention to eat him.
But still, she had always wanted to experience the taste of the meat that had such a smell. Just one bite would be enough. This was the best opportunity. He was unconscious so he wouldn't even know, much less resist. It was hard to see but she could still identify the parts of his body that were bare. The arms, the neck, and the face. Just one morsel. That's all she would take. Just skin wasn't enough, and she disliked bone. Muscles were nice. Her fingers trailed and pressed against his right arm, then his cheek, and then his neck. She stopped her fingers at the point where his neck transitioned into the shoulders and the back. This was good. It was fleshy, and soft, and there was muscle.
She raised herself and she sat on his lower back. She made sure to avoid the wounds. Her knees were on the stone floor on either side of him. Most of her weight rested on her knees. If someone were to pass the alley at this moment, they would only see the oddity of one shadow sitting on top of another. She grabbed his head and tilted it to the side. Just one bite. Saliva was building in her mouth. Was she hungry? No. It was just her body reacting to a long-lived desire. She lowered herself. Her mouth opened and she brought it down on the portion she eyed. She clamped her jaw. She could feel her teeth pushing against the skin. It was soft but the muscle gave it a hint of firmness. She steadily squeezed her teeth together. The skin had been cut. Some blood was seeping out of the wound and into her mouth. The blood's warmth was only enriched by the chill of the rain. She promised herself only one bite, and she was going to take her time to enjoy it. After all, when would she again get such a chance? Without releasing the flesh she had clenched between her teeth, she swallowed the small amount of blood that had accumulated in her mouth. It felt smooth against her throat. It wasn't bad. But blood alone wasn't enough to judge the taste of meat. She needed something to chew.
Her teeth dug further into the wound. At this point they had sunk far enough that she could just rip off the piece she wanted. Usually she would do just that, but in this case she wanted to limit the damage on the boy. The cut would be cleaner if she bit all the way.
She paused. Then she released her jaw's captive. There was a fire in her mind. What was she doing? Her nature demanded his flesh but her sense denied it. Did she not have reign over her urges? She already knew how easily he bled. What if he had started bleeding a lot? Given his condition such an outcome could be fatal. And then everything would have been a waste.
She laid back down on the ground with her face was towards him. What a disappointing finish. He would have been so much more enjoyable if he wasn't so delicate.
For now she couldn't have him. She still wanted him as a companion. But one day she would tire of him. And when that day came, she would finally be able to satisfy so many years of longing. She passed her tongue through her mouth hoping to find any leftovers of that vital fluid. That day would be memorable. Out of consideration for the time he spent with her she would make it as painless as she could. But she wouldn't leave a drop of blood on his bones. Some part of her, some small and embarrassing part, wanted to keep him conscious as she dined on him. She wanted to know what he would say or how he would curse or how he would plead. She closed her eyes. That was a cruel thought. She chased it away. That day was far.
She laid on the floor with her head resting on her arm. Much time had passed, but she couldn't sleep. Though the balcony under which she lay protected her from the falling rain, it could not protect her from the thin streams of water than ran along the alley floor. She passed her hand along the ground. It was all wet. She rubbed her face with the moisture on her hand. At least the water could alleviate the discomfort of the crusted blood on her skin and in her hair.
She heard voices from the bordering street. She couldn't make out the words. They were getting louder. Still lying down she tilted neck her to find the source. It was too dark to discern anything more than three silhouettes. What were they doing? They had stopped at the entrance of the alley and were talking noisily. She lifted her head to get a clearer view. That was a mistake.
"Who's there?" she heard one of them say.
The three black figures walked towards her. She stood up. They were less than a metre from her before they stopped. Even this close it was too dark to perceive features of their faces, she could only see the outlines of their body. One of them laughed. "It's just a girl!" It was a boyish voice. That voice and his height, he couldn't have been a grown man. He was younger than Raki. Probably no older than sixteen or seventeen. His two comrades seemed similar.
"Did you get chased from your house?" one of them jeered.
"Look!" another said. "She's not alone!" They laughed. It was not the laughter of children nor was it the laughter of men.
"Here." She heard a few clinks as some metal collided with the ground. "Pick it up and come with us. That man looks like he's done for the night."
These were the types of humans that even humans loathed. If a man were to pass them in the night he would feel fear. If he were to pass them in the day he would feel disgust. It was youth disfigured by misery and poverty. To others they were the goblins in the city's darkness. To her they were nuisances.
"Go away." she said with a cold gravity. After the unsatisfying conclusion with the unconscious boy, she was agitated. Their flesh could give her some relief. But it would be better if she refrained. Humans were good at noticing disappearances of their own. If she were found out it would be troublesome to move around with the boy in that condition.
"Oh, don't be like that." one of the shadows entreated. She felt a hand grip her arm.
She shoved the offending figure. It lost his footing and it landed roughly on its hip. They were fools. Not only did they disobey her but her also annoyed her. She wanted to break them against each other. She wanted to pull apart their rib cages and feed on the insides. Arrogant creatures were the most fun to torment.
One of the standing figures grabbed her shoulder.
They wore at her patience. Forget restraint! She would butcher them quietly, she would devour them quietly, and she would handle the consequences.
"Damn whore!" The shadow yelled as it raised itself with the wall's support.
"Hey!" someone shouted. It was a new voice. She had heard it before. At the entrance to the alley stood a man holding a lantern. The flame was too low, she couldn't see his face. "What's happening here?"
"Leave us!" One of the boys shouted back. "Or do you want us to come there and beat you?
"Ha!" said the lantern-bearer, "I could cut down all three of you."
The three turned towards him. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. But I don't even have too. At the sound of this whistle all the other patrols in the area will run here and stomp you three senseless. And then we'll drag you to prison."
"That fucker!" one of the shadows muttered. "We're done here" it said to its comrades. They ran towards the opposite, unguarded entrance of the alley. In seconds they had melted into the night.
The lantern approached her. "What is a woman doing here at this time?" The voice was cold. "It's not very-" He stopped. He brought the lantern closer to her face. "...Priscilla?"
She saw his features as well. It was the light-haired soldier from earlier.
"What are you doing here?" he asked. He turned his lantern towards the unconscious Raki. "Can't you afford an inn? You should've told me." He spoke quickly, perhaps even angrily. "The night street is no place for a woman."
"I am fine here."
"Don't be so foolish." He squatted before the boy. "Help me get him on my back, I know a place you two could stay."
Priscilla allowed the soldier to lead her through the knot of streets and passages. Despite the weak flame of the lantern and blackness of the roads, he seemed aware of his surroundings. After some walking they stopped before a flat, single-storey house. There was a little garden at the front. No one would describe this dwelling as impressive, but it had an air of respectable poverty. It was like the threadbare but tidy jacket of a man of few means.
The soldier rapped the front door with his knuckles. "He's a great man" the soldier told her, "A true man of God."
They did not have to wait long before the door opened. Before her was an old man carrying a candle. His head and face were without hair, and his age was betrayed by the wrinkles that crowded his forehead and surrounded the corners of his eyes and mouth.
The soldier bowed with a small incline of his head. "Father Vincent, I'm truly sorry to bother you at this hour. But these two, they were attacked on road to this city. They are penniless and I found them sleeping on the street."
"Oh?" said the old man.
"Normally, I wouldn't concern myself with these things, but it's just that," he gestured to the boy, "I remember this guy from several years ago. Maybe you do too?"
The old man extended his flame towards the boy's face. He squinted. "Of course I do. He was the young boy clinging to that woman who saved this city. Though he has certainly grown."
The soldier quietly laughed, "That's him. But the thing is, the night is unsafe and he doesn't seem to be in any condition to defend himself or this girl. I would keep them myself but my home in on the other side of the city and the barracks don't allow civilians. The church is not too far, is it possible for you to open the door and allow them to stay there just for tonight?"
The old man frowned. "But Sid, you know no one is allowed entering or leaving the church after ten."
The soldier lowered his head. "I know, I know, but I was hoping that with your word the cathedral guards would allow us to pass. Only for this one night."
The old man had a thoughtful expression. "That may happen, but I'd rather not use my position to break the rules of the church. It would set a bad example."
The soldier's eyes were downcast. "You are right," he said softly, "I'll look somewhere else."
Priscilla suppressed a smirk. The soldier's disappointment was palpable. In front of him stood his great man, his man of god, a man who was apparently too righteous to open a door. She didn't mind his refusal. She was content to stay in the alley with the boy. That dark passage would be as safe as any room.
"You don't have to do that." said the old man, "I can't open the church, but I can open my home."
The soldier beamed and his eyes again had energy. It was as if his faith had been restored. "Thank you, Father, truly! You're too kind!"
"No need to thank me, I couldn't call myself a priest if I turned away this unfortunate pair."
She was alone in a room with the boy. He was prostate on the bed. The soldier had left and the old man had gone to see him off. It wasn't a large room. There was a small window on the wall opposite the door. Along the wall to the right of the door stood the bed. And along the left wall there was a thin desk with a lit candle and a chair. The room was dim, the only light came from the candle's flame.
The bed did not appear able to fit two. She sat on the floor and leaned her back against its leg. The old man returned.
"I'm sure you're tired." he said. "You can take my bed. It's in the room right over there." He gestured somewhere. "I'll watch over the young man for tonight."
"I'm fine." Her voice wasn't harsh, but it wasn't soft either. It had no trace of the gratitude a poor man would feel for his benefactor.
"No need to be shy. That bed will do more good for you then it would for me."
"I'm not being shy."
The old man laughed. "I suppose if you have your heart set on looking after the young man, I won't be able to persuade you otherwise."
She had no plans to spend the night looking after him, he was under no threat. She just wanted to fall asleep in the range of that scent. This wasn't the ideal position but it would have to do. Besides, her body was not so delicate that it demanded a mattress of straw. Beds of stone or wood were not uncomfortable.
"I'll keep you company so you don't get bored." the old man added. "And if you ever get tired, the bed in the other room will always be free. Don't worry about him, I'll keep vigil here." The priest left the room and then returned after a few minutes with a small chair in hand. He set it by the door and then settled into it.
"You could use that seat if you'd like." He pointed to the wooden chair beside the desk.
"I'm fine." she repeated.
"You're name is Priscilla, right? That's what Sid told me."
She gave a small nod without glancing at him.
He did not say anything more. The room was quiet. The only sounds that can be heard were the soft hums of the bugs in the garden or the occasional movement from her or the priest. Many minutes passed this way. She liked that the old man could discern when his conversation was not welcome.
The old man broken the silence. "You're clothes, they are torn. Since I'm just sitting here, let me mend them. It'll help pass the time."
"Don't concern yourself."
"No, no, for my sake. Allow me to be selfish. I would be bothered if a young woman left my home in a tattered outfit when I could have easily relieved her." The old man was off his chair and fumbling in the room's sole closet. He withdrew what seemed to be a large folded blanket, and he dropped it by her side.
"I'll be right back with a few tools. You could wrap yourself in that while I work on your clothes." The priest had passed through door before she could reply.
She understood that the man was trying to help her, but she didn't like being hounded on an issue. She supposed she could comply, the trailing and ripped pant legs made walking more difficult than it should be. They caught on random protrusions too often. She pulled her shirt over her head and tossed it near the priest's empty chair. She did the same for her pants. She was bare. She returned to her position by the bed and covered herself up to the neck with the blanket. It was warm and soft.
When had she fallen asleep? She couldn't remember. She looked around through a small crack between her eyelids. The sun was pushing through the window and it was harsh. It seems she had wrapped herself in the blanket and laid down on the floor. Her last sight before her eyes had shut was the old man noiselessly fiddling with her shirt on his lap and a pair of scissors. Her eyes scanned for him. He was no longer in the room.
She rose and the blanket fell to her feet. The boy was still on the bed. No part of his body had moved from its position the night before. Her pants and shirt were beside him. They were neatly folded and in a pile. They seemed to have been washed. She tried them on. The holes had disappeared along with the string and fabric that chased the hems. Not only that, the sleeves no longer masked her hands and the pant legs no longer bunched on the floor. That was thoughtful of that man.
Her focus returned to the boy. The bespectacled man had told her he would wake today. She shook the boy's shoulder. His features did not stir. She shook him again more roughly. She heard a laugh. She turned her head to find the source. The old man was standing at the doorframe with a tray. "Don't do that." he chided. "This isn't a sleep from which you can force him out."
The priest approached her and handed her the tray. On it were a bit of milk in a metal tumbler and a piece of bread the size of her fist. "It's not much, but I hope it's enough."
She wasn't unknown to human food, she just had very little of it in recent months. She brought the bread to her mouth. It no longer seemed so offensive. Perhaps it was because her desire for humans was for a time satisfied. Her hunger for flesh was like a man's thirst for water. When a man's throat was parched and he really wanted water, nothing else would do.
"Do you hear that?" the priest asked.
There was a noise. It was barely audible. It sounded like a cart.
"It's the tumbrel," the priest continued, "it passes every two weeks at this time, unfailingly carrying men to the noose. It's an ominous sound, I chose this residence so that it would not escape me."
"Do you enjoy that sound?" she asked him.
"Of course not!" the man was taken aback. " It's a reminder of this city's state and its suffering."
What a confusing notion. To seek and surround yourself with something you find unsavoury. It was a self-inflicted punishment.
"Why do you want to be reminded?"
"For motivation." The priest looked out the window. "Did you know, just a few weeks ago a young man stole a loaf of bread. It wasn't for himself. For this he was given six years in the prison castle. Six years for a loaf. Then he tried to escape. An additional ten! After another escape attempt, it was decided he was fit for execution. He may have been in the tumbrel that just passed."
"It's pitiful to die for a loaf of bread."
She could sympathize with the hunger, but not with the impotence. Survival was the highest function of any creature. A creature that could not survive by its own power could not claim life as its own belonging.
"He is to be pitied. No man should be so trampled upon." The priest turned away from the window. "I'm sorry. Where are my manners? I shouldn't force such terrible topics on a young woman. It's just that, my soul quivers when I think of that man's younger siblings with their meagre bodies who are deprived of their sole guardian and are now sitting in an orphanage."
"Why do you care for them?"
"They are people."
She couldn't understand this priest's sentimentality. She found it nauseating. This was a pathetic story full of pathetic characters.
"I was actually thinking about heading to that orphanage today, do you mind if I ask you for a favour?"
She'd rather he not.
The old man took her silence as consent. "I collected an amount of clothing for that asylum. I wanted to surprise all the children, but I'm not as strong as I once was. Could you help me carry the basket there? It shouldn't be hard with the two of us."
Her eyes wandered toward the unconscious boy. She didn't want to leave him unattended, the last time she did so she regretted the decision.
"It's not far," the priest added, "not even a ten minute walk."
She had to admit that this room was far less dangerous than that ruined town. She doubted anything would happen if she was just away from some minutes. The worst would be if he woke up and slipped into the city while she was gone. There were so many humans here. How would she find him? He would become an ant in an anthill. Then she remembered that the doctor had said he wouldn't be in much of a condition to move. That eased her concerns. Considering all things, she supposed she could comply. She didn't have much of a sense of debt, but as a thinking creature she understood the idea of exchange.
"Let's go." she said.
They were walking along the boulevard with the basket dangling between them. The old man held the right handle, and she the left. She noticed that the basket was leaning towards the old man. He limped with every other step. Could he not even carry his half of the weight? He was slowing her pace. She wanted this to be done as quickly as possible.
"I'll carry it."
The old man smiled. "I appreciate the concern, but this load would be too tough for either of us alone."
She slipped the fingers of her free hand into the old man's handle and then yanked the basket from him. He opened his mouth to protest but she continued to walk before he could utter a sound. It was large and awkward to hold, but it wasn't heavy. The priest caught up to her and kept step beside her. From the corner of her vision she could see him observing her with some surprise.
"That's the one." The priest pointed ahead.
It was a two-storey, rectangular building whose walls were formed by wooden panels. It was aged. The wood seemed faded and worn. It was corroding at some edges. A short palisade, up to her waist, separated the building from the boulevard. Between the building and the palisade there was a rectangular lot, partially covered in dirt and partially in grass. There were many children running around on this lot. They were fooling around with trinkets or sticks in their hands or they were dancing with each other . She didn't notice any adults among them. Actually, she spotted one. Judging by the figure it was a woman. She wore a black gown and a black head covering. She was easy to miss because she was crouched and chatting with two smiling children. The woman's back was towards her, so she could not make out her face.
Priscilla froze. She sensed something. That woman was emitting a faint Yoki. It was barely noticeable, but it was there. That woman wasn't a Yoma.
"Oh, that's Sister Latea." The old man had noticed her staring. "She's the jewel of the asylum. She's only been here a few years but the children don't part from her. Are you a sister as well? I only ask because of the scarf around your head."
She had stopped listening. She set the basket on the boulevard and briskly walked back in the direction from which she came. It was good fortune that she laid eyes on her first.
"Priscilla where-"
She ignored the old man. She continually looked over her shoulder to make sure that the Claymore hadn't turned. She hadn't; she was still engaged with the children. She only slowed her pace once the woman could no longer be seen, because that meant that she wasn't at risk of being spotted either.
She was very proud of her ability to suppress her Yoki. As long as that woman didn't get a good look at her, her cover was intact.
She came to a stop. What the fuck was she doing? Did she just run away from someone? She grit her teeth. Rage and indignation clouded her thoughts. She remembered the way in which those three shadows from the night had fled from the soldier. Were her actions equal to those of those insects? She had an urge to walk back to that yard and tear that woman's head from her shoulders. That would soothe her anger.
Then she remembered why she had walked away. It was the boy's fault. She could not move freely while his wounds were still open. He was like a fragile weight attached to her leg. When his body was fixed, he'd still be a fragile weight, but he'd be a bit less fragile. Then she would be able to move him easily without worrying about him getting bloodied from the weakest jolt.
Ideas for that day were already passing through her mind. When the boy's body was fixed and they were leaving the city, she would momentarily leave him at the gate. Then without his knowledge she would give that orphanage another visit, and she would slaughter that woman. It was the least she could do reverse the disgrace. Just a little waiting, she could handle that.
She was content with the compromise and she resumed her walk towards the old man's house.
She reached her lodge. Through sporadic glances she had confirmed there were no pursuers. She must have looked like some jittery thief. She couldn't tolerate the idea.
She pushed open the door behind which the boy slept. But he was no longer sleeping. He was sitting with his back against the headboard of the bed. His torso and arms were visible while his lower half was still hidden under the white sheet. He noticed her. She had the impression he wanted to say something but he remained silent. His eyes dropped without a word and his gaze returned to the featureless covering that masked his legs. She took six steps towards him with a casual indifference and settled into the chair at his bedside. They exchanged no greeting, no dialogue. She stared at him, and he at his sheet.
"Did you bring me here?" he asked at last.
"I did."
His hand brushed over the cloth in which the doctor had wrapped him. "Thank you for that." It was gratitude, but his voice felt uneasy. It wasn't the tone one would use with a partner of seven years, but rather with someone unfamiliar. "Where are we?" he added.
"Rabona."
Silence once more. He had not turned in her direction, and instead from his bed he was examining some unremarkable painting on the wall.
Her eyes were fixed on him.
Was he afraid? Perhaps it was silly to expect him to forget the scene in the town and behave as he always did.
"About the town," she started, "I -"
"It's alright Priscilla." His voice was calm but his body betrayed anxiety. "I haven't forgotten what I told you. I'm just as responsible for their deaths."
Oh please. His claim made a mockery of the notion of responsibility. It was even a bit insulting. It suggested that he held some power over her and that she held little power over herself. He was mistaken on both accounts. She didn't like his delusion, but she supposed she could allow it to pass as long as it was for her benefit.
"Did you..." he was hesitant, "hurt anybody else? After I blacked out, I mean."
"No." This was the truth, but he would've gotten the same answer even if it wasn't.
He let go of a breath he had held. Was it relief?
There was a lull. The boy absent-mindedly squeezed his blanket between his fingers. His gaze slowly travelled from the walls, to the floor, to the ceiling, to the door, and to any corner of the room but towards her. She stared at him all the while, but his eyes avoided a confrontation with her own. Occasionally his hands would brush over the spot on his neck where she had sunk her teeth. He would wince every time. It appears it pained him. Luckily there was no way for him to tell she was the author of that wound. It no longer even resembled teeth mark. She had gotten so deep that it took the form of twin gashes.
"I was wrong to expect you to starve indefinitely." he said, "I'll manage your hunger in some other way." He was contemplating.
So he still thought he had some say over her diet. She wasn't sure how to deal with this. It wasn't a pressing issue because she wasn't particularly hungry.
"What do you propose?" she asked. It was more out of curiosity than concern. He had no way impose his plans on her.
He turned at the sudden question. Her eyes finally caught his. She had a faint smile. She knew he didn't have an answer for the coexistence of Yoma and humans. If there was one, a man smarter than him would've found out long ago. Regardless, her gaze seemed to say "Go on, tell me, what are you going to do?".
He didn't reply and his eyes dropped back to his blanket.
"I didn't hear you." she harassed. His lips parted, but she spoke before he could give voice a word, "Maybe you could point humans for me to eat like I point Yoma for you to kill." This suggestion was in jest. It was the sort of proposal whose refusal could be laughed off as inevitable and whose acceptance would be celebrated as unbelievable.
"O-Of course not!" he stammered.
"Of course not." she repeated. Her smile grew. "Well, if death is unpalatable for you, I don't have to kill humans. I've seen humans live without an arm or a leg."
"I won't let you maim others." he said with a grave resolution.
"I wasn't talking about others. I was talking about you." She grabbed his wrist. She held it firmly. "I know that many parts of the body can be taken without killing the human. The ears, maybe an eye, the lips, the cheeks, a couple fingers, even a whole hand. Perhaps you could keep my thirst quenched as we travel. I won't have much."
He looked at her wide-eyed. "Priscilla...I can't..." With weak tugs his was trying to pull his arm out of her grip. He struggled uselessly.
"It doesn't have to be often." she told him. "Maybe a couple times a week. Occasionally more if I'm especially hungry. Let's start now."
The tugs of his arm were getting desperate. With his free hand he was trying to pry off the fingers that had curled around his wrist. It was a futile attempt. There was a vast abyss between their strength.
"Priscilla, stop this..." His face carried the hope of the child and the fear of the prisoner.
She released his arm and leaned back into her chair. She grinned. "Relax Raki, I'm joking, I'm only playing with you."
He massaged his wrist and then laughed softly. It was a broken and timid laugh. Then there was another lull. Neither he or she moved.
"Don't concern yourself with my appetite." she said after she had gotten tired of the silence. "I'm not hungry, and I won't be for a long time. Besides, I could control my urges."
He tried to smile. "You're...a bit more talkative than you used to be."
That could not be helped. In her earlier years with him, her mind was not in its best state. She was childish. And during the later years her stomach was not it its best state. It pained and exhausted her.
"And you're a lot more nervous than you ever were." She would've like their relationship to return to the way it had been. Though that is not to say she didn't enjoy watching him fidget and sweat. The sight made her ego swell. It seemed to whisper into her ear "Look at my strength! Look at my generosity!"
"Aha, you think so?"
"I do."
He took a breath. "Where did you get the new outfit?" he asked.
"The old one was torn. It was too little."
A shy but cheeky grin crept onto his face. "This new one is very unflattering. All the young boys will laugh at you."
She stared at him unflinchingly. With every passing moment his smile shrunk.
Then her shoulders shook with a soft chuckle. Her amusement did not come from his attempt at banter, but rather from the incompatibility between her humour and his. He and she were very unalike. But it was exactly this discord that was so engaging. It was as if a rabbit had laid down beside a wolf.
Her reaction relieved him of some rigidity. He laughed quietly. The anxiety had merely ebbed and not disappeared.
Some time had passed. She remained on the chair, but she had left the boy alone with his thoughts without harassment. Occasionally they would exchange one or two unimportant sentences.
She heard the front door of the little house open. It was about time for the old man to return, he had been gone for a while. The gentle footsteps approached their room. The door was pushed open. Priscilla looked over her shoulder . It wasn't the old man, but she recognized the figure. Damn it! Priscilla sprang to her feet. At the doorframe stood a woman in a black gown whose head covered by a black cowl. Her eyes were shut and a scar ran across them. There was no doubt that this was the woman she noticed earlier. But how had that woman noticed her? She was very confident that her Yoki was well suppressed.
Forget it. There was no point wasting time and thought. If that woman was standing here, it meant that she knew her nature. That's all that mattered. Priscilla's eyes travelled to the long and narrow cloth sack the woman held.
"I didn't know you brought me to a covenant." the boy said. "That was smart of you."
"Young man," the woman uttered, her eyes still closed, "can you come over here?"
"No, he can't." Priscilla answered.
"It's fine Priscilla, I'm sure I can walk a -"
She held out her hand to silence him.
The woman's lips pressed into a thin line. There was a seriousness on her face. She reached into her sack. "I guess it was optimistic to hope that you would be alone, Yoma."
"Huh?" There was confusion in the boy's expression. A slow understanding followed. "You're a Claymore?" he said.
The woman pointed at her. "And she's a Yoma."
"No, no, you don't have to worry about her!" the boy said hastily. "She is a Yoma, but she listens to me. I can keep under control."
That patronizing language nudged Priscilla unpleasantly
"So you already knew about her?" the woman asked with suspicion. "I've never heard of a human taming a Yoma. What does she eat?"
The boy opened his mouth to speak, but he hesitated, and no answer came from his throat.
"I thought so." the woman concluded. The sack she held fell to the ground revealing that common sword. "So you defend that Yoma as long as you're not the one she eats?" The woman shook her head and frowned. "At best you're a puppet or a fool, and at worst you're a selfish and terrible man."
"That's not true!" the boy said.
"Yoma, it was your bad luck to have targeted Father Vincent. If it was any other home I may have ignored you. But I could not pardon myself if I stood by as you butchered that sweet old man within his walls."
O wonderful irony! This woman knew not her own misfortune. She was a dog who, trailing the tail of a cat, had walked into the den of a lion. This woman's ability allowed her to find faintest threads of Yoki that would escape Priscilla's suppression. She would soon learn that that ability had not helped but rather betrayed her. She had spotted the water that overflowed at the banks, but she was blind to the coursing river from which it came. At this moment Priscilla's Yoki output was so minimal that she could have passed for some mediocre Yoma. There was no way this woman could accurately judge the difference in their strength. When they both bared their Yoki, that woman would be the one to curse her mistake.
The boy was speaking hurriedly and gesticulating. Priscilla did not catch a single word. Her focus was on the woman. She noticed that the woman still hadn't opened her eyes. Judging by the scar, she must have been robbed of her sight. This was going to be so easy.
With naked feet Priscilla took small, noiseless steps towards her prey. The woman raised her sword. Oh? Despite the darkness before her eyes, that woman seemed to have a keen awareness.
"Priscilla!" the boy shouted, "Stop!"
Too late. Priscilla's Yoki surged and she lunged toward the woman. The woman's face, which had housed only cold determination, was invaded by a mélange of shock and fear. Before she could settle the tumult of emotions, Priscilla was within arm's reach. In a rush the woman swung the blade at her neck. Before the blow could land, tentacle-like appendages shot from Priscilla's fingers. They struck the woman's arms with the ferocity of a wipe and the sharpness of a knife. The sword fell with a thump on the wooden floor. The woman's limbs had become stumps at the elbow. Before she could make a sound, Priscilla seized the woman's throat. She squeezed those tender muscles and bones. Neither sound nor air could flow through her throat.
The armless woman struggled. Priscilla pushed her onto the floor. A marble knee fell upon the Claymore's chest. It was fractured. And she had not released the constricted throat. With her neck and chest pinned, and the arms severed she could hardly resist. She pathetically beat against Priscilla's back with her knees. It was useless. It was more of an annoyance than anything. She couldn't put strength into her blows from this position. It was the writhing of an insect as it lay dying.
"Get off her!" the boy yelled. She ignored him.
Did this woman actually come alone? Priscilla was listening with care for the steps of any intruders. She heard none. If she had comrades they would have intervened by now. The old man mentioned that she had been here for years. In that case, it would make sense that she was alone and not with a party of Yoma hunters.
The woman tried to twist her body but the knee kept her in place. Priscilla could feel the frame of the woman's chest sinking and cracking beneath her weight.
Even stranger was the woman's charade. She had never heard of a Claymore that disguised herself continuously for years. Who was she trying to deceive?
Priscilla sneered.
There was only one reason a Claymore would remain hidden for so long. She was a deserter. Isley had told her stories about the stringency of the Organization. This couldn't have been more ideal. The Organization didn't even know she was here, and that meant they wouldn't notice if she disappeared. Her cover was safe.
"Stop! Stop!"
"Quiet Raki!" she hissed. If he kept yelling he would alert some passerby on the street. He would ruin everything.
The woman's mouth was open but she couldn't make any significant noise or draw any significant air. Her face carried a horrible expression, her limbs were flailing. Her body cried desperately for a breath. The struggle was in vain. It wouldn't be much longer now.
From the corner of her eye she noticed the boy walking towards her. His legs were shaking and his steps were laboured. As soon as he was beside them he dropped to his knees.
"Let go of her!" he yelled. "She's going to die!"
"Hush!" she hissed again. Couldn't he grasp that this was for their own good. She wanted him to understand, but he didn't, and that made her angry.
He grabbed her strangling arm. He tried to pry it off the woman's throat. He couldn't even make it budge. It was one weakness trying to help another. It was hopeless.
"Stop!" he screamed.
Priscilla's left fist connected with his jaw. His head snapped back and he collapsed onto the floor. He was motionless. Of course she held back, she didn't want to kill him. She was just worried he would be heard by a pedestrian.
He laid prone beside them. His cheek was against the floor. His eyes were glassy. There was blood seeping from the corner of his mouth. Still he held her forearm. She felt tugs. The pull was even weaker than before. It was like that of a child. At least he wasn't shouting. Actually, he wasn't saying anything. Maybe he couldn't. Was his mouth shattered?
She was struck by a tinge of pity. Maybe she shouldn't have hit him. At least not so roughly. She would be more considerate next time.
She shifted her focus back onto the woman. The blows to her back had died off. The woman could no longer resist. Her strength was exhausted. She was on the verge of unconsciousness. Just a bit longer.
Priscilla had a thought, and then she frowned. Why did it have to be so hard to stay hidden in a city? Suddenly she released the woman's neck and she lifted her knee from the cavity in the woman's chest. The Claymore greedily took in air. They were desperate and painful breaths. Then as soon as she could the woman rolled toward the wall. She wanted distance between them two. The woman was armless, without a sword, she was panting, and she struggled to get into a seated position with her back to the wall.
Priscilla was standing beside the boy who had struggled to his knees, and she watched the woman all the while.
"Do you think you would be alive Claymore, if I was some unreasonable beast?"
The woman didn't reply, but there was no doubt she was listening.
Priscilla had realized that even if she killed this woman it would not guarantee her secrecy. Even if that woman had not confided in a single person, someone must have seen her walk to this house. And if she suddenly disappeared, the suspicion would surely fall on her and the boy as the only other two persons within these walls They were also the bloodied strangers that walked into Rabona the day before.
The boy made everything a hassle! She wouldn't have such trivial worries if it weren't for his injuries.
"Want to make a deal?" she proposed to the woman. "I won't touch the old man, or any other human in this city, but in exchange you keep quiet about me."
It wasn't that she was worried about the city's ire. The Claymore could have brought every guard in Rabona to this room and she still wouldn't have won. The gravediggers would have only been happier. The problem lay with the chaos of large brawls. She wouldn't be able to guarantee the boy's life. He could die from something as silly as a stray rock or an overzealous soldier who saw him as an enemy. If it weren't for his wounds she could whisk him from place to place in the event of danger. As it was now, it could be unsafe to move him with haste.
The woman's breathing was steadying, but she hadn't replied.
"Good." Priscilla said after some inaction. She took the woman's refusal to answer as a tacit acceptance. It wasn't as if the woman could make any other choice. To refuse would be to ask for her own death. She must realize that much.
She couldn't tell what the woman was thinking; she seemed to be scowling and grimacing and stone-faced all at once. But she was confident that the Claymore would not betray her. How could she? Who would she tell? The soldiers were ants and she had no allies.
If in some folly the woman crossed her, she would make her wished she had been strangled in this room. She would tear off her limbs and she would drag the screaming trunk through the jagged roads of the city. She would pull her along until her torso had the appearance of raw meat. And only then would she take her head. She couldn't credit herself for this for this form of punishment. While she was travelling with Isley and the boy she saw it performed among humans. She was impressed by their creativity.
She noticed the watchful eyes of the boy who had not moved from her side. He was looking up at her. Both his knees and a hand were steadying him on the floor. His other hand held his jaw. Blood still lightly trickled from his mouth. Suspicion, worry, relief. His gaze was incomprehensible.
She bend down. Her lips nearly touched his ear. She whispered to deny the woman's hearing. "And you Raki, you should trust me. For your own sake."
Author's Notes:
Here is the second chapter as promised. I hope you enjoyed reading it. I do have a few ideas for a third chapter, but they are vague and without order. I guess this is what happens when you try to build a house without a blueprint. Unlike the last time I won't be able to promise another chapter, but I won't deny the possibility either. Well then, until next time, hopefully.
And one more thing, which chapter did you prefer; the first or the second? I have my own opinions, but I would like to know the thoughts of my readers.