Stained Glass
Chapter 2: The Outworld Samaritan
The scent of jasmine permeated the air, sweet and strong. It hung over him, but it did not prove bothersome.
No, not when she wore it.
In fact, he savoured the scent, along with the warmth that her body gave off. Her fingers, slightly calloused yet warm, curled around his much smaller ones, guiding it over one of the many small, nearly faded black words on the dusty page.
"Read that word for me," she said, resting her chin on the top of his head; the jasmine scent wafted every time she moved.
Shifting in her lap, he squinted at the word, moving his lips soundlessly as he quietly read out the four syllables to himself.
Finally, with as much confidence that a little boy could muster, he said aloud: "Samaritan."
"Good, darling," her honeyed timbre praised. "Now read the whole line for me."
He narrowed his eyes in concentration, taking in each word – each syllable – of the complicated-looking sentence. His brothers would be able to read it easily. They would be able to make sense of its deeper meaning. Why did she have to make him do this?
"Darling, c'mon …" she coaxed. "You can do it."
Soothed by her words, he took a deep breath and read, albeit slowly:
"… a Samaritan, as he travelled, came where the man was and, when he saw him, he took pity on him."
"That's it," she said, pressing a kiss to his sandy-blonde strands. "He was a good Samaritan who helped that poor fella out of the kindness of his heart. Patched him up, took him to an inn and paid the innkeeper for extra costs and all."
He nodded. He dared not pipe up and tell her that the doddery padre had already told him the story. Instead, he just listened, breathing in the fragrant scent, wanting her to keep talking.
She did. "Your granddaddy always used to complain 'bout there being no good folks left in the world. But lemme tell you, darling, he was a walking pile of misery, that man. With him around, the good Lord knows it was no wonder that he didn't cross paths with good folk."
He felt his eyes beginning to droop. Fatigue was fast overcoming him, but he wanted to hear her speak some more.
"As it says in this blessed book here," she murmured, tapping the pages, ""there will be no mercy for those who have not shown mercy to others". Now don't let that slip from your mind, boy. You'll get a cuffin' and then some if you go against the good Lord's words."
"Mm," he mumbled, trying to hold down a yawn.
But she was not fooled. Taking the text away from his hands, she then lifted him off her lap. She leaned down to kiss his forehead, her hair brushing against his skin and the intoxicating aroma surrounding him, and she said, "Get into bed, darling, otherwise you won't be able to wake up early tomorrow morning."
"Tell me a story," he asked-cum-whined. He had to stay awake, to spend more time with her before she went off … even though she wore that jasmine scent, which he now remembered that he hated more than anything in the world. A foul, disgustingly-sweet odour that made his stomach drop whenever she put it on.
Because when she did, it meant she was ready to leave …
"Go to sleep, darling. Don't wait up for me."
The Shaolin monk's hair smelled faintly of jasmine.
The scent pierced through the cloud of copper that had surrounded both his wounded form and Erron Black as the gun-slinger emerged from the portal into Outworld. The front of his leather vest was stained with the man's blood, giving off a metallic odour. It was only when his charge's head lolled back again with a whimper that the flowery aroma made its presence known. Erron felt a pang of discomfort within his chest as he inhaled the smell. His kohl-painted eyes widened.
Jasmine? Is that jasmine? When last did I smell that?
As if to answer his question, the faded image of a woman's face appeared in his mind …
No, Black. Don't think of her, that … that hussy. She doesn't deserve a second of your thoughts, nor your mercy …
Yet the kid deserves yours? questioned another voice inwardly. After what you did to him? After everything you put him through in the past? Why didn't you just shoot him? You had a chance, like so many others, so why didn't you?
Why didn't I …?
"Ughnnn …"
The second whimper drew Erron out of his thoughts. He looked down at the monk, whose face was fast turning a deathly white colour. The dark-brown eyes flickered incessantly, although it was clear that they were losing the fight to stay open. Emitting a sound that was a mixture between a furious growl and a desperate sigh, Erron spoke.
"Junior, don't try to say anything yet," he said in a low tone as he began to pick up the pace; the portal had opened right at the foot of the palace entrance, but there was a scattering of civilians walking around, going about their business. The gun-slinger knew that he had to hurry before anyone could see them and alert the authorities.
Or worse … one of the palace guards would inform the emperor …
Erron started up the stairs, murmuring, "But you have to stay awake. You got to stay awake throughout. You hear me? Hey, Junior – Kung Jin, d'you hear me?"
Whether it was the use of the kid's proper name or the urgent tone of the mercenary's voice that managed to elicit a response from the bowman, one could not say, but the third whimper issuing past his tainted lips offered Erron a little relief, albeit emphasis on the word "little".
"Just hold on," he whispered, nearing the top of the stairs.
He needed to get him to the healer. Although Erron had enough experience to deal with gunshot wounds, he much preferred the expertise of a professional to relieve the Shaolin monk's pain. If not for the fact that he had hurriedly taken him away from a bloody scene, of which he was the cause, and if not for his currently frazzled state of mind, the former Earthrealmer would have sorted out the wound himself.
But the only thing I can do is try and keep him awake. Keep him talking, when he's become more able.
He ain't dying on me just yet …
The jasmine scent was all too vile.
Reaching the top of the stairs with a puff, Erron staggered forward, thinking of a way to get the Earthrealmer to the healing chambers without being seen by the inhabitants of the palace …
Oh, hell no.
… but it was apparent that today was definitely not his day.
Stopping in his step, Erron could not help but tighten his grip on the bowman's body when he saw three figures emerge from the depths of the palace. Two of them were soldiers, dressed in the guise of Osh-Tekk warriors. They hardly posed a threat: they, like their virtually identical comrades, were merely lambs to the slaughter, as far as Erron was concerned.
However, it was the third person walking with them that made the mercenary feel cold.
Sandwiched between them, walking at a more slow yet firm pace, was a thin figure. He was dressed in red and black, a hood over his head which partially covered a green amulet-like jewel on his forehead. His face was covered with scant bandaging, and his skin was light-brown and creased, as if it were in the throes of rotting: to be blunt, he was literally a dead man walking. From that decomposing visage glowed bright green eyes, which were slightly narrowed as they honed in on Erron and the person in his arms. A frown was also playing on his thin lips.
"Black," he said, stopping a few centimeters away from the Outworld cowboy, the soldiers doing the same. His voice was gravelly, deep and resonant as if he were speaking on behalf of a thousand men, if not more. Confusion was evident in his timbre.
"Ermac, now's not the time," said Erron, trying to keep his own voice steady and low.
Ermac's eyes narrowed further.
"We were informed by a guardsman at the watch-tower that a portal had opened up at the palace anterior with two bloodied individuals exiting from it," he rumbled. "They were seen to be making their way inside the palace perimeter with a seemingly sinister intent."
The construct paused, casting a glance at the Shaolin monk who was breathing wispy breaths. "We did not expect to find it was you, Black. And with one of the Thunder God's emissaries, too …"
"I'll explain later," Erron replied, "but right now I need to get the kid to the healing chambers."
He made a move to go forward, but a raised, gloved hand from Ermac and the unsheathing of two swords made him stop.
"Black, we need an explanation," the ghostly figure intoned. "Why have you brought the Earthrealmer to Outworld?"
"Get out of my way," Erron growled, his voice rising.
"This cannot go unexplained, mercenary," responded Ermac. "We shall ask you again: why have you brought the Earthrealmer in his current state to Outworld?"
"And I said get out of my way!" Erron exclaimed before using his shoulder to push his comrade.
Ermac stumbled to the side, allowing the gun-slinger to stride forward. The soldiers made a move to attack, but they hesitated when he shot a cold, hard look in their directions. They could only stare at him through their masks – most likely with scared expressions etched on their countenances – as he began to leave them in his wake.
There's no time to waste.
Junior doesn't have any more time …
As he entered the palace, making his hurried way down the corridor that would lead him to the healing chambers, Erron noticed that the Shaolin monk's eyes were closed so he lightly shook him.
"Junior, hey," he muttered gently. "Hey. Don't go to sleep on me now. Stay awake."
"Mmm," the younger man moaned, his closed eyes shutting tighter. To his carrier's alarm, a fresh rivulet of blood bubbled over his bottom lip, running down his chin.
Damn it! "Hang on, kid, we're nearly at the healer's. Hold on."
"Erron Black!"
Erron cursed inwardly as he recognised Ermac's voice calling from behind him. There was a flurry of footsteps – as flurried as it could be for the construct, given his normally slow gait brought on by personal suffering – and he knew that Ermac was now right behind him.
"This cannot be overlooked," he said over the mercenary's shoulder, a tinge of – what was it? – anxiety in his tone. "You have brought the Earthrealmer to the palace, no doubt without the emperor's permission."
"To hell with the emperor!" Erron barked. "And go on with you while I'm at it!"
"The Shaolin monk is dying."
A statement, rather than a question, but it did nothing to soothe Erron's nerves.
"Keep trying to stop me, ghosty, and he will die," he hissed.
The blood on his vest ran down onto his black pants, soaking the material …
"Did you do this to him?"
"Save the inquisition for later, will you?" Erron shot back.
The blood on his knee-pads dripped onto the fabric of his pant-legs …
"Why be foolish enough to bring him here when you could have killed him?"
… yet even the copper odour, strong though it was, could not contend with the power of the jasmine scent.
And it was the latter which worried Erron Black the most.
Go to sleep, darling.
Don't wait up for me.
"Bla …"
The uttering caught both Erron and Ermac's attention.
The Shaolin monk's bloodied mouth parted for the fifth time, and yet another crimson outpouring made its way over his chin, dripping down his neck and collar-bones. His hand, swinging limply, clenched involuntarily.
Erron swore aloud, which took Ermac aback. The soul collective knew that the former Earthrealmer could be volatile, but never was he one to emit outbursts such as he did now. It was not like him to get this upset – at least, not in his or their comrades' presence. In comparison to, say, Reptile or Ferra/Torr, Erron Black was level-headed and quiet – obstinate, yes, but not prone to fits of emotional effusions.
Ermac watched as the gun-slinger began to say to the Earthrealmer in hushed tones laced with panic, "No, no, not now, Junior. Just keep quiet for once in your life and stay awake. You have to be awake."
The man's limp hand, the construct noticed, rose slowly, as if to reach out to touch his bearer, but the movement proved futile as it flopped back down again.
"What spell does he cast on you?" Ermac whispered.
That utterance did not escape Erron's hearing. Behind his mask, he felt an uncomfortable heat blooming across his cheeks. His mouth opened to say something, but it quickly closed again. Normally when he felt like this, he would reach for his guns, steadying his fingers on the triggers or on the handles. This action soothed him, but in this case, all he could do was dig his fingers deeper into the Shaolin monk's clothing. He gazed down at the pale face contorted in agony.
Why, Black? Why didn't you kill him? You're only prolonging the inevitable, aren't you?
He will die. You promised the Kahn that he and his friends would be eliminated. He could have died much quicker, but now … now he will suffer for your actions.
Mercy is too good for you …
"Black," Ermac murmured.
Erron looked up and stopped in his tracks. There in front of him was the door leading to the healing chambers. His heart beating with a sense of relief, he looked over his shoulder at Ermac.
"Open it," he said flatly.
Ermac's orbs narrowed. The gun-slinger half-expected his comrade to refuse, to intone that he would not tolerate his behaviour for the sake of the Shaolin monk's condition. Instead, Erron watched as Ermac silently raised his right hand. A faint green aura surrounded it, and it glowed brighter as he clenched it into a fist; when Erron turned back, he saw that the doorknob was encased in a swirl of green energy. With a small twist as the construct jerked his wrist, the door clicked opened.
Erron looked back at Ermac, who lowered his hand with a frown on his face.
"Thanks, ghosty," he muttered.
"The emperor must be made aware of your transgressions, Black," Ermac said simply and unemotionally.
The former Earthrealmer did not deign to reply to that. Instead, he hurried into the chambers with his charge and, without looking back at the dead man's face, kicked the door shut with his leg.
Transgressions … several letters long of "sins" …
She would have said so …
"Anyone in here?" Erron called out, dismayed to hear that his voice sounded horribly vexed.
Without waiting for an answer, the mercenary carried the Shaolin monk to the nearest bed and gently laid him down. The younger man groaned, his chest rising and falling too rapidly. Erron feared a spinal injury being aggravated, but he could not tell if there was one in the first place. Shortness of breath and the blood running from his mouth suggested that a lung was damaged.
Where the hell is the healer?!
Removing his hat and throwing it swiftly to goodness knows where, Erron placed his fingers on the side of the bowman's neck. The skin was cold and clammy, and the pulse beat weakly beneath his fingertips.
He's already lost a lot of blood. Dunno how he's still alive because that bullet was meant to kill him.
Tough little s***, aren't you, Junior?
Erron heard the skeet-skeet! of footsteps, and he looked up to see the palace healer hurrying towards him.
"I heard you calling, Mr Black, and came as quickly as I could," he said.
His eyes fell on the bleeding form. "Is this someone who requires medical attention?"
"I think the gaping hole in his chest kind of speaks for itself," Erron barked. Mentally telling himself to calm down lest he said or did something he would regret, he continued in a steady manner:
"Bullet went in through the chest. No sign of an exit wound. Might be a sucking chest wound with the lung possibly being damaged. Start getting his vest and undergarments off, I got to do something first."
He grabbed the knife that had been dangling next to his sand grenades that hung off his belt and practically threw the weapon into the stunned healer's hands. Nevertheless, he regained his senses and began to do what he was told, using the blade to cut the straps that secured the armour plate to the younger man's left arm.
Meanwhile, Erron ran to the door. Seeing the key in the hole, he turned to lock it. The mercenary knew that a mere locked door would not keep his compatriots away for long, but it would buy him and the healer time. That, and it gave Erron a sense of security.
We can't be interrupted.
Kotal Kahn will have my head.
Erron made his way back towards the bed, where the healer was beginning to cut through the bloody vest held by a metal ring. Once the fabric was cut, the ring no longer holding the garments, the Outworld cowboy reached out and teared the garment off the monk's body. The left side of his chest was exposed, red where the blood had painted it.
The healer cut through the remaining half of the vest, and Erron promptly teared that off as well. His whole upper body was now exposed, the fair skin cloaked in a light coat of crimson. The bullet wound could be seen in its entirety. Blood steadily poured out of it, a vermilion river. Then, Erron took hold of the kid's head and lifted it, allowing the healer to remove the bead and teeth necklaces: cutting them, especially the bead necklace, would be a messy affair and cause problems if cut wrong.
And he'd kick my ass if I broke 'em.
"You're gonna be fine, Junior," he whispered, gently laying the kid's head down on the pillow; the jasmine aroma wafted as he made the movement. "You hear me – you'll be fine."
And then, without thinking about it, Erron pressed his thumbs against his freckled cheeks, rubbing them softly. The healer watched the display silently, not deigning to speak even when he passed him a cloth to wipe the man's bloody mouth clean.
"Does the emperor know about this?" he asked quietly.
Erron looked up at the healer with burning, azure-blue eyes, his mask no doubt hiding a scowl.
"The kid's my responsibility," he replied sharply. "He's not the emperor's concern."
"I see," the other man murmured.
Gathering a roll of bandages from off a tray next to the bed, Erron watched with his narrowed, painted orbs as the healer cut off a large square piece and, using the palm of his hand, pressed the bandage against the wound, applying pressure to stem the blood-flow.
The Shaolin monk's eyes flickered open, and an unholy wail passed his lips, nearly making Erron and the older man jump out of their skins. It sounded akin to an animal being flayed alive if that were possible. His hands flailed, clenching and unclenching as the pain seared through his body.
"Aunnngh!" he hollered. "Heeughh!"
"Keep that bandage on him," Erron ordered firmly before turning his attention to the patient, whose hazy dark-brown eyes held pain and fear.
Those eyes, so unlike their fiery appearance in the encounter at the Kove …
They were not going to be open for long, nor hold any semblance of consciousness. The latter, Erron could not afford to let that happen.
"Stay with me, Jin," he soothed, taking hold of one of his hands, grimacing as those slender fingers dug into his skin with fierce intensity. "Ten more minutes. You can take it. Just ten, I promise you. Stay with me."
"Mmmgh …"
A single tear ran down the kid's cheek. His grip loosened somewhat, but his fingers curled around the bigger fingers of the mercenary with a softer touch. "Bla … ack …"
"Keep your eyes on me, and don't try and fall asleep," Erron hummed, brushing the tear away with his other slightly calloused thumb. "I'll keep talking to you so long as you stay awake."
The former Earthrealmer was unsure that the kid could hear him, but he must have registered the message just as well through his touches, for his eyes fluttered upwards and met his.
"Bl … ac … no … nooo …"
He turned his face away, his eyes scrunching closed once more. To Erron's alarm, fresh tears ran down his cheeks. They came down strong as he tried to pull his hand back, to no avail.
"He's bleeding much faster now," the healer piped up, quickly cutting another bandage strip to place over the old one. "He's working himself up and it isn't doing him any favours."
"Junior, calm down," said Erron, trying his best to keep his tone low and soothing. "You're hurting yourself. You're in safe hands, don't worry."
He rubbed the monk's knuckles with his thumb. "We're not going to hurt you."
"Nooo … nooo," the Earthrealmer whimpered, shaking his head. The jasmine scent showered upon Erron with every shake. "Stuh … stop …"
The fingers began to go limp …
"Damn it, no," Erron seethed, his heart dropping as the shakes began to slow and suddenly cease. "No, no, stay awake … talk to me …"
Don't wait up for me …
"C'mon, kid, answer me. Don't go to sleep now. Jin, c'mon."
… otherwise you won't be able to wake up early tomorrow morning.
BANG-BANG! BANG-BANG!
"Erron Black! Open up the door immediately!"
Both Erron and the healer looked up when they heard the deep, powerful rumble on the other side of the door. They shared an uneasy glance.
"Mr Black -" the healer started.
"Don't you dare take your hand off that wound," Erron cut him off lowly, his eyes flashing dangerously. "Don't you dare."
BANG-BANG! BANG-BANG!
Each knock was like a gunshot.
"Erron Black," Kotal Kahn, the Outworld emperor and the gun-slinger's employer, called out again. "I demand to be let in at once! Open the door before it is smashed in! Elder Gods curse you, OPEN IT NOW!"
The Shaolin monk's hand slipped out of the Outworld cowboy's, still and cold.
A/N: Guest - I hope this chapter answered your question. Hopefully I'll keep going at a faster pace, but we'll see. :)
Jackie - Thanks, hun, glad you found the first chapter to your liking - I hope you found this one alright, too! :D It'll get better in the next chapter ... maybe ...
Thanks to everyone who reviewed, faved and followed this story, you're all fantabulous! :D And my apologies for updating this story so late, my workload had been hellish, particularly in the last week. T_T But writing this chapter was a great relief (at the expense of my poor Shaolin baby, but still). Whatever I couldn't fit in here will be in the next chapter. Poor Jin ...
Reviews are welcome!
*~AI07~* :)