Chapter One
Meeting Ahmari
A/N: Do you know how long this story has been in the works? I remember sitting at an airport on my way to Chicago four years ago, trying to work on this damn chapter. The first chapter is here, and I hope people enjoy it!
Also, the name Ahmari is pronounced: "Uh-mar-ee."
Disclaimer: FMA/FMA: Brotherhood does not belong to me, as it all rightfully belongs to Hiromu Arakawa. I own Ahmari, any other OCs mentioned, and this story. The cover and chapter images do not belong to me, as I found them via Google Images.
~ oOo ~
When one looks at the sky, what does one usually see? A blue view, maybe some clouds? The occasional dark cloud passes, with little to no promise of rain. The sun may shine bright, and a gentle wind may brush through the small number of trees scattered across the land. Such a vision would depend on whom you would speak with, for an individual's sky is different depending on their importance in this world. A pleasant view every day would be an open blessing, one someone wouldn't have to hide.
But the view I witness through my eyes is that of a very different picture.
The painting of smoke and a thick blanket of ash littered the once breathtaking view of the heavens. Embers burned, and any surviving victims ran this way, that way, any way they could run. The blasts of heat maneuvered quickly through the brick and stone of our ancient structures. Their screams were menacing; the pain was real, but the scent of death was inescapable. Death had fallen upon this land. The extermination of my people seemed inevitable as children, the elderly, and those who were newly married fell. One by one, upon the earth, they dropped dead, by sniper or alchemy, their eyes never again having the opportunity to look upon a beautiful, clear blue sky.
As thousands dropped dead around me, I would remember this day when I risked myself to rescue those desperately seeking survival, those wanting nothing more than to be with their loved ones, even if for just one more day. On the last day, when the Amestrian Military occupied our Holy Lands, some died for their selfish reasons, and then there was me, believing I was the last Ishvalan in my district to have survived the Civil War. Yet, where would I go?
I was now all alone.
Walking.
In the blistering sun.
And the scent of decay.
How long? My dirtied sandals beat against the sand of my homeland with each step. How far had I walked in search of survivors, supplies, friends, and family? Too long. Thinking it had only been a few days, maybe a whole week, since the Amestrian soldiers had packed their weapons and canons, taking their damned State Alchemists back to Central.
Since then, it'd just been me.
"Get out of here!"
"Father! No!"
"Take your brothers and leave! Don't come back here - AGH!"
Shaking, I cried out, my foot suddenly tripping as I fell upon the dirt. Landing against my shoulder, I was frozen, granting my exhausted body a moment of rest. One week, seven days, one hundred and sixty-eight hours. In that time, I'd witnessed destruction, buried the dead, traversed my country, and carried my life in a small pack upon my back. Managing to straighten my spine, I glanced down at my foot, grimacing when noticing I hadn't just tripped. Looking behind me, I sighed. The culprit of the attack? A broken chunk of stone was sticking upward from the earth, blood dripping from its tip.
Yep, I now had a decent gash on my foot.
Howling to myself, my vision narrowed as my foot just had to get caught; I just had to fall, and I just HAD to slice my foot. Taking a deep breath as a hand slid down the side of my face, I grabbed my only water canteen, sparing the small amount remaining in washing away the dirt, possible gunpowder, and who knows what else to see that, thankfully, it wasn't deep. Bandaging around the foot and ankle so it would be firm and not bleed out, I tenderly stood, grateful there wasn't a limp, my walk unaffected.
Breathing deeply, I stared around my surroundings. Seven days, seven years, it didn't matter; I'd been cursed from the same sight the entire time. It didn't matter which district of Ishval you traveled to in the last seven years. Sadly, they were all the same: war, death, and extermination. As the sun's rays burned into the back of my neck, I twirled around in a circle, reimagining the daily life of my fellow Ishvalans. Walking to the central market, Warrior Monks training at the temples, the Elders arranging their weekly meeting…I could envision it all.
But then…our entire world came to an end.
Our Holy Land of Ishval had once been its region, conquered and ruled by its people. It was governed by its laws and regulations, with the religious freedom to believe in our sole creator, Amestris, the country to the North-West, had increasingly grown in size and power over the last several hundred years, swallowed our home, leaving Ishval as a separate, independent sector of the militaristic nation. My fellow kin knew it was only a matter of time before civil unrest would eventually transpire, for domestic relations between my people and the Amestrians had never been supportive. Then, seven years ago, it all began. And all it took was one single bullet.
One single Amestrian soldier independently decided to blindly shoot an Ishvalan child at midday in the middle of a crowded market.
Outbreaks exploded across all districts. Immediate protests from my people in opposition to the stationed Amestrian soldiers. Riots, fights, shootings, stabbings, fires, deaths - all before the government decided to step onto our Holy Land and begin the Ishvalan Civil War. Soldiers throughout the country trekked onto our land, striking down my people one by one. Throughout all the Ishvalan districts, it was the same: soldiers rallying families, the elderly, and even children, shooting their lives away point blank in the back of their heads, only to fall in a pit grave, never to be seen again as the war raged on.
And it raged on; my people fought for six long, brutal years. Regarding militaristic power and might, we held no power against the Amestrians. Our Warrior Monks were trained in hand-to-hand combat and were known to have the combined strength of ten soldiers, but we were still in a losing battle. However, when the government decided to bring in the elite soldiers and snipers, representatives from the southern country, Aerugo, approached our Elder with a trade. The Prince agreed to offer my people weapons, supplies, and anything we might need to win the war. Accepting the Prince's offer, our Elder felt it was the people's last chance to take back what was stolen from us in the first place. He hated himself for considering taking such measures. And yet, our people lay dead in the streets.
Fathers carried their wounded wives; mothers cried over dead children; sisters were torn from each other's side. And me? I cast my head away, forbidding myself to even think of the torture I witnessed, what I experienced on my own accord.
We had the strength; we fought back. Ishvala is - was - a peaceful nation, but come between our country and its people, and we'd show our bite is worse than our bark. At least, that's how we turned the war around until Führer King Bradley released Executive Order Number Thirty Sixty-Six when the government brought in all their dogs of the military - the State Alchemists. Because now, it wasn't just a civil war to reclaim a nation. Now, it had officially become the Ishvala War of Extermination.
Every time I close my eyes, I can still see them.
One by one, the State Alchemists rolled in with their specific type of alchemy and destroyed the remainder of my homeland, killing nearly all of my Ishvalan kin. Fire, ice, water, explosions, destruction of the earth, silver weapons created out of thin air; it didn't matter, for it was all there, bringing nothing but death, despair, and grief. Six years of fighting back-to-back with rifles, snipers, and machine guns compared to one year against State Alchemists, we stood nigh a chance of survival. At this point in the war, the remaining Ishvalans realized it was to be killed or flee with a slim chance of survival. Most ran off with their friends and families. Mine…tried to do the same.
And then it was over.
All State Alchemists and Amestrian soldiers were discharged from the battlefield, returning to their homes and families. I remained here, trudging my way through everything they left behind. Ancient structures split in two, crumbling houses, streets puddled in muddied blood. The sight was deplorable, and seven years ago, I would've thrown up with utter sickness; now, I merely cast my eye away, having grown used to such a sight. Heaving a sigh, I pushed onward. There was a time to linger on the past and ignore the freshness of such raw, frustrating pain. Neither were conforming to my current situation as I wandered through the destroyed district, meandering around in search of food, supplies, or anything I could use to survive. The question I've withheld from answering is this: survive for what? In what manner of survival is left for me to take?
"I have no one left in my life," I muttered, hand searching through an unbroken crate in an alleyway. Fingers, finding nothing that could be used, I moved on, exiting the shadows into the bright sunlight.
This is how I spent these last few days. Scattering myself across Ishval, I searched for survivors, food, blankets, medical supplies, and anything that would be beneficial and could be carried in my pack. From district to district, house to house, I walked. No one by my side, I conquered the massacre of my people alone. Somehow, I would do so. For now, I would use the strength of my people. My friends. And my family.
May Ishvala grant them a peaceful slumber.
Directly above, representing midday, the sun beat down upon my head, my shoulder-length silver-white hair pulled behind my ears as my feet plopped against broken rocks. Moving in and out of abandoned houses, buildings, and tents, I meandered through the district. Fortunately, I discovered an untouched well hidden beneath a covered alcove, providing shade and a resting place. I wasn't sure how this section hadn't been destroyed, but I wasn't about to complain. I retrieved my canteens, emptied the warm water, and filled them with the cooled liquid, swallowing several large gulps. Just as my unsteady fingers twisted the second cap closed, the canteen nearly fell straight from my hands into the bottom of the well. Resonating in my ears, a sudden agonizing howl of defeat drifted across the wind, leaving me petrified.
Hairs on my neck stood at attention.
A hand clutched at my overbearing heart.
"Did I just…?" Whispering, I stepped away from the well, peering around the corner from my position. Rubbing my face, I imagined sounds or was now scared to be alone. "I swear someone yelled just now. And it was loud…" Inhaling slowly, I was the only one here; having walked through the entire district, I knew no one else was there. Grabbing my pack, I hauled the straps over my shoulders and began walking again.
With no destination in mind, my goal was to search for as many supplies as possible to survive before deciding my next plan: where would I go, where would I live? Better yet, if I wanted to remain alone or be with other people - if others would allow an Ishvalan to be in their presence. With a shake of my head, I dismissed such thoughts, making my way toward the city's edge. There were still Amestrian military tents standing, and I was sure in their quick departure, there were soldiers who quickly forgot something in their eagerness to traverse home.
"It's revenge!"
Having to hide from any sudden sounds and unexpected voices throughout the entire war, I doubt I would outgrow this fear, always assuming someone, or something, out there wanted to kill me for being a different race. Straightening once more, I quickly hid within the closest tent, peering outside the fabric door, questioning what it was I heard. Holding my pack straps against my shoulders, I muttered, "There is someone here. But who…is there still a survivor somewhere?" Taking a deep breath, I had to discover who it was. From my dilapidated building, I peered left, then right.
Not seeing anything nearby, my head tilted. Sure, the voice carried from a fair distance, the individual a mile away, if not more.
"Do you hear me?!"
Jumping in fright, I turned in circles. "All right, they're closer than I expected." Quickly maneuvering down the road, I glanced down every street and alleyway, looking for any and everything that moved. With a voice that loud, someone had to have enough strength to at least move to be found. My walking turned into a fast pace, eventually turning into a run. For seven days, I'd been fighting hunger and the Ishvalan heat, searching for supplies to live.
Most importantly? I'd been searching for survivors. Finding none, I buried the dead, giving each a proper burial and marker, praying to Ishvala for their memory to live on for eternity.
Breathing harshly stung my throat, my feet punching hardened earth as I pushed onward. I would find this individual; I would save this individual. I paused momentarily, slamming to a complete stop, taking a step backward in horror, still in the middle of a semi-large, flat crater. The same depressions were most likely from the aftermath of the Amestrian State Alchemists. Meaning I was standing in a direct position where my people were killed. I would never escape it, would I?
"I WILL SURVIVE!"
Shooting my head upwards, I scoured the area. With something flickering in the corner of my eye, I turned, and at that moment, I noticed. About half a mile or so away, on one of the cliffs overlooking the district, stood a tree burnt to a crisp; beside it, I swear, stood a figure, possibly male, collapse. One foot stepped forward as another howl roared into my ears. This time, I could deduce the direction: the cliffside.
Running through the city, I trekked over rubble, across whatever lay in the road, glancing up when I could, seeing if I could eye the person. My vision was blocked the closer I grew, which didn't help. My head was thrown back and forth as I ran. Pushing faster, my feet slid here and there as I crawled up the cliff. It wasn't steep, the ground dry from lack of rain, my hands grinding against rocks, using the outcrops as leverage in keeping my balance as I fell, finally making it to the top. Gasping for breath as if I was near death, sweat dripped down my face, yet peering towards the burnt tree, my eyes widened.
Collapsed at its base was the individual, a male, wrapped in bandages and covered in blood.
"Ohhh no, no, no!"
Rushing to the man's side, I slid, grasping his shoulders gently, when I noticed his entire chest and right arm were tightly bandaged. Smoothly, I tilted the man to his back, quickly glancing to see any other injuries. "Goodness," I whispered, noticing the blood-stained bandages wrapped around his forehead. "…what on earth have you suffered, my friend?"
Placing two fingers against his neck, I loudly exhaled, finding a steady pulse that he was still alive. Judging by the amount of blood seeping through his dressings, my eyes darted between his chest, forehead, and face. Cupping his cheek, I lightly tapped his skin, not wanting to do any more damage, knowing he needed to wake up. One or two minutes passed with the male refusing to move beside his chest, a steady pattern indicating he was breathing. Glancing between him and the buildings below, I made a hasty decision.
Standing, I switched my pack to my front, securing my arms through the straps as they rested against my chest. This wounded male needed my help. All the other survivors I had found died within minutes of me discovering they were still alive. But not him, not this Ishvalan. I did not know his story because I did not need to know it.
Biting my lip, knowing I would most likely make his injuries worse, I knelt, grabbed the male's hand, and pulled him upward. Groaning in, using all the manageable strength available, I gasped, hauling this massive Ishvalan male beside me, placing his uninjured arm over my shoulder. Leisurely, with one slow pace at a time, we made our way down the cliff. Here and there, I slid, having lost my footing against the dry earth. This male was heavy!
Peering at him from the corner of my eye, I didn't want to think how much heavier this guy was compared to me. Then again, based on those muscles alone, I'd have to guess this guy was a Warrior Monk. A slight shiver routed my body. Focus!
Back down onto the main level of the city, all my muscles groaned; straining underneath the additional weights, I faltered in deciding which way to go. Recalling where the well had been placed, I trekked to my previous location, running into dead-end after dead-end. My knees and arms shook and burned; I wasn't sure how my body hadn't collapsed. The man I carried was still unconscious; his head rolled against my shoulder as I quickened my pace. Moving in and out of alley after alley, my eyes fell upon the secluded stone well as my knees buckled underneath. Gasping as I plopped upon the ground, my grip on the male tightened, holding him close against me, not wanting his injuries to worsen because of my inability to keep him safe.
Breathing in through my nose and out my mouth, I repositioned the male, gritting my teeth with such exertion that blood pooled on the tip of my tongue. I dragged my dirt-covered sandals until the shade sheltered our forms before laying the man on the ground as gently as possible. Dropping my pack, I heaved, fanning my face as trails of sweat flew like rivers over my cheeks. Gulping nearly half of the new water in one of my canteens, I knelt, running my fingers over the man's cheek, seeing if he would wake; when no motion of flutter of his eyes occurred, I stood on shaky legs.
Turning to the buildings behind me, I looked at each one, debating which would be best. "He needs new bandages, and we need shelter." Peering past my shoulder, the whiteness of the man's hair had me biting my lip, stalling in movement. Blowing out a puff of air, I pushed forward. This man would not get better if I stood idly around, simply staring!
You know you want to stare.
Somewhere out there, God would curse me for even having such thoughts for the individual whose health I would save. Not wanting to leave him, or my supplies, alone for too long, I determined the first building I entered would be suitable until he recovered. Why? It had four walls and a ceiling and was reasonably intact, considering the area not too far off was utterly destroyed. Since this housing has an upstairs, I decided to bring any remaining bedding or linens down to the first floor, as I wouldn't have to carry the male up a flight of stairs; my legs were still shaking.
Climbing the stairs was hard enough.
Upon reaching the home's top floor, I covered my mouth, hanging my head in shame and respect. There were drawn portraits of the family who had once lived here before the war. Who were they? Where were they now? Only God would have the answer to that. Part of me hoped they were able to escape the travesties this nation witnessed, while the other half questioned if they were resting peacefully with Ishvala. Making my way to what seemed to be the most recent family portrait, I knelt to my knees, gathered my hands together, and bowed my head.
"I am…truly sorry for this intrusion upon your home. Though I do not know who you are or your family's safety, I only wish to use your house for safety. I have found an injured Ishvalan today and want to do everything I can to keep him alive. If you are in the blessed hands of God, I wish you an eternal rest."
Rising, I quickly swiped my eyes, knowing it did not do well to dwell on a past that could not be changed.
Searching through chests and crates, I found what was needed, heaving everything downstairs on sore muscles and weary bones. Creating a makeshift bed of quilts and heavy linens, making sure the padding was thick enough, not knowing how long the man would be unconscious, my feet then guided me back to the well. Finding everything exactly how I left it in its original place, my first genuine smile formed when my eyes fell on the male beside my pack. Slapping my cheek, I placed the bag onto my chest once more and the male's arm around my shoulder, heaving him off the ground to move him into the nearby house.
"All right, here we go." Dragging my feet, I knew that if I didn't hurry, my knees would give out this time. Making our way through the open doorway, my leg slipped from under me, causing my back to hit the wall as the male slammed into the door. Cursing, I immediately prayed in my head, hastily laying him down upon the makeshift bed. Shifting through my pack, my hastiness led to clumsiness, which led to me dumping my entire rucksack onto the ground, searching for the items I needed. I was lucky enough to find canteens, bandages, clean rags, and some medicinal herbs.
First, I knelt closer to him, gently cupping the back of his neck and tilting it forward. Placing one canteen against his lips, I lightly poured water into his mouth, hoping to keep this man hydrated. There was no way of knowing how long it had been since he'd last had food or water, nor how long he would be unconscious; watching the water smoothly flow past his lips, I released a hefty sigh, my shoulder losing tension. Several drops dripped past his lips, so I took one of the rags and patted the mess away, my fingers slowing the longer I lingered on his face.
Overall, he was of a muscular build. His face was ruggedly handsome, and somehow, even in his unconscious state, he held a frown on his lips. A finger traced his hardened cheek when I brushed against the still-bleeding bandage. Gasping at my carelessness, I set to work. Taking the only knife on hand, I sliced through the weakened dressing, a spare rag already dabbing the wound underneath as fresh blood oozed from the gash. It seemed this wound hadn't healed adequately for several days or weeks. Groaning, the one item missing from my pack was any form of antiseptic; I could only use water. Soaking a new cloth, I dabbed the area, reading now how severe and extensive this injury was.
Bleeding, having now lessened, the gash crossed over both eyes and his forehead, leaving his injury to form into an 'x' shape scar once the injury fully heals.
Still, I continued to dab.
It was difficult, but with some maneuvering and patience, I could place fresh, clean bandages around this gentle man's head. Those who cared for him before me must've had training in the medical field, as it looked nothing like my handiwork. Despite my non-impressive work, I was proud. And so, with one injury out of the way, I moved to the next: his right arm and shoulder. Though dirty and messy, there didn't seem to be any evidence of blood or a severe injury. Deciding to wait, my last task was placing a damp rag over the man's forehead to keep him cool, considering the high temperature outside.
Inspecting my handiwork, I let the patient be. Unconscious or just in a deep sleep, the man needed his rest. He deserved such rest.
By Ishval, we all did.
Yawning, that means me as well. Gathering my blanket, I pulled a small pillow underneath my head, choosing a spot close enough to the door to give the man enough space if he woke. Curling on the floor, my blanket turned into a ball I held against my chest. Breathing deeply, my eyes quickly glanced outside the window.
You're safe.
When next I woke, it was nearing darkness. With barely any sun filtering through the windows, my limbs stretched before standing, knowing I needed to filter this room with light. Having gathered all the candles I could find earlier, I scattered them across the first floor in clusters. Once done, I checked the male, who was still asleep in the same position. With no fever, I still dampened the rag on his forehead before making food.
Scavenging through the kitchen, I somehow found unspoiled vegetables with some pots and pans. Getting settled, I placed several logs into the cooking pit out in the front room. I lit the fire, seeing the flames soar to life.
In our culture, the front area of any home was the communal room for entertaining and cooking for guests. Right now, I was very fortunate everything I needed was still here. Gathering all the necessary equipment and ingredients, I sat in front of the warm fire, chopping carrots and keeping an eye on my patient.
And now, an hour later, I have a pot simmering as I manage to create soup. Concoction on the tail end of its brewing, I had taken the liberty to compile all supplies I already had from my pack and those I was still grabbing from around the house. Having separated my piles into categories, a calming sensation settled within. There was a chance I could survive after this war. Content with my progress, I smiled, grasping the nearby spoon to stir the almost-finished dinner.
"Ugh…w-where….where am I…?"
Gasping, I cursed silently; having dropped the utensil into the pot, my skin burned against the metal in an attempt to save the darn contraption. Quickly maneuvering to the man's side, his Ishvalan red eyes, wide and concerned, sought mine. "You're safe," I whispered.
Turning towards the ceiling, the man fell silent, momentarily considering my words. "Where are we?"
"Um…I believe Daliha. Here, you must be thirsty - no! You shouldn't try sitting up on your own!" Groaning, the man seemed to flinch when I touched his shoulder, though I could guide him back to lie on the makeshift bed. "I…I'm unsure what your injuries are, but you must rest."
Tilting his head back up toward me, he stared. Red eyes transfixed into red eyes. "Miss…what is your name?"
Taken back, I smiled, curling silver strands of hair behind an ear. "I'm Ahmari."
~ oOo ~
SCAR
Darkness.
Numbness.
Clattering.
A female's voice spoke; it was sweet and melodic.
This woman's voice lulled the strength I possessed in opening my eyes. Daring to open my sight, I was left surprised. A typical Ishvalan home, the scent of food wavering in the air, and a sense of safeness over my mind since waking to discover I was the sole survivor of my family.
Needing to sit up straight, I unsuccessfully used my left hand to push my body upward. Groaning, my throat parched, I failed to speak. "Ugh…w-where….where am I…?"
Several feet away, the same woman cursed, having dropped something as she hastily removed herself from whatever she was doing. On her knees, the woman slightly smiled, her voice the same as earlier. Having expected an elder medicine woman to have saved me, I was not expecting a young Ishvalan woman to be the first image my eyes saw.
"Um…I believe Daliha." Inhaling a deep breath, I was hoping we were anywhere other than the district of my birth. And now my death. Biting down on my teeth, I pushed again to sit up, needing to straighten my back and leave this land behind. "Here, you must be thrust - no!" She scolded, hand grasping my shoulder. "You shouldn't try sitting up on your own."
Though I flinched from her touch, I allowed her hand to guide me flat onto my back. I was confused. How was I so calm? This woman claimed we were in Daliha, and I had no reason to doubt her, for I remember endless walking into the heat, stumbling across my homeland with blood just dripping, dripping. The sight of my damaged body witnessed the destroyed Ishvalan district in which I was born.
"I…I'm unsure what your injuries are, but you must rest."
Fixing my sight towards her, I started taking in her, this woman who is why I am alive, yet again. She was soaking in the vision before me, basking in the dim glow of the candles across the room. This young woman - this Ishvalan woman - with ruby red eyes, shoulder length white hair of our people with two small sections braided off to one side. "Miss?" My parched voice was speaking before I'd even realized I'd spoken. "What is your name?"
She smiled. A glorious lifting of her lips had me stunned. "My name's Ahmari."
"Ahmari…" Ignoring the additional beat of my heart, I merely blinked. "I must thank you for saving my life."
"No thanks is needed, my red-eyed friend." Her voice was still gentle as she patted the back of my hand. "I couldn't…" She then grew quiet. "I couldn't leave another Ishvalan to die…" Frame starting to shake, she stood on two wobbly feet. "A-Anyways, you must be starving! I have a pot of fresh soup over the fire."
"N-No, I must be going." Attempting to stand once more, I was stopped by her hand on my shoulder. This time, I didn't flinch.
"Yeah…I don't think so." My actions caused her to…laugh. "The only thing you'll do is sit up to eat, then rest."
"What I need to do is leave; I've burdened you long enough."
"Burden's not quite the right word I would use." Fingers gripped my arm; she was relentless, but those eyes. She seemed so lost, so…unsure.
Who could blame her?
She and I were probably the fair few Ishvalans left. We had the right to be scared. We had the right to be unsure. Where would we go, considering all Amestris despised our kind? My home was destroyed, hers probably as well. This woman needed to survive, and I was right - if I stayed, I would be nothing but a burden.
But those eyes.
I…suppose one meal couldn't hurt.
Sighing, I slightly nodded my head, tightened by fresh bandages. "If you insist, one bowl should suffice."
Her body turned, then heavily relaxed, seemingly pleased with my answer to stay. "Good," she whispered. "Thank you. Now! I hope vegetable soup is all right; that's…kinda all I could make."
"I am gracious enough to be able to eat. Anything you make will taste wonderful."
She seemed to blush at my comments, hands pouring decent portions into separate bowls. "Then it's a really good thing I can cook." Handing my one bowl, I outstretched my arm, grimacing as the damaged muscles pulled together. Quickly inhaling a heavy breath, my arm dropped, using my left to take the bowl. Only, she refused to give it to me.
"Your arm," she cried, eyes wide with concern. "You can't lift it, can you?"
My eyes closed. "Unfortunately, no. But I'll just drink it with my other."
I was surprised as my eyes opened to see her scooting closer to my side. "This may seem…unconventional, but you should eat slowly, as I don't know the last time you ate. I'll help, don't worry."
"N-No, that's not necessary," I slowly waved my good hand. "You've already done enough, I can…"
"Oh, will you please shush and just eat?" Spooning some edible liquid, she placed it in front of my mouth. Eyes rolling, I wasn't about to complain. This woman - Ahmari - had already done so much. Why should I be granted her selfishness any longer? Then again, she was right about my arm; it was currently incapacitated until it healed. And so, I opened my mouth.
The entire moment was intimate.
It was childish, her spoon-feeding me, though I greatly appreciated her offer. The soup, being made from very few ingredients, was delicious. I was impressed. Considering my hunger, I assumed I'd eat more than one bowl. Once the first was done and dry, my stomach cried out. I couldn't handle any more food.
"Ahmari, I must thank you. This was delicious."
"You are most welcome, my friend." Taking his bowl, she grasped hers, crossing her legs as she finally consumed her meal. Several sips in, she glanced at me, her smile still ever-present. "You've asked me for my name. Am I allowed the same gesture?"
Casting my glance away, I decided to focus on the piles of supplies she had, all separated into specific, organized categories. Was this everything she had found in this one house? Where had she come from to obtain all this? I knew I was diverting her question. Instead, I gave her the truth. "I have banished the name God has given me."
Ahmari gasped as my attention turned toward hers. Having placed her bowl on the floor, she grasped my hand, squeezing lightly. "I-I must ask; why?"
Such softness against the roughness that was my hand was…calming. It was too calming as the urge to remove my limb took over, except I let it remain. "…there is no need for me to have such a beautiful name from God. For what I've done, I have forsaken the man I used to be."
Thinking she would remove her hand, I was surprised when she squeezed tighter. "I'm sure the man you were was a wonderful person. I…won't question your past; it's not my right to do so."
Blinking, this woman continued to amaze me with each passing second. "I…I appreciate that."
Patting my hand once more, she resumed eating her soup. "I couldn't imagine what you must feel to think you don't deserve the name Ishvala has given you. Then again," she smirked up at me. "I don't go by the name God gave me at birth."
Eye rising, I grimaced, the pain in my head suddenly overwhelming. Ignoring the sting, I questioned her meaning. "So, your name Ahmari is…?"
"Think of it as…my middle name. My first is the sacred name I received at birth, but my family only wanted to use such a name for important holidays or…if I ever got into trouble." She snickered, probably from a memory, if I had to guess. "Instead, my parents gave me a second name I would go by in public." Slurping the rest of her bowl, she placed it beside mine. "Now," she said, rummaging around in the piles of supplies. "I was able to re-bandage your forehead. Now it's time for your arm. If…that's ok? You were out in the desert, and I don't want you to…!"
"It's all right."
"…it is? Perfect!" Grabbing bandages of clean cloths, she quickly stepped outside with a larger bowl, only to return having filled it with water. Taking a seat on my right, she tentatively removed the failing bandages. As I watched her, the curiosity on her face grew exponentially. I knew what lay underneath the bloody bandages; Ahmari had yet to see the torture I've had to live with.
"Oh my goodness! Wha…What is this - ?"
"I'd rather not talk about it." My voice was curt and low.
She squealed, dropping the roll of gauze as she did. "I-I'm sorry! I'm not trying to pry, I swear!"
Ahmari then fell silent. I dared not look at her or my arm as she removed the dirtied bandages. She cleaned the entire arm with a damp cloth, focusing on where this new arm connected to the one I had lost. The thick scar tissue, seemingly fresh, looked like it had time to heal. Swallowing the bile in my throat, I glanced to my left. Ahmari was deep in concentration as she carefully worked to clean all the remaining blood.
"I'm sorry," she suddenly whispered.
My eyebrows quirked. I didn't know what to say at first. If the woman thought I was mad, then she was gravely mistaken. I was angry, but not at her. How could I be? This woman was tending to my wounds, had fed me, and had probably saved my life from actual death.
"There's no need."
"Yes, there is," she was quick with her rebuttal. "I said I wouldn't question anything, but as soon as I saw your arm…" She shook her head, dropping the damp cloth to wipe my arm with a dry one. Bandages now in hand, she then expertly wrapped the area around the thick scar. Observing her handiwork, she stepped back, knowing the task was complete. "That should hold. I changed the bandages on your forehead, which seem to be the wound with the most damage. There's still your chest, but I leave that up to you."
Contemplating what needed to be done, I considered my options. I was due to leave soon; I couldn't ask Ahmari to care for my wounds until I was fully healed. She had done enough, and I would forever be grateful for her help. And yet, if I were to leave, I'd need all my wounds securely bandaged to survive the trek to…wherever I was to travel next.
"Would you…" I swallowed again, our stares meeting once more. We shared the same red eyes, but hers…I couldn't - didn't - want to glance away. "Would it be too much to ask for the rest of my injuries to be looked at?"
This left her smiling. "It's no trouble." And so, she began her work, carefully unwrapping the soiled linen to repeat the same process as before. Mesmerized as I watched her, it seemed she had done this before. Clearing my throat, I asked, "You seem quite skilled."
Why was I even trying to make small talk if I was going to leave her?
This earned me a chuckle from her luscious lips. "My mother was no medicine woman but taught me everything she knew. I'm…very thankful for these skills, as I was able to save you."
"Earlier, you said…how you couldn't let another Ishvalan die. Were there others you have found?"
"…yes." Eyes downcast, Ahmari was quiet. I thought she wouldn't speak, but she surprised me yet again. "I lived in another district and have traveled far. I met several Ishvalans who survived the war, yet their injuries…I tried to save them all, but…" A lone tear escaped her eye as she continued to bandage my chest. "My efforts were futile as they all passed away in my arms. Until I found you." Though saddened, Ahmari smiled up at me, one tear trailing down her cheek as if to remind herself what she couldn't accomplish.
My thumb was caressing her cheek before I knew what I was doing.
Her widened eyes fell on mine as I swiped the tear from her skin. Grasping my hand, she tightened her fingers. So small compared to mine, I thought. Yet, she is such a powerful woman.
"May I…ask how you were able to save me?"
"You were heavy!" She exclaimed suddenly. Her bright smile returned, laughing the entire time she finished my chest. "I…I was down here filling my water skeins when I heard something scream, scared the almighty out of me! I ran to the main square when I heard the same sound again and saw you on the mountain ridge from above."
"So you…climbed the mountain and…?"
"It was difficult." She set her materials off to the side, hands laid in her lap. "I carried you down the ledge back towards this house. There's a well still outside with fresh water, so I figured this was the best location to tend to your wounds."
Blinking, I was now left speechless. This woman…this tiny, strong woman carried me down the mountain and still was able to cook and tend to my wounds? By Ishvala…
"You've helped me more than I can thank you for Ahmari. Would it be possible to return the favor?" She glanced upward, noticing I was staring at the bandages on her face; blood had seeped through, leaving pinkish spots across the gauze.
Touching the bandage on her cheek, she nodded. "But, you're not able to move your arm. Oh! I did find a mirror! Hold on one second." Scurrying upstairs, she soon returned with precisely as she said: a small hand mirror. "Your offer is appreciated. Can you hold this so…I can change the bandages?"
"Of course."
Gathering more materials, she sat directly by my side. Mirror in hand, I held it up so she could see straight into it. I watched her hesitant fingers slowly unraveling the cloth as it was placed around nearly half her face. When it was all taken off, she dropped the bloody bandages toward the floor, taking a moment to inspect herself in the mirror as I held it tightly for her to see.
Surprised once again, I was taken aback. What monster could scar such a beautiful woman in such a murderous way?
Like the x-shaped scar across my forehead, Ahmari had the same injury. Except for her, the gash lay across her cheek. One line stretched underneath her eye to her lip, while the other extended across her nose and down over her cheekbone. The injury itself did not cause such a horrendous sight. I fumed for the sinner who caused such an injury to this woman.
"Ahmari…"
"I know…it's hideous, right?"
"No, not it's not, I just…who…who hurt you?"
"Probably the same people who hurt you," she said solemnly. "This war…caused so much pain for everyone. For you, for me…we lost so many good people." Sniffling, she had tears in her eyes once more. With a shaky breath, they disappeared as she remained silent, ever working to place the bandages across her face after removing any remaining blood. While wrapping the bandages across her face, I noticed she purposefully avoided covering one eye and how the woman slightly bit her lip in concentration.
Something about this Ahmari was…captivating.
By the time she was finished, the sun had finally set, and a cool draft filtered through the windows as Ahmari shivered. Taking the blanket off me, I slowly threw it over her shoulders, her expression bewildered by my actions. "T-Thank you." Though I knew there was a spare blanket off to the side, most likely where she had slept, this woman needed kindness. Though I'd banished the man I had once been, the manners my mother drilled into me were still alive. Ahmari had treated me with such kindness; she deserved the same.
"Where do you plan on going after this?"
Her question was abrupt, dragging me out of my reverie. Having known this woman for barely any time, I trusted her. We Ishvalans were taught to trust our brothers and sisters, no matter what they had done to us. However, this woman…deserved more than my trust. She deserved the truth.
Pulling the black-bound notebook from my clothing, I held it out for her. The pages were matted with my dried blood as she skimmed through its entirety. "That…belonged to my brother. He asked me to keep it, but I…I cannot. So I will travel far away and bury it in peace."
Taking a moment to skim over the contents, she seemed surprised to know the contents of such material. "This is…research on both Alchemy and Alkehistry!"
"Yes, my bother…was very into what was forbidden by Ishvala."
"My father, too," she admitted, handing me back the book. "H-He…he was a very different man than the others in our district, but he was well respected by all."
"So that's how you noticed what the contents were."
"Yes. So…you said you plan on burying it. Where? When? Your injuries need to heal first."
"It would be best to leave tonight while the air is cool. However, I agree that I need rest, so I will part ways come sunrise."
"T-Tomorrow?!" she exclaimed. "Surely you need more rest than one night! Stay at least until your arm has recovered, and you can use both!"
My head shook. "I appreciate all your help, Ahmari; I'll never be able to return your kindness. But I must take my leave."
She was saddened, that's for sure. Face fallen, eyes downcast, the woman was thinking. Standing, she suddenly walked upstairs, quickly returning with a well-worn rucksack. "Then I'm coming too!"
"Ahmari, I am grateful - wait, what?"
"You heard me!" She was adamant. She was serious! "You're my patient, so I must travel with you to ensure your injuries will heal."
"No, you must stay here - "
"And do what? Live all by myself in the wasteland that was once our beautiful home? No! Whether you like it or not, I will stay by your side. I'll…" She seemed to contemplate what she could do as I merely shook my head in exasperation. "I'll help you find a location to bury your brother's notebook!"
"Ahmari…"
"Please!" Falling to her knees before me, the woman clasped her hands before her face. "Please…I have no one left, and you're the only individual who's breathed life I've been able to find in the last week. I thought I was the only one who remained; then I stumbled onto you! You'll have company; I can cook…please…" Dropping her hands, I thought she was going to cry. The mere thought of such an action broke my heart. Having known this woman for maybe an hour or two, I already feared her actions.
Oh, Ishvala…please help me.
"All right."
Her arms were suddenly around me when I winced, hand grasping my shoulder as she pulled back, a look of concern crawling over her face. "I'm sorry!" she cried. "I'm just…you have no idea what it means to me! Thank you!"
I rolled my eyes despite the increased beat within my chest. I may have banished my name, but maybe, just maybe, I hadn't banished the man I used to be.
At least, not yet.
"I'll have to think of a name to call you."
"W-Why? Just call me Ishvalan."
"And why would I do that? No, you need a name, or…just something I can…? Oh! Scar."
Bewildered, I managed to chuckle. A suddenly hardened man was able to chuckle at her small statement. "Excuse me…you'll call me what?"
She pointed towards my forehead. "You said you've banished your name, right? I can't…go against your decision, so giving you an Ishvalan name would be disrespectful. So, I've decided to go with Scar, after the new feature on your forehead. Unless…that's too tacky?"
My eyes rolled again. Her kindness was too much. "Scar will be just fine."
"Perfect! Then Scar, it's nice to meet you!"
~ oOo ~
I can't believe I have finally posted this. For years…years, I have wanted to post this, and finally, today, I was like, 'I think it's the time!'. Forewarning: I'll slowly work on the next chapter because I'm trying to catch up on my other stories.
But…A few views, some favorites, or maybe some reviews might push me in the right direction :)
DragonGoddess629