10-19-2016, 09:05 PM
Elbows stiff from holding so long; he fell back with a command to overcome their unwillingness to open. His head hit with the soft thud of a normally painless impact. But now rushed lights across his eyes, remind him of the Aes Sedai's unseen blow planting his head in the ground half a day earlier. What followed, no matter how many swallows, was the taste of dirt replacing that of Nythadri on his lips.
Surprise turned his head at her response. To a question he'd not asked, but hoped she'd provide. Still nights usually led to such things. Here, where the wind howled at the rocks and water lapped their heels, questions were never in short supply. Answers were.
Pride. Wasn't it the most cardinal of sins? The first lesson, real one anyway; still, wicked twists of flesh unsmoothed by the passage of time was their papal price. The lesson he'd told only yesterday? To a perfect strange over drinks no less. As usual. Although had Jai known the next table harbored the world's most gaudy coincidence, the conversation would have advanced far less personally. Cards, dice, women, and war stories. With the fitting touches toward detachment, of course. Although given the lad in question, blightborder or not on his tongue, he did not seem the type to care for swapping such dishonorable pasttimes. Light, that kid needed a good night of drinking and maybe the company of couple of women. Or men; whatever he preferred. But who couldn't use that?
Ugly boots, now? Jai wouldn't turn down sitting across a card table from that guy for a night. All the while fisting at saidin. Completely giving him the benefit of the doubt, naturally. But there'd be no blood stains until the cards turned over proof. Even without saidin, a man could do a lot of damage without spilling a drop. Jai's ribs could currently attest to that. A shift and he stifled a wince. Maybe ask what burned the man's brain into buying such Fade-face ugly footwear. And about his affiliation with Tomdry's regiment. Legion soldier turned Tower-bought, was the story? Cheaper allegiances had been bought before. But Jai would wager his inheritance the guy's name did not appear in the Legion's roster. Past or present. Bloody spooks. Mentioning Arad Doman, guised up in some friendly advice for pepper-oil. Burn it all. He should have seen it sooner.
"Right. Trust no one. You'd think I'd bloody know that by now. Burn them."
No stretching his collar-free neck toward the estate overhead. No indication of the curse's target. There was no target. Unless the whole blasted world counted. Though he glanced at Nythadri, wondering. Did she include herself in so pessimistic an equation?
He sighed. Supposing Nythadri saw it scrawled across his face, plain as sunset: pride. Obvious as that wicked scar of the same name; to have said what she said. Consoling the sinner of his vices. Not so bad, was it? He figured she was right. There were worse ones. Lying to one's family; probably. Dancing into an affair with a brother's wife; sure. Scorching brainwashed girls, enemies, but girls no less? His guts twisted hard. And cold. Jai knew he would someday burn for that. More than ten-fold. Light.
He swallowed. Kept his mouth shut. There was no point testing Nythadri's ability to justify those devils. It would take all night, and if they were going to only get one together, there were other things he'd prefer doing.
He looked at her. Low; serious. Hungry. For the legs peeking out from the depths of black shadows. For the toes digging playfully into wet sand. For the tongue grasping at what shreds of humanity remained in him. For the eyes that thought to search in the first place. Live, she'd said. She couldn't even take her own advice: not when the most powerful institution of the last Age held her leash. That was a loophole he could study forever and never find. But for her sake, would try.
He lifted the flopped open collar from her shoulder. Weighed there by the heavy dragon pin at the left of her collarbone. Slender. Seeming so frail. Like she could break in half at the first storm to blow by, let alone open battle. Not even the coat could ward off shrapnel, then. But her moon white skin pinking up at a hundred slashes would be warm. What a bloody disturbing comforting thought to taint the picture of Nythadri in his eyes. Like some vision of the future: a bloody fate awaited if she stayed within those sleeves. Jai was the one who wanted to die warm in his coat. And comforted by the bodies of a ten-thousand corpses piling strange mountains around him. Nythadri's life should end...happier.
For a moment, holding the dragon-outline against her slender neck, her pulse beat through to the callus of hard-worked hands. As though giving the dragon itself a tentative anime while it lasted. The irony of it dried his throat thirsty. But he grinned at the distraction anyway.
"It looks good on you."
A smile weakened his resolution toward sleeping with devils. They only had one night. Might as well kick those ugly bastards out of bed for once. Nythadri was far more preferable to hold against him.
The grin widened. The coat helped even the most sober of men seem imposing. Bow legged, green boys who couldn't saddle a horse let alone charge into battle donned the black shroud to their knees and suddenly the world shuddered before them. But Jai had never seen the coat hugging beneath so slender a jaw before as hers. He'd never thought to offer it to anyone, actually. A cloak? Sure. The gentlemanly thing to do. Of course, the same opportunity for his coat didn't exactly come up often. Never seen in anything else, most places frowned on a guy stripping to the waist in public. Not that they'd stop one if that guy could slide their skin off as soon as look at them. In private? Well. Taking off clothes was usually the point.
What a fool. He should trust her. Why wouldn't he? Although she'd just said to trust no one. And she'd also said to live.
Coping to something personal with someone he'd never see again. Fine. What did it matter? Coping to reality with someone bound by the same laws strangling their throats? Light! He'd never even told Daryen that story. The one consistent presence in their haunted lives most likely to understand. Maybe it wasn't understanding Jai wanted. This sort of topic wasn't exactly his usual pillow-talk.
He went for it. He'd curse himself over it tomorrow.
"Myrdrraal and pride don't mix well."
Bloody, light-forsaken weakness. He barely held from breaking under Nythadri's piercing eyes. But burn it all; he held them. Then, just to spit in the devil's face, he rolled suddenly onto his side and gripped her hand under his own. And held it like he clutched at roots on a cliff edge. It forced both of their hands to sink into the forgiving floor of sand beneath.
"And leaves a man face down in the dirt."
The truth grit deeper than she knew. Suaya's informer back at the Golden Fox laughed in the back of his head. "I should not have gotten up, Nythadri. No matter what they say."
He knew why he woke up a week later in a field hospital; foggy and weak. There was only one Healer within reasonable distance of the front line who'd been responsible. Someone left alive after the Eyeless twitched its long death had rolled him face up. Surely not the Yellow's warder. Even with shadow ranks breaking, there were still other Fists, other dreadlords to concern her safety. But someone stuffed the guts, hot with blood and bile and half formed excrement, back in a splayed apart cavity when she went to work. Others were left to moan for help while their headless killer twitched beside them. Their songs loud enough to implant memory through the unconsciousness of sure death. The long, agonizing passage of time unsympathetic to their brave cries for help while a perfectly able Healer spent all of her stores on one man. When dozens. Dozens! Might have been saved instead. At least spared their pains, if not their limbs. And who knew how many more had she not collapsed herself at the end of an hour's toils.
It made him sick to think about those sacrificed lives in place of his own. He was sick with it the whole length of recovery, watching others come and go around him. Representing the ghosts of good men who deserved to live instead. Men whose swords fought and killed for honor, for wives and children at home, or the Light-made-flesh Dragon himself; not because they wanted to; not because they needed that release only found in saidin's cold anger.
It took a month to sit up in that narrow bed. Six to walk without a cane. There was no place to walk anyway. Other than between rows of bedmates. Light knew he tried, though. The counting went slow in those months. Bedmates changed, Healed, strengthened, and walked out, but the beds remained. All two-hundred twelve. A field refuge far from the front lines, then, to be so large and protected. Almost a year before he could handle the ritual of sword forms giving their daily, soothing regime again. He'd felt his guts settle inside like the foundations of an ancient manor for another year after that. He thought he felt it still.
His breathing nearly stopped now to relive it. His throat burned drier than mere thirst could explain. His eyes burned the same. And while no Sunset pepper ladled Pit-red poison in his eyes; this was more excruciating.
He let go of her hand and sank back into the sand. Fearing he'd break if he held her eyes any longer. Light.. If he'd caught a Soldier feeling so sorry for himself Jai would have given him something to really burn hot tears down his face. Yet here he was, just as tender. Just as weak.
He lay flat and facing skyward. Only to find the stars above. Peaceful, yes. Like those lapping waters. Rhythmic. Predictable. And timed down to the second. He could tell the tide by their timing now. Or the disturbance of far off churning waters: storms or tempests beyond sight and sense. Yes, this is where he liked to hide. Where had his forefathers gone?
"Why was it not a death note?"
The question escaped thoughtlessly. Almost tired. Not almost. He was tired. It'd been a bloody exhausting day. And he was ending it with bruised ribs, a pounding head, a throbbing shoulder, and shredded leg. Not that strength was sapped completely. Had Nythadri given into her imagination, he would not have pushed her away now; heartleaf or no heartleaf. And she'd never known the difference until he sank fast to sleep in her arms afterward. But she didn't.
It was almost worth going cliffside just to track down a bottle of something. Anything. It was more fitting for devils to drown in bottles than in something so lovely as ocean waves. They certainly did not belong in Nythadri's bed. What she must see now, he'd rather not know.
Surprise turned his head at her response. To a question he'd not asked, but hoped she'd provide. Still nights usually led to such things. Here, where the wind howled at the rocks and water lapped their heels, questions were never in short supply. Answers were.
Pride. Wasn't it the most cardinal of sins? The first lesson, real one anyway; still, wicked twists of flesh unsmoothed by the passage of time was their papal price. The lesson he'd told only yesterday? To a perfect strange over drinks no less. As usual. Although had Jai known the next table harbored the world's most gaudy coincidence, the conversation would have advanced far less personally. Cards, dice, women, and war stories. With the fitting touches toward detachment, of course. Although given the lad in question, blightborder or not on his tongue, he did not seem the type to care for swapping such dishonorable pasttimes. Light, that kid needed a good night of drinking and maybe the company of couple of women. Or men; whatever he preferred. But who couldn't use that?
Ugly boots, now? Jai wouldn't turn down sitting across a card table from that guy for a night. All the while fisting at saidin. Completely giving him the benefit of the doubt, naturally. But there'd be no blood stains until the cards turned over proof. Even without saidin, a man could do a lot of damage without spilling a drop. Jai's ribs could currently attest to that. A shift and he stifled a wince. Maybe ask what burned the man's brain into buying such Fade-face ugly footwear. And about his affiliation with Tomdry's regiment. Legion soldier turned Tower-bought, was the story? Cheaper allegiances had been bought before. But Jai would wager his inheritance the guy's name did not appear in the Legion's roster. Past or present. Bloody spooks. Mentioning Arad Doman, guised up in some friendly advice for pepper-oil. Burn it all. He should have seen it sooner.
"Right. Trust no one. You'd think I'd bloody know that by now. Burn them."
No stretching his collar-free neck toward the estate overhead. No indication of the curse's target. There was no target. Unless the whole blasted world counted. Though he glanced at Nythadri, wondering. Did she include herself in so pessimistic an equation?
He sighed. Supposing Nythadri saw it scrawled across his face, plain as sunset: pride. Obvious as that wicked scar of the same name; to have said what she said. Consoling the sinner of his vices. Not so bad, was it? He figured she was right. There were worse ones. Lying to one's family; probably. Dancing into an affair with a brother's wife; sure. Scorching brainwashed girls, enemies, but girls no less? His guts twisted hard. And cold. Jai knew he would someday burn for that. More than ten-fold. Light.
He swallowed. Kept his mouth shut. There was no point testing Nythadri's ability to justify those devils. It would take all night, and if they were going to only get one together, there were other things he'd prefer doing.
He looked at her. Low; serious. Hungry. For the legs peeking out from the depths of black shadows. For the toes digging playfully into wet sand. For the tongue grasping at what shreds of humanity remained in him. For the eyes that thought to search in the first place. Live, she'd said. She couldn't even take her own advice: not when the most powerful institution of the last Age held her leash. That was a loophole he could study forever and never find. But for her sake, would try.
He lifted the flopped open collar from her shoulder. Weighed there by the heavy dragon pin at the left of her collarbone. Slender. Seeming so frail. Like she could break in half at the first storm to blow by, let alone open battle. Not even the coat could ward off shrapnel, then. But her moon white skin pinking up at a hundred slashes would be warm. What a bloody disturbing comforting thought to taint the picture of Nythadri in his eyes. Like some vision of the future: a bloody fate awaited if she stayed within those sleeves. Jai was the one who wanted to die warm in his coat. And comforted by the bodies of a ten-thousand corpses piling strange mountains around him. Nythadri's life should end...happier.
For a moment, holding the dragon-outline against her slender neck, her pulse beat through to the callus of hard-worked hands. As though giving the dragon itself a tentative anime while it lasted. The irony of it dried his throat thirsty. But he grinned at the distraction anyway.
"It looks good on you."
A smile weakened his resolution toward sleeping with devils. They only had one night. Might as well kick those ugly bastards out of bed for once. Nythadri was far more preferable to hold against him.
The grin widened. The coat helped even the most sober of men seem imposing. Bow legged, green boys who couldn't saddle a horse let alone charge into battle donned the black shroud to their knees and suddenly the world shuddered before them. But Jai had never seen the coat hugging beneath so slender a jaw before as hers. He'd never thought to offer it to anyone, actually. A cloak? Sure. The gentlemanly thing to do. Of course, the same opportunity for his coat didn't exactly come up often. Never seen in anything else, most places frowned on a guy stripping to the waist in public. Not that they'd stop one if that guy could slide their skin off as soon as look at them. In private? Well. Taking off clothes was usually the point.
What a fool. He should trust her. Why wouldn't he? Although she'd just said to trust no one. And she'd also said to live.
Coping to something personal with someone he'd never see again. Fine. What did it matter? Coping to reality with someone bound by the same laws strangling their throats? Light! He'd never even told Daryen that story. The one consistent presence in their haunted lives most likely to understand. Maybe it wasn't understanding Jai wanted. This sort of topic wasn't exactly his usual pillow-talk.
He went for it. He'd curse himself over it tomorrow.
"Myrdrraal and pride don't mix well."
Bloody, light-forsaken weakness. He barely held from breaking under Nythadri's piercing eyes. But burn it all; he held them. Then, just to spit in the devil's face, he rolled suddenly onto his side and gripped her hand under his own. And held it like he clutched at roots on a cliff edge. It forced both of their hands to sink into the forgiving floor of sand beneath.
"And leaves a man face down in the dirt."
The truth grit deeper than she knew. Suaya's informer back at the Golden Fox laughed in the back of his head. "I should not have gotten up, Nythadri. No matter what they say."
He knew why he woke up a week later in a field hospital; foggy and weak. There was only one Healer within reasonable distance of the front line who'd been responsible. Someone left alive after the Eyeless twitched its long death had rolled him face up. Surely not the Yellow's warder. Even with shadow ranks breaking, there were still other Fists, other dreadlords to concern her safety. But someone stuffed the guts, hot with blood and bile and half formed excrement, back in a splayed apart cavity when she went to work. Others were left to moan for help while their headless killer twitched beside them. Their songs loud enough to implant memory through the unconsciousness of sure death. The long, agonizing passage of time unsympathetic to their brave cries for help while a perfectly able Healer spent all of her stores on one man. When dozens. Dozens! Might have been saved instead. At least spared their pains, if not their limbs. And who knew how many more had she not collapsed herself at the end of an hour's toils.
It made him sick to think about those sacrificed lives in place of his own. He was sick with it the whole length of recovery, watching others come and go around him. Representing the ghosts of good men who deserved to live instead. Men whose swords fought and killed for honor, for wives and children at home, or the Light-made-flesh Dragon himself; not because they wanted to; not because they needed that release only found in saidin's cold anger.
It took a month to sit up in that narrow bed. Six to walk without a cane. There was no place to walk anyway. Other than between rows of bedmates. Light knew he tried, though. The counting went slow in those months. Bedmates changed, Healed, strengthened, and walked out, but the beds remained. All two-hundred twelve. A field refuge far from the front lines, then, to be so large and protected. Almost a year before he could handle the ritual of sword forms giving their daily, soothing regime again. He'd felt his guts settle inside like the foundations of an ancient manor for another year after that. He thought he felt it still.
His breathing nearly stopped now to relive it. His throat burned drier than mere thirst could explain. His eyes burned the same. And while no Sunset pepper ladled Pit-red poison in his eyes; this was more excruciating.
He let go of her hand and sank back into the sand. Fearing he'd break if he held her eyes any longer. Light.. If he'd caught a Soldier feeling so sorry for himself Jai would have given him something to really burn hot tears down his face. Yet here he was, just as tender. Just as weak.
He lay flat and facing skyward. Only to find the stars above. Peaceful, yes. Like those lapping waters. Rhythmic. Predictable. And timed down to the second. He could tell the tide by their timing now. Or the disturbance of far off churning waters: storms or tempests beyond sight and sense. Yes, this is where he liked to hide. Where had his forefathers gone?
"Why was it not a death note?"
The question escaped thoughtlessly. Almost tired. Not almost. He was tired. It'd been a bloody exhausting day. And he was ending it with bruised ribs, a pounding head, a throbbing shoulder, and shredded leg. Not that strength was sapped completely. Had Nythadri given into her imagination, he would not have pushed her away now; heartleaf or no heartleaf. And she'd never known the difference until he sank fast to sleep in her arms afterward. But she didn't.
It was almost worth going cliffside just to track down a bottle of something. Anything. It was more fitting for devils to drown in bottles than in something so lovely as ocean waves. They certainly did not belong in Nythadri's bed. What she must see now, he'd rather not know.
Only darkness shows you the light.