Go on a spirit quest, they said, it’s not just to get teenagers out of our hair. Right. He was eighty; he knew fully well that was all a “spirit quest” was, but if the tribe wanted him gone, then so be it. He was one of their best and they would regret their decision soon enough.
It wasn’t his fault everyone was a bunch of cowards. How many unspeakable acts must the Karkan commit for his people to take up arms against them? How long have they been living in the Karkan’s shadow? It drove Pera to madness knowing that nothing had been, or would be, done about their tormentors thanks to the Valos’ own cowardice and fear.
Fecchpanna ambled along at a slow pace, Pera seated atop the buffalo’s back. He was in no hurry. As soon as the sun began to rise his tribe had packed up to continue on and made it very clear what they thought of him. Without them, he had nowhere to go. All the better, in his opinion. He should have left long ago.
The sun continued its ascent into the sky, warming away the last wisps of night. Soon it would be nearly blinding to Pera, as he was traveling east. Grumbling in annoyance, he veered his buffalo slightly off to the side, so that the little yellow bastard beat down upon the side of his face instead. He was about to complain out loud to Fecchpanna when, nestled in the grass, he saw something that would never stop his blood running cold.
A Valon, no older than 25, naked and bearing the obvious wounds of the Karkan. Pera felt anger flare up inside him once again, at both the Karkan and the Valos, but for once in his life stamped down on it. The boy was still alive; he could see him breathing. He could be saved.
He brought Fecchpanna to a halt and dismounted slowly. Many victims of the Karkan had passed through his tribe, and none of them ever had a positive reaction towards him. There was no reason to believe this boy would act any differently, but Pera didn’t know what else he could do. It was better to keep him alive, first.
Bringing a blanket from his bags, Pera approached the Valon carefully and saw that his eyes were open. “Hello, my friend,” he said, as comforting as he knew how, “You are safe now. I will help you.” Cautiously, he began to drape the blanket around the boy. He didn't want to assess the damage. Not yet. "Can you sit up?"
(The spirit quest thing was probably a Joke but I went with it anyway.)
Sunlight in his eyes told him something was different. He'd been in the dark for so long. He felt air. Things smelled damp, but fresh, not the rank of his own filth and blood. He was so cold.
Was he out?
No. No. Too many times had he dreamt of freedom only to wake up back in the dark. Strapped to the table with the knives and claws over him. Teeth and clammy skin behind him. There was nothing else but the dark and the chains, to believe otherwise only made it worse. He was dreaming.
And yet. Light seared through his eyelids and he felt the weak warmth of it. Forcing open his eyes he saw sky. Real sky, the sun rising and chasing away the dark. Clouds. Dew on the blades of grass. Oh, water. He tried to move, tried to reach for those shimmering droplets, but his body wouldn't respond. He was out of the dark, but the pain and the blood and the broken bones came with him. And something else. He knew.
Well, he was sure he wouldn't have to worry about that long. Blood still seeped out of him and infection raged. No one knew where he was; he certainly didn't know. He could not move, he could not help himself. He was free but he would soon be dead.
It was the happiest thought he'd had in a long time.
His vision was blurry but he saw the outline of a man approaching and found he could turn his head somewhat. There was a voice, the blur was talking, its voice deep and harsh and garbled. He could make no sense of it. As the shadow descended over him, its features became clearer: grey skin, horned, and blank, inhuman white eyes.
He screamed. A feeble burst of adrenaline flowed and he thrashed. He knew it, he knew it! A lie, a hope, they still had him! Was this their newest form of torture? To offer the sun and then take him back? Or was it all a lie and they were yet again in his mind, distorting and twisting his own memories? No no no no no. Even in his screams, his raspy voice found words.
"Stop it! Let me die!"
Nothing beat travelling in the dark of the night, it was cooler and more peaceful; rarely did Sverri every run across anyone as he made his treks to the outer nomadic regions. It was an ordinary assignment, the few inscriptions from Manhattan to the Lake Tribe regarding issues he really had no business in prying on. Sverri wasn't exactly a political man anyways, he did his job without much gripe or reluctance and rather appreciated the chance to get away from a life of seclusion within the Connecticut area. His dam had always wanted him to follow a simple path in life, work in something more agricultural related. Something safe. That wasn't Sverri though, he had tried to stay put but it always ended up with some reckless behavior that earned him distrustful relationships. Plus the fact that he didn't entirely despise the karkan, but that was an issue in itself. He did his job though, and did it well. At the moment that was good enough.
As the sun rose a up and shed the first lights into the sky, Sverri could barely make out the subtle landmarks he guided himself by. It didn't help that he had to deliver messages to those who were constantly moving, let alone who really didn't seem to want to be found most of the time. Twisting the dappled mare's mane within his fingers, the quarter karkan directed her a bit more towards the west in an effort to find a place to rest so she didn't kill over before they even reached their destination. Sverri pushed off his hood as the light brought the day's warmth with it, listening to the soft sounds of hooves meeting earth and the gentle sloshing of the small water bags tied to the back of the mare. His gaze shifted to his left and back forward as he thought he heard something or someone. Sounds travelled with the wind, but he couldn't entirely tell in what direction or whether or not it was just his own imagination. With slight suspicion and curiosity he urged the mare forward into a faster walk.
The boy reacted exactly as Pera expected, yet he still had to hold himself back from wanting to hurt him for making this harder than it needed to be. “Calm down,” he ground out; he wanted to just roll the kid up in the blanket and carry him off. He was weak and his thrashing was pathetic, there would be no fight. But Pera knew what he needed to do – he muttered an apology before he placed his hands upon the boy’s head, and within seconds he was out. Pera sighed and sat back on his haunches, eyeing the prone body before him. The karkan were the scum of the earth.
Leaning forward, he wrapped him gently in the blanket, then gathered him in his arms and stood up. Those wounds were horrific and needed to be cleaned lest they become infected and kill the kid. That is, if blood loss didn’t get him first. There was a river nearby, Pera remembered; he could take him there. “Time to go, Fecchpanna,” he mumbled, then clicked his tongue loudly at the buffalo. It huffed in response and ambled after him.
Blood had soaked through the blanket by the time they made it to the river. There was no more time to waste, and so Pera hurried to clean the valon. Carefully he unwrapped him and brought him to the riverbank, spreading the blanket beneath him and, using his own bloodied shirt as a washcloth, wiped the dirt, grime and blood from the poor boy’s body. He was rather handsome underneath it all; Pera wondered if he had someone waiting for him in whatever tribe he was from.
Next he got to work cleaning out the injuries. There were both new and old, many already oozing a sickly pus. Pera was grateful that the valon was not awake to feel the pain of him flushing out these wounds. He worked efficiently and wrapped the worst of them with what he could spare.
With the valon now cleaned and bandaged, Pera moved them both further inland to where he’d ordered Fecchpanna to stay. It was a sparsely forested area, but would be a good enough place to allow time for his new friend to rest and recover. He was now wrapped up in a fresh blanket near the trunk of a tree.
Now, it was time for Pera to rest as well. With a deep sigh, the old half-karkan flopped down against his buffalo’s side.