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"It's okay."
The words weren't for Khara's benefit, but the look was. He could see every horrified thought looming menacingly behind her tear-soaked eyes. He could see the impossible choice being weighed, the way her mind experimentally tipped the balance one way or another, imagining the prospects and possibilities of each. From the moment the Endal had spoken, Zhol knew what choice Khara would make; what choice she'd have to make; and the toll that it would take on her if she made it. But the two options that the Endal had presented were not the only two; and Khara and the Endal weren't the only two with the ability to make the choice.
"Let him do it," he insisted; his words didn't matter to Khara, everything he wanted to say to her was said with his eyes. There was forgiveness, there was love; there was absolute resolve and certainty that Zhol had done the right thing, and that he would do that same right thing over and over even if this day replayed a thousand times; and there was a plea for trust, a plea for patience. His eyes blinked, and then shifted, his gaze turning to the Endal. "If he needs a tiny little game scout to deal out his punishments for him, he's probably not all that tough."
This was Zhol's plan, his inspired strategy. Khara didn't have to choose if Zhol chose for her. Khara didn't have to decide whether she or the Endal hurt Zhol, if Zhol managed to provoke the Endal into action before she got the chance. There was no way he escaped from this without pain; but if he could spare Khara even a shred of the guilt of feeling responsible, if he could spare her from having to live with having made that choice, it was a sacrifice worth making. The plan went further still. For now they were quietly tucked off to one side, a disagreement between three people amid a crowd that couldn't care less. A fight though, or a beating? That was sure to attract attention, and all of the Endal's bravado would come under scrutiny. Maybe he would follow through with it. Maybe he would beat Zhol into a pulp, and then drag him and Khara off to wherever he expected to do whatever. But heated threats weren't premeditated. Heated threats weren't thought through. Here in the moment, with emotions running hot, the Endal had gone from wanting Khara for purely lustful reasons to wanting her out of spite. One set of emotions had begun to supersede the other; if Zhol could make him angry enough, if Zhol could make himself the focus of the Endal's attention and ire, perhaps he would forget about Khara.
His eyes glanced back to Khara for a brief moment, his hand trying to convey his entire plan in two simple gestures: I love you and be safe.
About half a second later, Zhol discovered how successful his plan had been. That moment in which his eyes had strayed away, the Endal had launched his first strike, a direct retaliation for Zhol's sucker punch blow that had started this entire ordeal. Zhol reeled at the impact, but barely had time to process what was happening before the Endal followed up with another blow, a knee to the gut this time that doubled Zhol over in an instant. A third hit, square between the shoulder blades and only just barely missing his spine crumpled Zhol completely, his legs giving out beneath him and depositing him on the floor. It was as his chin struck the stone and propelled his teeth into the flesh of his bottom lip that he realised how foolhardy a plan this was.
Even so, he didn't retaliate. This wasn't a fight, after all: this was a beating, a punishment that he was on the receiving end of. He tried to block out the pain as the Endal took advantage of his floored state, two swift kicks catching him in the gut, every last ounce of breath squeezed from his lungs, his chest burning to make sure he was fully aware. The only fighting that Zhol did was inside his mind, trying to calm himself, trying to focus, trying to meditate away the pain. He fought to imagine his candle, each kick making the flame sway violently; he mustered all his self control, willed it to be still, begged the flame to be calm, implored it to fill his mind and distract him from every -
Zhol's struggling lungs struggled harder, a choking noise throttled out of him as the Endal's hand wrapped around his throat. Zhol wasn't sure at what point his eyes had closed, but they snapped open, looking up as the Endal loomed over him. "Probably not all that tough?" the Endal spat, glaring into Zhol's eyes.
Suddenly, Zhol's arm snapped up, his fingers wrapping around the Endal's wrist. All his focus, all his meditative effort, was suddenly thrust into the pores of his hand, res oozing forth beneath his skin. He had tried this before when he confronted the blacksmith who had broken Khara in the fall. He had tried it again in winter, when he had been attacked on the Sanikas Road. This time, there were no brutish lackeys to distract his efforts, and no layers of winter clothing to stand in the way. His res seeped from his skin onto the Endal's, coiling around his arm as if his skin had become infected with some kind of living tattoo. "I am a reimancer," Zhol forced out, barely even able to give sound to the words. "Touch her, and I will set your skin on fire."
Despite the pain, despite the difficulty, Zhol's slips spread into a smile that was more of a sneer, blood clinging to the teeth that the expression showed. "What women will want to be with you then?"
Rage widened the Endal's eyes. He snatched his hand away from Zhol's throat, but the horse boy's grip was vice-like, refusing to let go of the Endal's arm. His other fist reeled back, another blow planned to dislodge Zhol and free himself. "How dare you!" he began to exclaim, but the words never got the chance to finish.
"Enough!" a new voice boomed, another hand suddenly wrapping around the Endal's other wrist, staying his hand before it could strike. The Endal turned, looking as if he was about to strike out at whoever was attempting to stop him, but a flash of recognition made him stop. "That's enough," the voice repeated, a little more gently, but just as stern.
"This Outsider -" the Endal started to say, but he seemed to think the better of it mid-sentence. "The Chiet -"
"- is Aine's daughter," the new voice countered. Finally able to draw air into his lungs, Zhol's mind was able to muster enough clarity to realise who it belonged to: another Endal, Jensen, who he'd come to know over the course of the season. The other Endal seemed to recognise him as well, and regarded his fellow eagle rider with a strange wariness. Zhol knew that Jensen was an oddity among the Endals, spending much of his time away from the city, except when his duties demanded otherwise. Perhaps it was the mystery that made the first Endal wary; perhaps he knew something that Zhol did not. "If you harm her, I will set fire to you myself. In the meantime, the Outsider seems to be thoroughly punished. I suggest you walk away."
"But -"
"Walk away, Dral."
Whatever further protest the Endal was considering, he kept it to himself, defiantly wrenching himself free of Zhol's grip before he rose to his feet, and strode out of view with all the aloof supremacy he could muster. Jensen waited until he was long gone before he turned his attention to Zhol, who had slumped back against a stone floor that was proving to be surprisingly comfortable, all things considered; or perhaps that was just the loss of feeling that had begun to permeate his body. "You are a fool," Jensen observed, with a sigh.
"He was going to hurt Khara," Zhol countered, weakly.
Jensen quirked an eyebrow. "A lovestruck fool," he conceded, "But a fool none the less."
His attention shifted, apparently satisfied that Zhol was not about to expire in the next few moments. His gaze instead settled on Khara, a confusing mix of emotions all carefully concealed behind a nondescript frown. "He tried to hurt you," he asked, with something that sounded almost like genuine concern at the very fringes of his voice. "Did he succeed?"
"It's okay."
The words weren't for Khara's benefit, but the look was. He could see every horrified thought looming menacingly behind her tear-soaked eyes. He could see the impossible choice being weighed, the way her mind experimentally tipped the balance one way or another, imagining the prospects and possibilities of each. From the moment the Endal had spoken, Zhol knew what choice Khara would make; what choice she'd have to make; and the toll that it would take on her if she made it. But the two options that the Endal had presented were not the only two; and Khara and the Endal weren't the only two with the ability to make the choice.
"Let him do it," he insisted; his words didn't matter to Khara, everything he wanted to say to her was said with his eyes. There was forgiveness, there was love; there was absolute resolve and certainty that Zhol had done the right thing, and that he would do that same right thing over and over even if this day replayed a thousand times; and there was a plea for trust, a plea for patience. His eyes blinked, and then shifted, his gaze turning to the Endal. "If he needs a tiny little game scout to deal out his punishments for him, he's probably not all that tough."
This was Zhol's plan, his inspired strategy. Khara didn't have to choose if Zhol chose for her. Khara didn't have to decide whether she or the Endal hurt Zhol, if Zhol managed to provoke the Endal into action before she got the chance. There was no way he escaped from this without pain; but if he could spare Khara even a shred of the guilt of feeling responsible, if he could spare her from having to live with having made that choice, it was a sacrifice worth making. The plan went further still. For now they were quietly tucked off to one side, a disagreement between three people amid a crowd that couldn't care less. A fight though, or a beating? That was sure to attract attention, and all of the Endal's bravado would come under scrutiny. Maybe he would follow through with it. Maybe he would beat Zhol into a pulp, and then drag him and Khara off to wherever he expected to do whatever. But heated threats weren't premeditated. Heated threats weren't thought through. Here in the moment, with emotions running hot, the Endal had gone from wanting Khara for purely lustful reasons to wanting her out of spite. One set of emotions had begun to supersede the other; if Zhol could make him angry enough, if Zhol could make himself the focus of the Endal's attention and ire, perhaps he would forget about Khara.
His eyes glanced back to Khara for a brief moment, his hand trying to convey his entire plan in two simple gestures: I love you and be safe.
About half a second later, Zhol discovered how successful his plan had been. That moment in which his eyes had strayed away, the Endal had launched his first strike, a direct retaliation for Zhol's sucker punch blow that had started this entire ordeal. Zhol reeled at the impact, but barely had time to process what was happening before the Endal followed up with another blow, a knee to the gut this time that doubled Zhol over in an instant. A third hit, square between the shoulder blades and only just barely missing his spine crumpled Zhol completely, his legs giving out beneath him and depositing him on the floor. It was as his chin struck the stone and propelled his teeth into the flesh of his bottom lip that he realised how foolhardy a plan this was.
Even so, he didn't retaliate. This wasn't a fight, after all: this was a beating, a punishment that he was on the receiving end of. He tried to block out the pain as the Endal took advantage of his floored state, two swift kicks catching him in the gut, every last ounce of breath squeezed from his lungs, his chest burning to make sure he was fully aware. The only fighting that Zhol did was inside his mind, trying to calm himself, trying to focus, trying to meditate away the pain. He fought to imagine his candle, each kick making the flame sway violently; he mustered all his self control, willed it to be still, begged the flame to be calm, implored it to fill his mind and distract him from every -
Zhol's struggling lungs struggled harder, a choking noise throttled out of him as the Endal's hand wrapped around his throat. Zhol wasn't sure at what point his eyes had closed, but they snapped open, looking up as the Endal loomed over him. "Probably not all that tough?" the Endal spat, glaring into Zhol's eyes.
Suddenly, Zhol's arm snapped up, his fingers wrapping around the Endal's wrist. All his focus, all his meditative effort, was suddenly thrust into the pores of his hand, res oozing forth beneath his skin. He had tried this before when he confronted the blacksmith who had broken Khara in the fall. He had tried it again in winter, when he had been attacked on the Sanikas Road. This time, there were no brutish lackeys to distract his efforts, and no layers of winter clothing to stand in the way. His res seeped from his skin onto the Endal's, coiling around his arm as if his skin had become infected with some kind of living tattoo. "I am a reimancer," Zhol forced out, barely even able to give sound to the words. "Touch her, and I will set your skin on fire."
Despite the pain, despite the difficulty, Zhol's slips spread into a smile that was more of a sneer, blood clinging to the teeth that the expression showed. "What women will want to be with you then?"
Rage widened the Endal's eyes. He snatched his hand away from Zhol's throat, but the horse boy's grip was vice-like, refusing to let go of the Endal's arm. His other fist reeled back, another blow planned to dislodge Zhol and free himself. "How dare you!" he began to exclaim, but the words never got the chance to finish.
"Enough!" a new voice boomed, another hand suddenly wrapping around the Endal's other wrist, staying his hand before it could strike. The Endal turned, looking as if he was about to strike out at whoever was attempting to stop him, but a flash of recognition made him stop. "That's enough," the voice repeated, a little more gently, but just as stern.
"This Outsider -" the Endal started to say, but he seemed to think the better of it mid-sentence. "The Chiet -"
"- is Aine's daughter," the new voice countered. Finally able to draw air into his lungs, Zhol's mind was able to muster enough clarity to realise who it belonged to: another Endal, Jensen, who he'd come to know over the course of the season. The other Endal seemed to recognise him as well, and regarded his fellow eagle rider with a strange wariness. Zhol knew that Jensen was an oddity among the Endals, spending much of his time away from the city, except when his duties demanded otherwise. Perhaps it was the mystery that made the first Endal wary; perhaps he knew something that Zhol did not. "If you harm her, I will set fire to you myself. In the meantime, the Outsider seems to be thoroughly punished. I suggest you walk away."
"But -"
"Walk away, Dral."
Whatever further protest the Endal was considering, he kept it to himself, defiantly wrenching himself free of Zhol's grip before he rose to his feet, and strode out of view with all the aloof supremacy he could muster. Jensen waited until he was long gone before he turned his attention to Zhol, who had slumped back against a stone floor that was proving to be surprisingly comfortable, all things considered; or perhaps that was just the loss of feeling that had begun to permeate his body. "You are a fool," Jensen observed, with a sigh.
"He was going to hurt Khara," Zhol countered, weakly.
Jensen quirked an eyebrow. "A lovestruck fool," he conceded, "But a fool none the less."
His attention shifted, apparently satisfied that Zhol was not about to expire in the next few moments. His gaze instead settled on Khara, a confusing mix of emotions all carefully concealed behind a nondescript frown. "He tried to hurt you," he asked, with something that sounded almost like genuine concern at the very fringes of his voice. "Did he succeed?"
"Pavi" | "Common" | "Nari" | "Symenos"
Dad Thoughts | Dinah Thoughts | Khara Thoughts
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This template was made by Khara, the letter Q, and the numbers 87 and 13.