Skin and Bones (II)

[Kiva]

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Wikus seemed content to move by the window, transferring the ink and admiring it. Kiva was anxious to see his reaction, as she was not a skilled artist by any means, and as she reached to the wall to lift one of Kavala's lanterns that hung there, she lead it back to their work in the center of the room.

Locating the lantern was easy enough, finding a way to light it... that proved a bit more challenging. First, the woman rummaged around her backpack, then, she lowered herself, looking under the bed. Finally, she bent at the waist and lifted the mattress, snatching up a bundle of matches she had hidden there. As she was about to strike the match, Wikus looked up at her with a grin.

"What does word mean?"

Kiva looked at him from the corner of her eyes and noticed her simple picture must have come to life. And it was bleeding. She quirked an eyebrow, intrigued by the story told and she whispered the word in her native tongue, the sound flowing like music to her; yet so foreign to him.

The match hissed and puffed as it came to life, smoke rising as she lit the lantern. Soft light illuminated the room, casting sjadows aong the walls and on the bones of her face. As if sharing a secret, Kiva smirked once more and stared at him from across the room, "Conqueror."

With a sharp exhale of air, she blew out the match and tossed its remains to the ground. They were nearly done with their magic lesson, and she went to retrieve the black blade from the table, turning it over in her hand as she moved deliberately to where their work lay. Lowering herself back to the ground, she looked up at the tattooed man.

"Think of the bird. Of it in the air, trying to fly. Leaping. Think of it clearly. Think only of this."

Kiva tried to remember what her mentor had taught her so very long ago. Imagine it's power. It's being. Feel it. Kiva closed her eyes, then very lightly brought the blade's edge across the inside of left palm. She took a slow inhale as the hot pain slide through her skin. The very images she spoke of, she conjured in her mind. A running hen, fluttering wings; airborne, and a desperate attempt to keep the leap going. She looked at Wikus, "We bleed onto the circles when they are on the bone. Then we see if it works. If the-"

What was the word her father used? D...D.. Djed. If the Djed transfers. Closing her palm to keep the blood from leaking, she tried to find the words. She did not know the word for djed in Common, "If the magic goes into it."

Eyeing him, she went to hold out the blade for him, but hesitated, caution lighting up her eyes. She stared at him for a long moment, then the weapon and with a silent warning, reluctantly held her sword out to him.

★★★

[Wikus]

Wikus’ grin faded quickly, as instead a new emotion invaded his being. ‘Conqueror’. Just like the match in her fingers faded and the rain behind him gained intensity, the lantern was lit and so was him. Conqueror. The word was almost like a blade, having struck him almost painfully. It wasn’t just a word for him, nor just a compliment. It was a word he had been chasing for himself for as long as he could remember, and Kiva having given it to him even in a jest was… overwhelming. He stared back at her, watching her frame in the lantern-lit room, trying to categorize her as something, be it a jester, a liar, or a savage. Wikus was not used to kindness, not at all, yet she had struck his main nerve, his obsession with fame and power, with rising in the ranks and making a name for himself. The more than appropriate word had left him somewhat confused as to how to handle the situation, unsure if to thank her, strike her, or turn around and jump through the window to not let her know of just how accurate she had been.


Still a bit taken aback, he’d reluctantly follow her back to the floor after stepping to the center of the room, once again letting her have the word so that may conclude this bizarre lesson. He heard her words, yet his mind was still a bit numb thanks to her surprise. Conqueror, conqueror… He couldn’t think of anything else those moments. It wasn’t until her blade came forth to pierce her palm that he returned to reality instead of dwelling inside his mind. Bleed on the circles to activate the magic, to see if it works. He nodded, his frown gone by then and his plain features meeting her cautious eyes. Wikus extended his palm towards the blade, not demanding it, but asking for it with his body language. She too distrusted him, as she was no fool. They both had doubts against the other, and Wikus could understand and relate to that feeling. However, this day had proven to him that Kiva was perhaps a bit more trustworthy, more appropriate for him to share a few words with. Unlike women like Kavala and the rest of Riverfall’s citizens, Kiva’s feet were firmly planted on the ground. Wikus respected that.


Before taking the blade, however, he realized he had forgotten about something. Taking the bone in question, he’d focus on his the shape of the absorbed ink thoroughly, finally pressing his thumb against the surface of the bone. Just like that, the bone already displayed the malediction circle Kiva had drawn on his face. Lightly blowing on it to dry off, in a similar manner Kiva had done, he’d repeat the motion thrice before looking back up and accepting the blade. He grew more nervous, closing his eyes as his mind began focusing on what the female had told him: the bird, of its leap, of its flapping wings. Just as he imagined, the tattoos on his bare chest began displaying his very thoughts. A chicken flapping its wings, jumping up and down as its head shook and silently cried for the skies in desperate attempts of flying, of reaching the skies and leaving the ground behind. The more he imagined it and dwelled in the thought, the calmer his breath became and the clearer the display on both his mind and chest became.


At last, he rose his head as he took his hand above the blade, and with a harsh motion he’d caress the blade with the palm, the wound immediately beginning to bleed. Opening his eyes, he’d stare at Kiva as he started to slowly move his hand above the bone, forming a fist in his hand with strength to allow the blood to pour in greater amounts. If she was to add her own blood into the malediction circle, she’d have more than enough time to coordinate the pouring. The blood fell on the circles, perhaps a bit too much as the cloth, floor and bone alike were greatly coated in blood. There was no explosion, no mystical lights nor sudden storms, salve perhaps for the lightning that briefly flashed through the window, the thunder not having come yet.


Wikus sighed and looked down. “No flash or surprises even in end.” He whispered, quoting one of her phrases from before as he usually did. He glanced at the bone, then at his bleeding hand, and finally at her own hand. He wasn’t as focused on the magic as he should’ve been, considering this was supposed to be his initiation lesson. Perhaps the events of the entire day had begun piling up and shifting his priorities, having learned something about Kiva and relishing in the knowledge. Glancing up at her as if scared of her, he’d finally react by extending his bleeding hand towards her own. “Woman.” Pause. “Lend me power.” Just as she had taught him, the blood held power. Drink an enemy’s blood to become stronger, spill the blood to create magic. Now, he wanted her blood, to honor her and let her know that he was in her debt. If she’d let him, he’d take her wounded hand and slowly bring it towards him, towards his features, and attempt to lay his lips upon the wound as his eyes laid fix on hers.

WIKUS

Thanks to Kiva for this amazing template.

[Kiva]

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Wikus' hand extended, slicing his flesh on the blade and he began bleeding on the newly placed malediction circles. He kept his intentions in his mind, his body creating the images itself, and the Myrian watched as if watching a play. The bird fluttered across his skin, it was impressive to watch. Kiva felt the only blood pooling in her palm, slipping between closed fingers. When it was her turn, she imagined the scene herself, focusing on the purpose of the item and the animal the parts were harvested from.

When she had a clear image, she allowed her blood to pour, mingling in with that of an outsider. Kiva was not sure how many items were co-maledicted, but she hoped they had been on the same page. The blood settled, and the Myrian began to reach for the cloth she had prepared. A hen bone wouldn't be the worst failure. She lowered her blade to her lap.

"No flash or surprises, even in end."

Kiva chuckled softly, admiring the new cut on her hand. It wasn't deep, and would heal soon enough if she kept it cleaned. A bandage and she would be fine. She was about to press the fabric to her bloody palm when Wikus' large hand gently took her own. His hands felt rough, callused under the slickness of red.

"Woman."

Kiva stared at him, frozen. What was he doing? "Lend me your power." Something was different, and then his lips lowered on her rising palm. He looked her in the eye, and the Myrian returned the eye contact. She was no shy woman. Bold? Perhaps. But never easily shaken.

The idea of snatching her hand away flashed in her mind, and she nearly did so. Lend him her power? Why should she? But still... she remained unmoved, watching as he laid his lips upon her skin. He was seeking her hand. Her power. As if she had something worth giving. The cloth in Kiva's uninjured hand lowered and she waited patiently.

"I've given you many things already," she said finally, and after some time. "You may have the bones of the hen. You do not wear shoes," Kiva recalled his struggle in winter, and how cold his feet got, "So I make ankle bracelet, like decided. That is the only power I can give you today." She felt the blood already beginning to dry on her hand, crusting on the edges of her palm.

Kiva pulled her hand from his, taking an edge of the fabric between her teeth and yanking downward. A hiss from the fabric shattered the rhythmic sound of the ran falling outside, and she tossed some of the cloth to him. 'Do you remember how to bandage it?' she wondered, attempting to mend her own wounds. As she tended to them, her finger searched for the twine she had brought from the kitchen and she moved swiftly, tying knots around the bone repeatedly, to create a slip.

Then she handed it out to Wikus, "It may work, it may not. Let it dry. Do not wear it in the rain, or it will wash away." She shrugged, turning from him and began to gather the things. She paused, looking at the number of decorative feathers that littered the ground. "In return, I would like some of these," she pointed to them. "And one more thing."

Kiva motioned for him to give her his hand. It was her turn. Fair was fair.

★★★

[Wikus]

Wikus relished on her blood, his tongue coming out of his mouth to swipe across the wound and capture the most of her power. It was a minimal amount, so minimal that even the metallic taste of the blood was faint in itself. Nonetheless, Wikus was satisfied. He let her retrieve her hand, as she was already eager to do so apparently. Wikus could understand that, for sharing was hard in a world like this. Generosity often came with conditions, and even all she had taught him today he’d have to pay eventually. Thus the generosity was merely a trade, and that was indeed fair. Generosity, true generosity, was simply unthinkable. Those who shared often perished, for leeches would come and suck them dry of anything they held, be it their life, their possessions, or their joy. He was a leech himself, taking from everyone around him and building himself around what he could steal from them. It applied to his personalty the most, yet some qualities also flourished within him depending on his encounters. Even if he should’ve been in a pyre long, he never ceased to grow with each passing day. Unfortunately, sometimes he grew negatively, and he was forced to return to ancient memories.


“Yes.” He confirmed, not quite wishing to dabble on unnecessary speech. An ankle decoration… that didn’t sound as good as he imagined. Still, if it had power, he wouldn’t complain. This was the reason of the whole day, after all. Having started with a simple chase for a chicken he was forced to love, it had ended up with a new tool in his back that he’d make sure he used as much as he could. Mostly because there weren’t any bangs, or fires that exploded whenever the blood dripped on top of the bone. Kiva’s cloth toss hit him in the middle of his chest, which reminded him of his problem. He had to dispose of the ink soon, otherwise it would begin to clog in his pores and escaping him without him noticing. Instead of using the bandage, he’d reach with his unharmed hand to the notebook and pulled it closer. Focusing on the absorbed ink, he’d rest his forearm on the blank page and with a slow swipe from his forearm, he’d return the small maledicted circles he had borrowed from her in the first place. Tossing the notebook aside, he nodded once more at the instructions. “No water.”


Easy enough. He hated water, anyway. He had no problem with hygiene, even if others were obstinate in calling him dirty when he was not. About to bandage his own palm, Wikus halted and looked up at her. “Take feathers, but not power.” There was no doubt in his words, nor any meditation before he spat them. His own features had returned to that stubborn frown, and the softness that he might’ve gained in their encounter was nowhere to be found. Even more, he pulled his arm back, as far away as he could from the woman. Even if he was in her favor for all the revelations she had given him, he did not want to complete the trade. It made him feel guilty. In fact, he felt so guilty that he knew the decision was not his. Slowly he returned his hand forward, as if he was going to face a cleaver that was to remove every last of his fingers. “Woman.” He said, as usual, no longer whispering in the secrecy the lit lantern gave them in the rainy day. “Do you trust me?” He let his palm open to revel the wound that laid in the middle of his palm. He opened and closed his fist to slow down any coagulation.


“Do not take my power. You do not want it.” He had been selfish enough to spend the entire day with her, to let her be lured to the trap that he was, in hopes of gaining some joy for himself which he had succeeded in. However, he didn’t wish her no harm and so this would be her warning. His power made others wither as he was left with the remains, yet he was prideful enough to conserve and drag it around like the curse it was. He had spent the last six winters dragging it him across the world, and he had yet to see something good come out of it. The man that granted it to him never came back, which made him feel even lonelier in the world. That feeling of lonesomeness, of helplessness, of roots being ripped off the ground was something he did not want her to experience.


“Take other thing from me, but not blood. No good come from it.” He said after a brief pause, yet still a hand being offered to her. His lantern-lit eyes were staring at her firmly, watching and waiting to see her decision. It was hers to take, of course. Whatever her choice, he wouldn’t blame her. At last, his eyes came down to glare at the crafted ankle decoration, which was finished. “We hunt big animal tomorrow. Something with more power.”

WIKUS

Thanks to Kiva for this amazing template.

[Kiva]

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Kiva regarded Wikus' plea with silence, her own word's failing her. His blood was not something she craved, nor truly wanted, but seemed a fair trade in her eyes. He wanted hers, so why could she not have his? Eyes washing over the man, she nodded, more to herself than to him, and let his hand fall away with a cool compliance. 'So be it,' she thought, busying herself with cleaning up the mess they had made.

Bones collected, remains to be thrown away. Feather tips cleaned and her book tucked back to her desk. Kiva wasn't sure how to answer his first question, and so it hung in the air between them, heavy and thick like a cool fog. "Trust," she mused, feeling it roll off her tongue and risking a glance in the ex-Drykas' direction, "My trust," she corrected, shrugging and returning her eyes to wiping the blood off the floor and watching the small droplets soak into the rag, illuminated by dim lamp light, "I trust enough."

The answer was simple. Vague, with him allowing it to interpret how he wished. Almost always Kiva liked blunt responses, something tangible and easily understood. Now, he asked her a question she did not know the answer to and she hoped he didn't take offense by her evasiveness.

What was his concern? Did he want her to trust him? Truthfully, she trusted him enough to share a part of her interests with him, to not attack her outright at the moment, but trusting someone fully when you did not know them, had only spoken on rare occasions, that was a lot to seek from her. Kiva did not know what Wikus wanted. Was he curious or was he seeking weakness? The dark haired woman leaned towards the latter option, her own upbringing making her weary at best. Still, she thought of the flower and pretty picture he had demonstrated on his own skin. Some would call that acts of kindness, but she waved it away like smoke, and took a deep breath.

He wasn't Myrian. And had she not been taught it was her people against the world? To conquer, to fight, to raise up and take what was theirs? The two had an understanding, and as far as she was concerned, that was an ample amount of 'trust' for now.

"Tomorrow," she stated, changing the subject with a subtle finality, "We hunt. When? What?" Kiva calculated the preparations in her mind. She would need to either go shopping or get inventive. She finished up the cleaning, throwing the soiled rag on the table and crossing her arms as she sat upon her bed.

Outside the storm began to let up, another flash and then a delayed rumble of thunder. It wouldn't be long before the rain stopped completely, and Kiva listened to the storm, watching and waiting to see what the bearded man would do.

★★★

[Wikus]

Satisfied with her cooperation, Wikus simply got out of the way while Kiva cleaned, as he was certain she knew how to clean better. Not because she was a woman or he was a misogynist, which he is, but because she had a certain order in her room and only she knew how to maintain it. Without overthinking her words, as she often treated his, Wikus could only enjoy the mutual bond that they had, and the occasional agreements between the two were pleasant. Those kinds of agreements were rare in his daily life, and it was perhaps the closest he had to a relationship with an individual. It wasn’t as sad as it appeared, either. Deep down, all individuals had huge differences between each other, despite agreeing on basic notions that brought them false comfort. The same happened with this woman, whom was also skeptic enough to realize this. Her agreement, however, made another piece of his respect befall upon her even if she wasn’t looking for none of it.


Retreating by the wall opposite the bed, he’d lean on it while he wrapped the improvised bandage upon his split palm, not considering it necessary but still doing it before he instilled her rage. Wikus didn’t answer her words, nor met her eyes after her reply. Tying a knot on the end of the bandage with the help from his teeth, courtesy of Kavala, he’d tighten it as much as possible. Now that he was finished, and Kiva’s new wave of queries arrived, he took more than just a moment to ponder on it. The Sea of Grass was a gigantic killing field, an infinite graveyard in which grass was the only gravestone. If they were to risk it out there for a bunch of bones, they had to know what to look for, and where to look for it. Glassbeaks were out of the question, for they’d both perish before they even wounded one of them. Snarlwings, creatures that stalked the night sky with their pale fur, were also out of their reach, for they attacked with great numbers and laid waste to everything they touched. Spearbacks were also implausible. The great predators of the Sea of Grass were out of their reach, especially if they came in numbers. Maybe something pacific? That’d include stalking, stealth, and patience.


“Something big.” He concluded, basically repeating himself and not offering any new information. Truth was, despite his knowledge of these creatures, he had no idea where to find any of them, for they usually found him. Nobody would go around trying to stumble upon anything outside the road… even if he was a certified fool that traveled outside the roads. In his experience, he had found the Sea of Grass bare of anything but flora. The days were long and lonely, the breeze was soft and the sun was high. He walked and walked, and anything he saw was far, far away. The danger was at night, when he couldn’t sleep, when he couldn’t cope with the nakedness felt when anything could creep through the grass. Those agonic nights, in which he did his best to maintain the fire alive least it extinguished itself and stripped him from light. Glancing over at Kiva, he’d follow her gaze towards the window and the storm that was fading outside. At least the rain was going away, and he wouldn’t have to cling to the floorboards to avoid stepping a foot below the horrifying weather. That was something Wikus wouldn’t want to reveal. His secret.


“We go see what out there. Something comes for us, to attack. What comes, we kill.” A rather bold statement full of recklessness. Even Wikus realized this, so he quickly thought of a solution. “We buy mercenary. Hunt big, then pay with meat.” Drykas usually paid with meat, or so did his own pavilion, and he honestly believed this was the case for this city too. Crossing his arms, he’d return his gaze upon the rain, his frown crushing the disgusting attractive of his, the unnaturally strong and healthy presence that just beckoned for attention he didn’t quite want. He’d remain lethargic for a couple of chimes, before glancing to Kiva and snapping his fingers to call her attention. “Think magic worked?”

WIKUS

Thanks to Kiva for this amazing template.