XII Small breezes slipped through dark shadows. Giant size oaks creaked easy moans as the wind touched green leaves. The acrid smell of battle drifted up to be carried away. XIII Kinesis ran over to Pthora who had lowered himself by sliding down the oak trunk to the ground. Blood was seeping from small air vents under the part where his helmet joined the neck guard. Pthora reached up with his left hand and tried to do something with the underside of his helmet, but his hand wavered and he could not. “Kinesis,” he said softly. “I think that my last moments are drawing near. Can you find the two hidden latches beside my fingers and press them in the following order. Push the one nearest to you twice, the other once. Then, remove my helmet. I think that it is filling up with my blood and I am beginning to choke.” He did not move. Kinesis put her hands where his fingers were and felt for the buttons he had mentioned. She could not feel anything but the smooth armor. But, wait. There were two small smooth buttons that, were his fingers not so close to them, she would have missed. She pushed them in the order that he had given. The helmet gave a sudden click and separated from the connecting underarmor. She lifted the helmet. Before the helmet was off Pthora’s head, the blood that had pooled in it spilled over her hands and ran in dark syrupy runners etching his armor in crimson rivers and smears that held trace smells of rust --blood drying quickly. She looked at Pthora and he at her. She put the helmet down beside Pthora. Even in her haste to do so, she noticed that the helmet was neither dented nor scratched. How can this be, for Pthora was certainly wounded by Jarz’s blow? The armor must be of a material that is firm and flexible at the same time, letting only irresistible blows through, yet following the movements of the wearer as easily as a dressing gown, she quickly thought. Letting the helmet roll to Pthora’s side, she looked at the uncovered dark rider. Dark chestnut brown eyes, masked by sockets that were colored by deep bruise colored purple, looked out at Kinesis. They were set in a square face, that spoke of strength and power, yet, ragingly/quietly, for the face was handsome with full lips, straight nose, high cheekbones and straight smooth dark brown eyebrows that made his eyes startle the observer with the glare of a hawk. There was a combed thicket of fine dark hair that was blacker than midnight. Still, it gleamed with a moonlight shine of its own when a hint of light struck it. A small scar ran underneath the left eye from the bridge of his nose to the cheek, a thin white line of violence against a bronzed skin. Pthora was as handsome as he was a mysterious charge of power, someone to be admired, but from afar, the way one watches the beauty of a treacherous sea storm. Pthora spoke, almost in a whisper. “Kinesis. Jarz has gone. This land that you are in is very dangerous. I am sure that I am dying. Look under the back flap of my saddle and you will see a small silver horn. Go to where you have marked the vision portal to get back to your land. I have closed it since you entered so that no beings from my world could enter yours. But, you must return to your beach now without hesitation. I will open the portal when you blow the horn once. When you have passed through, blow it twice and I will close it. Do not argue with me. Go now. Quickly, for I can feel death turning my feet cold and numb.” He looked deeply into her eyes. His words were not questions, but commands. The soft brown eyes still burned with a force that could not be resisted. Kinesis could see that he was mortally wounded. The pupil of one of the eyes that looked at her did not react to light and remained as an unchanging open dark hole into his very soul. Blood eased from the sides of his mouth, ran freely from his noses and from the ear on his right side. As good as his armor is, it was not enough to withstand the crushing blow of Jarz’s tail. She looked at the distant white strip of cloth that she had tied around the small oak to mark the “mirage” and she had named it, the “portal” as Pthora had called it. She felt teeth grinding longing to return to the peace and beauty of her beach. And, she felt desperate urgency of Pthora’s dying words. She picked up the horn and turned back to speak to Pthora. She reached out and brushed blood matted hair from his face. “Pthora, I need...” “No, Kinesis. There is no time for talk. Your need is to get back to your beach. Please, take my horn and do as I have said.” Pthora’s lips quivered as he spoke. His eyes never left those of Kinesis. He was struggling. They were closing against his will. “Do you have any water on your horse?” Kinesis spoke in a sharp and demanding voice. “Kinesis, you must...” “Do you have water? Answer me?” shouted Kinesis. “Behind the saddle rim on the back. Twist the bronze lever to the right. But, what is the need for water? You must...” Pthora leaned his head back against the trunk of the oak, letting a long sigh of pain, the kind that is given when one’s end is seen to be drawing close enough to feel its coldness. Kinesis was already to Fire by the time Pthora had stopped talking. She found the lever, twisted it and instantly a small water bag thrust into her hand without her reaching or fumbling for it. She turned and ran back to Pthora. From behind her left ear, she pulled loose what appeared to be a small roll of her skin. Not so. It was a curved tube that was slightly flat, yet it was so well hidden against the side of her ear that even skilled physicians would never have noticed it. She pinched open one end and sprinkled a small amount of blue powder on the palm of her hand. To that she added three drops of water, each drop measured by pouring the water from the flask, letting it run down her index finger until the drops came at the right intervals, then dripping them onto the powder. She massaged the powder with the water until it took the form of a small ball. She looked at Pthora. He had come back to rescue her, even though he was her abductor. There was more. Desperate loneliness pulsed from his body, even in his final moments. She could feel that and more. A tear appeared in the corner of her right eye. She put her head down and let the tear fall on the powder. When she massaged it again, it turned grey blue, a pearl that shone with its own light. Moving to Pthora’s side, she held his head against the oak. She was sure that he could not see her, but she spoke. “Swallow what I give you.” Not waiting for a reply, she pried open his mouth, thrust the pearl into it, closed it and pushed his chin up while stroking his throat. She could see his throat move as he swallowed the pearl. Her arms wrapped around him. For a moment, there was only a slight shallow breathing sound coming from him. Then, his body shook explosively, an earthquake inside. She held tightly to him, but his life power and the force of the pearl were dealing with each other, and she was thrown backwards, a leaf blown suddenly by a strong gust of ocean storm wind. Pthora stood up, hands reaching and clasping his head. “Yaarrrgh!” he cried. “The pain, the pain, it is unbearable!” Like a puppet played with by a small boy, his whole body in its armor shook with convulsions. Yet, he did not fall. His body struggled to the depths of endurance as it dealt with coming back to life while his mind seized the consciousness scattering, wrenching pain of returning to the world. Yet, he did not fall. Then it was over; he was back. The convulsions stopped. The pain ebbed to the relief of a long sigh. He looked at Kinesis. “You have saved me,” he said –Kinesis could detect amazement in the words-- as he walked to her side and bent down on one knee to see straight into her eyes. He put his hands gently on her shoulders. “I am thankful and owe you my allegiance.” “I owe you my allegiance! What words are these?” Kinesis said to herself. In a flash, Kinesis stole out the dagger from his belt and held it to his throat. “So, I have saved you, but you will make me a promise or I shall take back that life,” she said, her crystal blue eyes piercing into Pthora’s. “Move only your lips, Pthora. I know how quick you are.” Her shoulders did not give under the slightest weight she began to feel from his hands. “State what you wish, and I shall promise,” Pthora replied. “You shall promise that you shall never do me harm.” The blade slightly touched Pthora’s neck. Where it touched, the skin opened and blood trickled down. Kinesis had not expected this; no knife could be so sharp that its mere touch could draw blood. “I promise never to do you harm,” replied Pthora. “My word is an eternal bond.” “Good,” she replied and thrust the dagger back into its sheath. “I am sorry that I cut you; your dagger is unusually sharp.”
Posted on: Mon, 24 Mar 2014 18:36:36 +0000
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