1st of Saun, 717
"I believe in you," she had told him, and he looked at her and actually smiled, a brief flash of dancing golden light that shone from the stone in his chest.
Then the smile faded and he sagged in place, tired beyond words. He was exhausted and in pain.
With weary hands Quio took the tablet and thanked Yana, his gratitude scrolling, and he told her was not going to be up and thanked her again. Then the Yludih turned his body towards Yldria's light, sitting with legs crossed and back straight, and willed the suffering of both worlds away.
As quickly as a candle goes out he found that meditative place inside him; it was like falling into a deep sleep, though that was not exactly what it was. Abruzih quietly joined him, setting a glowing hand on the younger man's wounded shoulder, and the presence of the Ancient was enough, at least, to keep everyone who was curious at bay.
In his trance state Quio's body flickered as if in a dream. He disappeared only to return minutes or seconds later, still sitting in the same relaxed pose. This happened off and on as he sat there, and he remained in his false slumber for breaks which stretched into days.
---
6th of Saun, 717
unknown
Preparing to do what he knew he needed to do, Quio remembered.
He had flickered away from Uleuda that day five trials ago, the day the men had so badly hurt him, and in the world Without he had been able to see what they had done. The chair he had been bound to had tipped over backwards; someone had kicked it prone. The first thing he saw was the blood. Silver blood, on the men, on himself. Their hands. The ship's brig was lit dimly from within by two distinct sources of light. One was a lantern hanging on the wall.
The other was him. His life light. His bleeding.
Pain caught up to him, pain like nothing, nothing he had ever felt, and trying to remain calm, to assess the damage, he looked down to see--
--the ship's hatchet lying bloodied on the floor not too far away. The men were hurrying to unbind him, swearing and shouting at each other in their rush,
and
--the deep wound hacked into his body
and
he looked immediately away.
Wooziness washed over him like a fresh wave of lost blood. The pain flared as if knowing what had caused it made it worse tenfold. Steeling himself, clinging to a certain detachment to what was happening, he looked again.
Neck from shoulder his body had been cleaved as if to separate him in two, the wound a hand's length deep, cutting through his collarbone, and he couldn't stand it and he closed his eyes and willed himself to go away.
For a bit at least there was no waking world and no Uleuda light. Perhaps he had missed his destination.
In those undying moments it was painlessly black.
---
He had gathered information over the next bits, breaks, and days, spiraling from Within to Without, and he knew that even his captors thought they had fucked up with what they had done. Sometimes he went over willingly, as a scout. Sometimes unwillingly, coaxed by the pain.
Perhaps fifteen bits after it happened he was there again, unable to stay away, and saw they were holding him down. They had thrown themselves on his legs and working arm. His left arm lay out to the side, free but useless. They had unshackled him from the chair and he was lying on his back on the ground.
The light from him flickered and someone had their hands in his wound.
Silver blood ran brilliant red and he realized that without meaning to he had shifted. Now he was in his born human form, the one they hated so much. The men cried out in alarm at the change and flinched back, not wanting to touch him. But, "Hold it still!" one of them said, the one trying to staunch the wound, and then they were on him again. He shifted, shifted, shifted, but it was worthless. No matter which body he used there was the pain.
Later he returned and saw the injury had been packed with cloth and tightly bound.
"We weren't supposed to kill it," he heard one of them say from somewhere nearby, outside the brig. "Not before the buyer--"
"I know," another said.
A third man interrupted. "Well how was I supposed to know--"
"How 'bout next time you don't try and take an ax to its head."
"They're made of stone for immortals' sake," the third man protested. "You'd think an ax--"
"You knew it could bleed, you knew we could cut it. You could've killed the thing, and maybe you already did."
"Well what are we supposed to do about it? We can't let it die but we can't stitch the wound."
"We don't need to stitch it."
"Don't forget we know a lot from hurting these things," one of them said. "As far as I can tell they don't get infected, so that's not a risk. But they do bleed, so we focus on that. We stop it from bleeding as best we can and we don't remove the bandages. If we see any light shining through from the wound we'll pack another layer on top."
"Someone tell Cian we're to head towards nearest land," he continued. "In the city there might be someone who can take a look. In the meantime we'll give it doses of lantern oil. Oil's better than drink for burning and it'll keep that fire inside its chest lit."
After the injury they'd left him unchained in the brig. The severity of what they'd done to him meant that Quio needed to get out before they did something else and killed him.
Escaping while unshackled was his only chance.
---
Quio waited in Yldria's warmth; he waited, trying to take in the Mother's strength, her light. He kept an eye on the waking world and in the Uleuda he prepared for what very well could be the final moments of his life. The others were gathered around him, Yanahalqah, Abruzih, Qadazih, and even Yanaqi who paced fretfully back and forth around him like an anxious cat.
He had told them everything and now he wrote, I don't have a plan. If I could I would have one, but I don't. All there's left for me is opportunity, one final chance, and if I find an opening I'm going to take it. So I'd just like to say--
"Don't you say it," Yanaqi swore, but he said it anyways, --goodbye, everyone.
Thank you, he said, looking to each of them. He bowed to both of the Ancients who tilted their heads, and then he turned to Yanahalqah. Silver emotion tinged a bluish-green shone out of his chest, and how was it he thought of that particular shade as their color? And yet to him it was.
Yana, he said, and the others glanced away from the tablet, giving him what semblance of privacy they could. If it wasn't for you, he shook his head, I would already be dead.
I'm afraid, he admitted, chin trembling just a trill, and Yanaqi began her angry stalking again, nearly tearing at her arms in frustration and fear. She let out a burbling noise like a scream and Qadazih reached out a gentle hand, saying, "Hush." I don't want to die. I thought I did, I almost did, but somehow that spear-- He trailed off again.
I thank you. Thank you, Yana. To her he also bowed his head.
This is twice now you have saved me.
After a moment he struggled to his feet, his form still weak from pain fatigue and bloodloss despite the energy he had been saving these last five days, but if he was to die he thought he would like to do it standing. He faced the light.
This is it, then, he said, the ring around his arm burning as brightly as it could, and before he left them he let them say their final goodbyes. Yanaqi wouldn't look at him but she grabbed his hand, tightly as if begging, and she was a child again as she tried to hide the glittering tears on her face.
This is it, he thought again.
One way or another, this was the end.
"I believe in you," she had told him, and he looked at her and actually smiled, a brief flash of dancing golden light that shone from the stone in his chest.
Then the smile faded and he sagged in place, tired beyond words. He was exhausted and in pain.
With weary hands Quio took the tablet and thanked Yana, his gratitude scrolling, and he told her was not going to be up and thanked her again. Then the Yludih turned his body towards Yldria's light, sitting with legs crossed and back straight, and willed the suffering of both worlds away.
As quickly as a candle goes out he found that meditative place inside him; it was like falling into a deep sleep, though that was not exactly what it was. Abruzih quietly joined him, setting a glowing hand on the younger man's wounded shoulder, and the presence of the Ancient was enough, at least, to keep everyone who was curious at bay.
In his trance state Quio's body flickered as if in a dream. He disappeared only to return minutes or seconds later, still sitting in the same relaxed pose. This happened off and on as he sat there, and he remained in his false slumber for breaks which stretched into days.
---
6th of Saun, 717
unknown
Preparing to do what he knew he needed to do, Quio remembered.
He had flickered away from Uleuda that day five trials ago, the day the men had so badly hurt him, and in the world Without he had been able to see what they had done. The chair he had been bound to had tipped over backwards; someone had kicked it prone. The first thing he saw was the blood. Silver blood, on the men, on himself. Their hands. The ship's brig was lit dimly from within by two distinct sources of light. One was a lantern hanging on the wall.
The other was him. His life light. His bleeding.
Pain caught up to him, pain like nothing, nothing he had ever felt, and trying to remain calm, to assess the damage, he looked down to see--
--the ship's hatchet lying bloodied on the floor not too far away. The men were hurrying to unbind him, swearing and shouting at each other in their rush,
and
--the deep wound hacked into his body
and
he looked immediately away.
Wooziness washed over him like a fresh wave of lost blood. The pain flared as if knowing what had caused it made it worse tenfold. Steeling himself, clinging to a certain detachment to what was happening, he looked again.
Neck from shoulder his body had been cleaved as if to separate him in two, the wound a hand's length deep, cutting through his collarbone, and he couldn't stand it and he closed his eyes and willed himself to go away.
For a bit at least there was no waking world and no Uleuda light. Perhaps he had missed his destination.
In those undying moments it was painlessly black.
---
He had gathered information over the next bits, breaks, and days, spiraling from Within to Without, and he knew that even his captors thought they had fucked up with what they had done. Sometimes he went over willingly, as a scout. Sometimes unwillingly, coaxed by the pain.
Perhaps fifteen bits after it happened he was there again, unable to stay away, and saw they were holding him down. They had thrown themselves on his legs and working arm. His left arm lay out to the side, free but useless. They had unshackled him from the chair and he was lying on his back on the ground.
The light from him flickered and someone had their hands in his wound.
Silver blood ran brilliant red and he realized that without meaning to he had shifted. Now he was in his born human form, the one they hated so much. The men cried out in alarm at the change and flinched back, not wanting to touch him. But, "Hold it still!" one of them said, the one trying to staunch the wound, and then they were on him again. He shifted, shifted, shifted, but it was worthless. No matter which body he used there was the pain.
Later he returned and saw the injury had been packed with cloth and tightly bound.
"We weren't supposed to kill it," he heard one of them say from somewhere nearby, outside the brig. "Not before the buyer--"
"I know," another said.
A third man interrupted. "Well how was I supposed to know--"
"How 'bout next time you don't try and take an ax to its head."
"They're made of stone for immortals' sake," the third man protested. "You'd think an ax--"
"You knew it could bleed, you knew we could cut it. You could've killed the thing, and maybe you already did."
"Well what are we supposed to do about it? We can't let it die but we can't stitch the wound."
"We don't need to stitch it."
"Don't forget we know a lot from hurting these things," one of them said. "As far as I can tell they don't get infected, so that's not a risk. But they do bleed, so we focus on that. We stop it from bleeding as best we can and we don't remove the bandages. If we see any light shining through from the wound we'll pack another layer on top."
"Someone tell Cian we're to head towards nearest land," he continued. "In the city there might be someone who can take a look. In the meantime we'll give it doses of lantern oil. Oil's better than drink for burning and it'll keep that fire inside its chest lit."
After the injury they'd left him unchained in the brig. The severity of what they'd done to him meant that Quio needed to get out before they did something else and killed him.
Escaping while unshackled was his only chance.
---
Quio waited in Yldria's warmth; he waited, trying to take in the Mother's strength, her light. He kept an eye on the waking world and in the Uleuda he prepared for what very well could be the final moments of his life. The others were gathered around him, Yanahalqah, Abruzih, Qadazih, and even Yanaqi who paced fretfully back and forth around him like an anxious cat.
He had told them everything and now he wrote, I don't have a plan. If I could I would have one, but I don't. All there's left for me is opportunity, one final chance, and if I find an opening I'm going to take it. So I'd just like to say--
"Don't you say it," Yanaqi swore, but he said it anyways, --goodbye, everyone.
Thank you, he said, looking to each of them. He bowed to both of the Ancients who tilted their heads, and then he turned to Yanahalqah. Silver emotion tinged a bluish-green shone out of his chest, and how was it he thought of that particular shade as their color? And yet to him it was.
Yana, he said, and the others glanced away from the tablet, giving him what semblance of privacy they could. If it wasn't for you, he shook his head, I would already be dead.
I'm afraid, he admitted, chin trembling just a trill, and Yanaqi began her angry stalking again, nearly tearing at her arms in frustration and fear. She let out a burbling noise like a scream and Qadazih reached out a gentle hand, saying, "Hush." I don't want to die. I thought I did, I almost did, but somehow that spear-- He trailed off again.
I thank you. Thank you, Yana. To her he also bowed his head.
This is twice now you have saved me.
After a moment he struggled to his feet, his form still weak from pain fatigue and bloodloss despite the energy he had been saving these last five days, but if he was to die he thought he would like to do it standing. He faced the light.
This is it, then, he said, the ring around his arm burning as brightly as it could, and before he left them he let them say their final goodbyes. Yanaqi wouldn't look at him but she grabbed his hand, tightly as if begging, and she was a child again as she tried to hide the glittering tears on her face.
This is it, he thought again.
One way or another, this was the end.
"Speaking in Rakahi"
"Speaking in Common"
"Speaking in Ulehi"
"Speaking in Common"
"Speaking in Ulehi"
