The Reward of The Oolyay (6 page)

             
Iogi tugged on Inlojem’s cloak as he stared at the shattered bits of red rock in fascination.

             
“Come on, you’re gonna miss the girl!” Iogi declared, continuing to tug on Inlojem’s cloak.

“What girl?” Inlojem responded, slipping away from his trance.

“
Come oooon!”
Iogi whined, pulling harder on his cloak. Inlojem looked on the pitiful creature, who was mustering all his strength to pull Inlojem forward, and obeyed the boy’s wish.

The day slowly burned away, and the faint white glowing dot far beyond the clouds drifted toward the horizon slowly, as the sullen travelers wandered through windswept mountain passes. The bulky, chipped red stones of the canyon faces faded and gave way to the tanned gray color that The Shades themselves possessed, making their camouflage especially easy.

A tension that was almost tangible settled over the party, and made each step seem like a struggle against a viscous force. Every step forward felt to the soldiers like their very last; with every step each soldier felt closer to death. The wind was the only force in this part of the world, as the bugs, mammals and Veshmali-bound reptiles had all but disappeared. Occasionally a six legged Gikun Deer would snap its head up from a nearby ridge and launch itself down the cliff side faster than seemed physically possible. Aside from these occurrences though, life was unknown to them now.

They ate their lunches in a meadow as dusk made its early appearance in the arctic time zone. As the light faded they sat amidst the ruins of an Oolyayn temple which had long ago been smashed to the ground, likely by the very Necrologists who held it sacred. Inlojem fed Iogi a Qigo fruit and inspected the ruins for signs of their demise, only to find the long-buried remains of several burnt bodies; plague victims. Many temples like this had been destroyed by their preservers in the Ru’Aar Quinsolto, to discourage more Oolyayns from settling among Shade country. Teftek mobilized his soldiers and they continued forward through the small valley of meadows, and back up into the mountain passes, until darkness enveloped them and they were forced to stop and build a camp.

They settled into a desolate village, whose former residents, Inlojem confirmed, had also met the fate of plague long ago and had abandoned their yurts. The village was surrounded on three sides by a large semi-circular cliff, lurching up from the mountainous formations below and hugging the village against a small plateau. One side of the village remained open to the plateau, on which a small field of rhete grew lazily, barely defying the cold. The structures were caved in from the wear of past snows. They weren't useful for shelter, but they erected their tents within them nonetheless.

The feeling of walls around oneself is an irreplaceable feeling of comfort for a Vesh. Inlojem knew the comfort was false and pitched a small tent in front of the village, close to where they had built their fire. Inlojem sat with the boy away from the small congregation of soldiers, huddled close together and wrapped in military blankets. Tonight they did not drink and barely spoke; their eyes were thickly laden with yesterday’s trauma. They had mostly changed their clothing, but the purple and pink spots on their carry bags and backpacks were still visible by the light of the fire. Teftek’s weary figure stood behind them, looking out into the dark village and scanning it for movement, with Aljefta walking a patrol.

Inlojem gave the boy another Qigo fruit and watched his scrawny little fingers clumsily handle it, until he could get his mouth around the bulbous part and pick off a bite. The child's jaw smacked  with an almost comical fervor as he blankly stared into the dark. He seemed to hum some unknown tune as he glanced around. The boy paused and, as if through a sudden revelation, stared at Inlojem.

“When I grow up, I want to shoot lightning. I’ll go
BZZZ BZZZ
and shoot lightning right out of my arms,” Iogi blurted out all at once.

Inlojem listened to him with distant interest.

“When did you start talking so much?” Inlojem asked the boy, who stared blankly at him and then took another bite of Qigo. “What did those Hagayalicks teach you anyway?”

“What’s a Haglalicks?” Iogi asked.

“A Ha-ga-yal-ick…the priests that watched over you,” Inlojem explained.

“I don’t know…they were mean. They didn’t like me,” Iogi conceded, clamming up a little.

“Why?” Inlojem pressed.

Iogi didn’t answer for a moment, looking at the ground in childish shame as he wiggled his knee.

“Um…because…” Iogi started. He looked up and saw that Inlojem was expecting him to finish. “Be- because um…I told them that um... we would go to the big flashing door and it would open and then we would go live with the Red People for the rest of forever.” Inlojem’s brow cocked sideways. He understood why the Hagayalick priests had rejected such a prophecy. “I saw it,” Iogi insisted weakly. “The Death-priest will take me there.”

Then he stood up and pointed into the blackness, and his irises lit up like light-blasted onyx. “You are a death-priest!” he prophesied, as he pointed at a figure that emerged in front of him. Inlojem turned around and saw the figure, a Vesh’s figure drifting out of the blackness toward Inlojem. The soldiers all stood up in unison and lifted their weapons in response, but before Inlojem could grab his blade, he realized that the figure was a young Vesh female, and was covered in rich violet blood that trailed down her white skin through her thick, hide-woven cloak.

She was a Necrologist.

She collapsed into Inlojem’s arms and he caught her, looking back at Teftek with astonished eyes as he held her. It was like a miracle had fallen to him from the sky. Her hand feebly grabbed for him as she mumbled incoherently. She began to convulse in his arms, but he gripped her by the back of her neck and by her torso and held her body rigid, like he had with Iogi before, keeping her awake in his arms.

“What happened?” he asked her, hearing Teftek and Aljefta rush to his side. The other soldiers lowered their weapons and beheld her female form like frightened, curious children.

“Shades,” she sputtered, as violet blood trailed from her lips and the gashes along her sides and stomach. Teftek and Aljefta attempted to guide her away from Inlojem, but his grasp was tight, and her hands pushed the two soldiers away. His wide, brazen eyes kept on hers, as he jostled her to keep her awake.

Teftek tried to rip the hide-sewn cloak and she reflexively yanked herself away from Inlojem and punched Teftek backward. She hissed at him, showing her bloody teeth, and fell back into Inlojem’s lap.

As Teftek nursed his lip, Inlojem told him

“She is a Necrologist- this hide is made out of her kills.”

“Well, we’ll have to get it off of her if she wants to be patched up,” Teftek advised.

“Do you require…sacrifice?” Inlojem asked her calmly, as her head tilted this way and that, and her body writhed in pain. She snapped out of her trance and grabbed the back of Inlojem’s neck, pressing her thumb deep into his throat.

“NO!” She commanded. “Strip me, but do not dare sacrifice me here…I must live…through…The Prophecy,” she gurgled through a mouthful of blood and collapsed in his arms completely, losing consciousness from the sheer agony of her wounds.

“Come on - get her into the tent, and we’ll treat her. You can take the robes off, but we need to get her medical attention right now if she’s got any hope of anatomic regeneration,” Teftek insisted, as he caught Inlojem’s eyes. Inlojem knew they did not have the tools to cure her of a shade’s plague - even the minimal vaccines they carried would not work against such serious gashes.

But a cure was not what she desired. He arose with the female Vesh in his arms and brought her to Teftek’s tent. The soldiers stared at the tent as Teftek and Aljefta worked on her while Inlojem sat in silence next to her. All the soldiers could see were their silhouettes, but they were still immersed with curiosity, caught up by the lure of a female form out here among the wastes. Iogi stood behind them, and stared into the meadow, the only one watching for the Shades.

Inlojem watched Teftek and Aljefta carefully remove the young Necrologist's cloak and place it in Inlojem’s hands. He felt her blood seep through it, down across his own coat. Across her was splattered the invisible blood of the Shade that she had undoubtedly slain, given the amount of its blood on her. It made parts of her blend into the tent behind her, until it was wiped away and her pale skin was revealed.

She bore old scars and wounds that far outnumbered her new ones. These scars were all over her body - a testament to the battle-strength of her being. Her breasts were uneven, one having been severed and replaced with one that had regenerated through a patch of sewn together skin. Although she had all her fingers, her left hand, the one with which she blocked, boasted two crooked fingers that had regenerated when they were severed. The skin around the base of those knuckles was a different white than the skin of those new, flimsy digits.

These lacerations and scars maneuvered between the tribal tattoos that showed her battles and sacrifices. Those spanned from her buttocks to her nape and around and across her chest. There were more scars on her than even Inlojem could boast of, and he knew in that moment that she was more hardened than any in this party, himself included. She was a testament to the section of the Oolyay that honors torment, most likely a trusted ranger of these lands; but from what settlement?

Her eyes opened occasionally as the two soldiers stitched her wounds together. She allowed no hint of anguish in her waking moments, gritting her teeth and silently boring holes through Inlojem with her widened, hurting eyes. Finally, once the blood was wiped from her body and she lay covered in medical patches, she lost consciousness and lay quiet. Teftek and Aljefta wrapped a blanket around her and left their own tent respectfully. Inlojem sat with her cloak on his lap for the rest of the night. The soldiers scattered off to their tents as Teftek barked at them from outside, and only two soldiers remained, keeping guard over the small tent village amongst the rubble of a forgotten town.

Iogi crawled inside and sat across from Inlojem, cradling the hand of the young female. After a while, her body began to spasm slightly, and whispers evacuated her lips, tainting the quiet air with visions of her past. The plague had come into her and now it was only a matter of time. Inlojem knew to let this first bout last for as long as possible before giving her Ytiri herb. After the first dosage, hallucinations would onset for an hour, and then consciousness would remain for a day. The following bouts of consciousness would become less and less, until after a month, there was no salvation from the disease - the convulsions would overwhelm her and she would be released back into The Void.

That will be long enough,
he thought,
long enough to last until the end of the world.

IV

The morning came without great apprehension or bloodshed, but rose up and turned the abyss into gray fog cradling a cloud of stale white light. The fog crept around the tents and made them seem like ships adrift in a vast ocean. Inlojem kept watch over the young Vesh as she murmured in her sleep and showed the first convulsions. He pressed himself to wait longer, until she began to shudder uncontrollably. Her eyes opened and she gasped, glaring at him with fear and torment, and Inlojem decided that it was finally time to feed her the Ytiri herb; The Prophecy. He took a mortar and pestle from his small carry pouch, and ground up the herb in it, until the juice ran from it and gathered in the attached vial. He removed the finger-sized depository with an extraction tube and tilted her jaw up, holding her writhing body still as he poured the liquid down her throat.

Slowly the movement went out of her and her body gradually eased into a sense of calm, but her eyes remained open, and for a moment she gained enough consciousness to look upon Inlojem.

“Stay with me- st-stay with me, Necrologist. I will ha-have your re-reward,” she sputtered. Inlojem brushed his weathered hand across her forehead and through her short orange wiry hair.

“What is your name, young one?” Inlojem asked her.

“I…Iquay. I am called The Stalker, Iquay,” she replied.

“Release your fear, Iquay. Allow The Prophecy to enter you,” Inlojem whispered. “I am your caretaker, now until the very end.” Her eyes widened even larger, until they bulged from her head and she gripped Inlojem intensely. Then, her eyes glazed over and she stared upward, seeming to feel some force consume her. She let go of his arm as her body deflated into a sudden calm. After a moment, Inlojem moved his hand in front of her nose, the warm air assuring him that she still lived in his care.

*  *  *

Teftek muddled with an old battery-powered listener, adjusting the antenna this way and that to play with the channels, sifting through static. Aljefta glanced up at him occasionally, peeling the skin from a vegetable with his oversized combat knife.

“Quanca Angkelm,” Teftek cussed as the white noise chattered against his open ears. “The only stuigen gut-sucker that could boost this thing - why did Pojlim have to go off and get himself killed!” Teftek looked at the listener with his brows furrowed, and exhaled in exasperation. “Make this work,” Teftek ordered, shoving the listener toward Aljefta.

“Ah, come on, Captain,” Aljefta complained, his shoulders shrugging and his hands reflexively putting down the knife and vegetable.