Sidgal Tun crept down the corridor until he faced the cell of the newest captive. The night had been a long one for everyone and it was only their weary spirits that kept their guard down long enough for him to dare this meeting. He peered inside but could not make out the prisoner held within.
Through the night he'd prepared himself to see some war-ragged veteran androgen. Inside this cell, however, was not the sexless fighter of his imagining but a strangely small elfling boy. The boy had managed to writhe from his restraints by lubricating the ropes with his own blood which still flowed freely from his wrists.
"Tarik, why do you not heal yourself?" Sidgal whispered as he pulled the boy to his feet. The word tarik fell strangely from his lips. Boys were not Tariks, he thought, and no elfling has ever borne an androgen. I make many mistakes in my old age. He reached for the boy's wrists, fingertips caressing the ragged wounds there until the wounds healed to scars. The boy did not flinch away from his attentions, nor did he even seem to register his presence.
"What is your name, boy?" Sidgal turned the boy's face to his, forcing him to look into his eyes and recognize the question asked. Low moans escaped the captives in the cells around them. A weak wave of tired sorrow ebbed around Sidgal as the boy replied.
"I am Narim."
"Narim." Sidgal whispered. "That is a word that means many things in many places."
"... Name from the Manacaru woods." the boy, Narim struggled. There was an intense sensation of pride this time instead of sadness.
"In Mafaeri, it means "the beast", in 'Saeri it means "orphaned from the Great Mother." Will you eat?" Sidgal asked, exposing a box of cured meat from his robe. Narim shook his head gently.
"Give it to the girl from Andar'ii. She's not eaten in many days. You will find her 84 paces knife side from me."
It was too much to take in at once. He spoke directions and locations in the same manner a seasoned warrior did, right down to describing the direction left as "knife-side". How did he know of this girl's location?
"I feel her losing strength. She was deemed useless." Does a Tarik know these things? Sidgal wondered. Tarik was little more than a healer these days, but the days when his tarik was strong, long before his gender grew into him, not even he could sense a person's need without being in close proximity. Narim said no more, leaving Sidgal in his own thoughts. This boy was Tarik, surely, and he would die here. Sidgal knew these facts for certain. Even his own influence at the keep would do little to help Narim live. Sidgal could no longer bear the thought of this boy's death. The unconditional love a tarik develops for their kindred was strong in him still. Losing Narim, in spite of being strangers, would be like losing a brother.
"I have never met another Tarik either." Narim broke the silence. "I too feel close to you, as kindred. But don't cry for me. I promise to be joyous in my passing." as the boy spoke the words, waves of passionate joy circled the cell, warming them. Sidgal relented to the awesome pressure of Narim's expression of joy. Sidgal smiled doggedly and nodded. "Wait, I am supposed to be saddened, yet I cannot feel sad."
"If you succeed in your trial we may all perish in your grief of taking another life." Sidgal could scarcely keep back laughter as he spoke, adding to the morbidity of exchange. "It takes many winters to learn how to surpress your own emotional waves. I have but 3 hours to try so that we may both live." He collapsed in a fit of raucous chortling. It had been so long since he'd been so happy.
"I will learn what I must so that we may both survive." Narim replied. He severed the wave of joy he emitted, listening to the dying echoes of laughter from the captives around them in unseen cells. Somehow he would save them from their fate, and this old man from his, even at the cost of his own. No amount of desire to return to his beloved Mallora's side could keep him from the pressing deep inside him, the pull of a Tarik's true purpose.
As the light of early morning lit the tiny ventilation holes of Narim's cell, he recounted the many things Sidgal had told him throughout the night, about suppressing his emotions and turning his conscious mind off. Sidgal explained that only by doing these two things could he then raise a blade against another and win his life back. There was little hope, however. As much as Narim retained from this rushed lesson, he found he could do neither one successfully. He maintained his awareness no matter what. He was certain he would fail his kindred Tarik.
Through the night he'd prepared himself to see some war-ragged veteran androgen. Inside this cell, however, was not the sexless fighter of his imagining but a strangely small elfling boy. The boy had managed to writhe from his restraints by lubricating the ropes with his own blood which still flowed freely from his wrists.
"Tarik, why do you not heal yourself?" Sidgal whispered as he pulled the boy to his feet. The word tarik fell strangely from his lips. Boys were not Tariks, he thought, and no elfling has ever borne an androgen. I make many mistakes in my old age. He reached for the boy's wrists, fingertips caressing the ragged wounds there until the wounds healed to scars. The boy did not flinch away from his attentions, nor did he even seem to register his presence.
"What is your name, boy?" Sidgal turned the boy's face to his, forcing him to look into his eyes and recognize the question asked. Low moans escaped the captives in the cells around them. A weak wave of tired sorrow ebbed around Sidgal as the boy replied.
"I am Narim."
"Narim." Sidgal whispered. "That is a word that means many things in many places."
"... Name from the Manacaru woods." the boy, Narim struggled. There was an intense sensation of pride this time instead of sadness.
"In Mafaeri, it means "the beast", in 'Saeri it means "orphaned from the Great Mother." Will you eat?" Sidgal asked, exposing a box of cured meat from his robe. Narim shook his head gently.
"Give it to the girl from Andar'ii. She's not eaten in many days. You will find her 84 paces knife side from me."
It was too much to take in at once. He spoke directions and locations in the same manner a seasoned warrior did, right down to describing the direction left as "knife-side". How did he know of this girl's location?
"I feel her losing strength. She was deemed useless." Does a Tarik know these things? Sidgal wondered. Tarik was little more than a healer these days, but the days when his tarik was strong, long before his gender grew into him, not even he could sense a person's need without being in close proximity. Narim said no more, leaving Sidgal in his own thoughts. This boy was Tarik, surely, and he would die here. Sidgal knew these facts for certain. Even his own influence at the keep would do little to help Narim live. Sidgal could no longer bear the thought of this boy's death. The unconditional love a tarik develops for their kindred was strong in him still. Losing Narim, in spite of being strangers, would be like losing a brother.
"I have never met another Tarik either." Narim broke the silence. "I too feel close to you, as kindred. But don't cry for me. I promise to be joyous in my passing." as the boy spoke the words, waves of passionate joy circled the cell, warming them. Sidgal relented to the awesome pressure of Narim's expression of joy. Sidgal smiled doggedly and nodded. "Wait, I am supposed to be saddened, yet I cannot feel sad."
"If you succeed in your trial we may all perish in your grief of taking another life." Sidgal could scarcely keep back laughter as he spoke, adding to the morbidity of exchange. "It takes many winters to learn how to surpress your own emotional waves. I have but 3 hours to try so that we may both live." He collapsed in a fit of raucous chortling. It had been so long since he'd been so happy.
"I will learn what I must so that we may both survive." Narim replied. He severed the wave of joy he emitted, listening to the dying echoes of laughter from the captives around them in unseen cells. Somehow he would save them from their fate, and this old man from his, even at the cost of his own. No amount of desire to return to his beloved Mallora's side could keep him from the pressing deep inside him, the pull of a Tarik's true purpose.
As the light of early morning lit the tiny ventilation holes of Narim's cell, he recounted the many things Sidgal had told him throughout the night, about suppressing his emotions and turning his conscious mind off. Sidgal explained that only by doing these two things could he then raise a blade against another and win his life back. There was little hope, however. As much as Narim retained from this rushed lesson, he found he could do neither one successfully. He maintained his awareness no matter what. He was certain he would fail his kindred Tarik.
