FicWad

Chapter Nine

The wages of Sin ...



He no longer dreamt. At least he no longer remembered if he did dream. His life was consumed now with the destruction of the spawn of Sin and attendant fiends. At the end of a day of fighting, he was likely to sink down where he stood and sleep wherever his body found sufficient space to lie, stretched out or curled like a grub, it no longer mattered. It was less sleep than the departure of consciousness. And he welcomed it, this deep darkness into which he found himself descending at intervals, this place of no sensation and no memories.

Blood and less savory fluids had dried and caked on his exposed skin. He could not remember the last time he had washed. Sometimes in the midst of a fierce battle, he would find himself mentally transported back to a time when he had been clean both physically and emotionally, when he had felt at peace and could bear to touch his own flesh without a shudder. There was never any time nor ever any facilities for rest and bathing. Existence had become reduced to an unending slog through a mephitic fog of kill and try to stay alive.

He was no longer sure where he was; he had fought up so many roads, across so many fields, they had all begun to look alike in their terrible bleakness. When he tried to remember, he was almost sure he had started near the Moonflow, now he could not see the expanse of water and realized he must be somewhere else. The only constant was the companion who was forever in the corner of his eye and his mind, the one for whom he held responsibility and who he attempted to shield no matter what.

He was too tired to recall just who, precisely, this person who must be defended was or why it was so important to preserve him. Or, indeed, whether the protected one was male or female. It had all become a routine of moving, swinging the sword, destroying the enemy figures which emerged from the mental and physical murk.

The Sin-spawn continued to come in endless waves whilst their immense progenitor lay just on the edge of the horizon, motionless and menacing. Nooj had a faint memory of having fought like this before, without a break and against great odds, or had it been a a dream from which it was possible to awake? He could not tell, only knowing that, memory or dream, he must keep pushing back the foes and interposing his body between the one he was sworn to protect and the danger which swarmed about them.

Aquelev watched the battle through reddened, stinging eyes. From time to time he had to physically hold his lids open with his fingers until he could snatch an hour of sleep and partially recharge his muscles. His existence had become a pattern of keeping behind the Warriors on the front ranks and casting a restorative spell as he had the opportunity. He and the other Healers, just a level removed from the line of battle, were fighting in their own way by keeping the weapons wielders whole and strong. The Al Bhed had as his particular charge his friend, Nooj. Being considerably smaller than the younger man, he was able to shelter behind him and keep a careful eye on the physical condition of the swordsman. It was because of this sharp watch that Aquelev was the first to note the gradual slackening of the ranks of the spawn. At first he thought he was mistaken but was quickly convinced of the truth of his observation. There were fewer of the horrors; he could see patches of clear ground amongst their hordes.

Nooj must have noticed the same thing only a moment later because his energy seemed to surge and he stepped forward into the war instead of merely holding his ground. His sword sweeps were wider and more opponents fell at each blow. He stood like a colossus, dealing death to the horrors without pause, his weapon an extension of his arms, laughing as he killed.

The crimson light which had bathed the battlefield began deepening to violet and then to purple. The sky was no longer reflective of the sun on the waters in the distance. Shadows stretched like spilled ink over the landscape and it became more and more difficult to make out figures and terrain. Sin was on the move, casting a penumbra across the land, the aura of dread projecting outwards as he approached. With a deliberation which was more terrifying than a rush, the great demi-urge covered the heavens and seemed to the eyes of the Warriors to hover directly above each of them.

The wind started to rise and Nooj felt the lashings of his hair against his face, obscuring his vision even as he struggled to peer through the darkness. The last of the Sin-spawn were slaughtered to be replaced by the hideous howling of the tempest and small tornadoes skipping across the soil which had been churned and plowed with a terrible blade.

As the darkness deepened and the winds continued to increase in their intensity, Aquelev found it difficult to stay on his feet. He could not see where he was going and stumbled over debris and bodies, falling and having more trouble each time standing again. He no longer knew where Nooj was and had no target for his supportive spells. Finally he rolled himself into a fetal position and sheltered behind a low wall which had been the most recent object to trip him up. The ululation of the elements had disoriented him and he felt as though he had been moving directly toward disaster. Wrapping his head in his arms, he tried to shut out the noise and confusion and survive until it was all over.

Nooj was still upright. He moved with effort through the hurricane, buffeted by windblown debris and finding nothing for his sword to bite into. He felt the weight of the darkness just above his head and thought if he lifted a hand he would touch the hovering creature generating this maelstrom. There was no time or room for fear in his response; he was driven solely by the necessity of finding a point of weakness and destroying the monstrous being. He was not even tired any longer. He was obsessed and consumed by the duty he must obey, the orders he must fulfill. Half-blinded by the spinning particles in the air, he blundered on into the center of the darkness. There, on a small hillock, he raised himself to his full height and, thrusting his sword directly upward, shrieked a battle cry into the turmoil.

As if in answer, the whirlwinds died and stillness inhabited the darkness. Nooj stood there like the embodiment of the hero, face turned up to where the sky should have been, and shouted his challenge again into the belly of the waiting Sin. The world waited, poised on a fulcrum of inaction, not breathing, still with the stillness of the death which littered the earth. The man did not alter his pose, his sword reaching for the hide of his enemy and his muscles tensed like those of a tiger ready to leap. All was frozen for a period of time which could not be measured. It was a heart beat or it was a lifetime. Time, itself, had paused and disappeared from the earth.

In the dark silence, the heat pressed like a band about his chest, choking off air from his lungs, creating an electrical charge which lifted his hair on his head, making of it a halo of darkness against the deep shadows of the scene. Lightning flames ran across the surface of the lifted sword, the blue of their brilliance painful to see. The current ran up and up, reaching for the invisible blackness above. Nooj felt the readiness fill his body until it was like a bow string drawn to its furthermost. Then it came. He was dragged upward, his feet losing their purchase on the earth. Higher and higher into the void. He poised himself as best he could for the impact with Sin, anticipating the jar to his wrists when his sword penetrated the integument of the beast.

An actinic white light flashed on, a spotlight of blinding intensity. The darkness was dissolved like a stain under water. Nooj was seized in an eddy of light, force, noise. He was spun like a scrap of paper in a whirlwind, torn and crumpled by the invisible power. Pain possessed him entirely, such pain as he had never before experienced. A flaring brilliant pain which cleaned as it punished. He was purified into white-hot agony, nothing more, as he went twisting down a helix of screams. Only gradually did he realize the screams were his and they were claws ripping the lining of his throat making the blood explode from his mouth like a geyser. His vision was blinded with crimson and nothingness as his senses started their recoil. No thinking, no consciousness of what was happening - just the eternal blanket of pain, the tearing apart of flesh, the dismemberment of his body. He found himself reduced to only the most minute fragments as each nerve was teased out and tormented. The kaleidoscope of torture held him and every shifting of the tube was worse and it would not stop - ever.

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Aquelev watched in disbelieving horror as his friend was taken by the monster and flung across the terrain like a broken toy. He was unable to make sense of exactly what was happening because of the intense light but thought he saw a spray of scarlet springing from the tumbling body just before it fell. Then, with another explosion of light, Sin was gone and the Al Bhed was left blinking, squinting under a cloudy but empty sky, deafened by the sudden silence.

Just to his right and about a hundred feet away, he could make out a contorted figure in the easily identifiable garb of a Crusader. The Healer half ran, half crawled and found it was Nooj, or what was left of him. The upturned face was fixed in a rictus of agony past enduring and the body was shattered. The left arm was gone at the shoulder and the left leg was nothing but crushed pulp from mid-thigh down. In spite of the massive injuries and the loss of blood, the man lived.

Aquelev cast what spells he could to seal the torn vessels and bolster the vitality of his friend. He could see others of his profession moving on the field but they were too far away and were preoccupied with their own charges so he pulled out the communicator Gratti had insisted he carry and, heedless of the ban on non-priority transmissions, shouted for help. He was not aware of the tears washing down his face as he stood over the broken body of his Warrior friend.

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"How is he? Is he still alive?" Gratti asked when he finally located Aquelev amongst the the confusion of the field hospital.

"Still breathing. Still unconscious. Don't know how it'll go." The younger man tried to keep his voice from breaking.

Gratti placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I've managed to arrange to get him moved to the main Luca hospital. We've got some surgeons on the staff there; they're more open-minded in Luca than Bevelle. If he can be saved, that's where to do it."

Aquelev had achieved better control. "Did you see him?" When the other shook his head, "His arm is gone and his leg." He gulped, swallowing hard as he remembered the sight and momentarily closed his eyes. "Do you think ...?"

"That we could implant our new prostheses? I could talk to the surgeons and engineers in Luca. This is a very strong man, you've told me. He might be exactly what we've been looking for as a test case - if the rest of him isn't too damaged. Why do you care so much about this one? He's not Al Bhed."

"He's my friend. He put his body between me and Sin. Without hesitating. He protected me at his own risk."

"That's what he was trained to do all his life." Gratti gently murmured.

"To protect an Al Bhed? No, I don't think so. The last words he said to me were to stay near him and he would keep me safe." Aquelev forced back a sob as his emotions threatened to overwhelm him again. He turned to the wall to hide his face from his mentor.

Gratti placed a reassuring hand on the other man's back. "It's all right. I'll see what I can do to have your friend put back together. Who knows? We may all benefit from this adventure. Do you think he'll consent to being our lab rat?"

"I know he will!" The younger man spun around, hope glowing from his eyes. "I'll consent for him. Just, please, do what you can; pull any strings you can find. There must be some favors you can call in."

Gratti looked at his protégé with wonderment. The Al Bhed were not noted for their stoicism but it was not usual to see one of their race blubbering over an outsider. "Don't worry. We'll take care of him. He'll survive." Unspoken aloud was his fervent wish the outcome would be satisfactory. Experiments always carried a baggage of unforeseen consequences.

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In the quiet confines of the Critical Care Unit of the main hospital in Luca, a subdued bustle ruffled the calm.

"Is he still unconscious? Did you order him to be kept under?" Lume, the most senior of the Al Bhed engineers asked the man in surgical greens beside him.

"I haven't had to. He's made no signs of waking up." The other responded. "I'm not sure he's going to. Until I can see some indications, I'm going to leave his mind alone and finish tending the injuries in case we go ahead with the implants. I still have some tidying up to do."

"I leave it to you, Kalek, you're the best surgeon we've got around here. Do you want me to send for any consultants from Home?"

"Not yet. What I want now is to show you the damage and let you take shots and sketches so you can get the things customized by the time I'm ready to attach them. There's not much else to be done for him; he'll have to find the strength inside himself to live or not." The surgeon looked at the patient in the bed before him.

The man lying there had been tall but now seemed shrunken in all his dimensions. His face, which was all of his skin visible to the eye, was almost as blanched as the sheets which covered him and seemed even paler in contrast with the dark hair flowing over the pillow. At first glance, he was the typical figure awaiting healing attention but a closer look revealed an unnatural flatness to the left side of his body, as though that part had sunk into the mattress which supported him. The reason was made clear when Kalek turned back the covering and revealed that the left arm and leg were largely missing. The broad shoulder terminated suddenly in a padded bandage and the left thigh was abruptly sheared away near its halfway mark.

"Is there any of the shoulder joint left?" Lume aimed his camera.

"Not enough to matter. You'll have to construct one and tie it into the scapular and the clavicle. Wait and I'll remove the bandages so you can see what you're faced with." Kalek, using a blunted-tip scissors, cut away the swathings.

"Good lord! It looks like something melted the flesh and then it hardened again. It looks like a half-burned candle!" The engineer recoiled.

"Don't go all queasy on me. Just get the pictures and sketches. The leg isn't as bad. Here, bend over for a minute and get control of yourself."

"I'm all right. Just give me a moment to adjust." Lume shook himself, took a deep breath and began photographing the wound from every angle. "Now, I need to measure some things and do a few drawings." He quickly completed his task.

"Go sit down in the corner and recover while I bandage the shoulder again. Lean against the wall. You're almost as white as he is. I'll call you when I have the leg ready for you." Kalek was slightly scornful of the delicacy of those who were not of his profession.

When Kalek beckoned him over to record the particulars of the thigh amputation, Lume had a firmer grip on his stomach. The stump demonstrated the same lumpy waxy look as the tissue at the shoulder but it was less disturbing without the shadow of the rib cage behind the vivid scarring.

"There's enough left here so we can attach the prosthesis without any trouble," he muttered mostly to himself. "We should be able to make enough nerve connections. This would be all right. No reason it shouldn't work." He carefully stowed away the exposed spheres with their images and turned to Kalek. "Why did you choose a subject this damaged for our first try, anyway? There must be other amputees who are at least awake and going to live. Why pick one who may die on us as soon as we get his limbs designed?"

The surgeon sighed. "An old friend asked me to use this one. You remember Gratti? He's been risking his life in the middle of these Warriors for the past year. And he's done a damn fine job talking them into giving our machina a try. Next bonus you get, you can thank Gratti and his team. He swears this man - his name is Nooj, by the way - is stronger than any other Spiran he's met and will do us proud. Well, think about it, he has to be stronger than most to have survived this far. He took a direct hit from ... and he's owed something for standing up to Sin all by himself. That took some courage, you know. I hear he just went right up to the creature and challenged it. He's damn' lucky to be as alive as he is."

Grudgingly, the engineer nodded and looked at the unconscious man with a new respect. If only the wounds were not so hideous ...

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Where was he and what had happened? He was aware of only a few sensations. Confusion, the alternation of darkness with glaring light, shadowy figures moving in mysterious patterns, and pain. Overwhelming pain. He tried to cry out but could force no sound from a throat too lacerated to channel a scream. He could not tell if his mouth had moved or not. What images he could detect seemed to arise from somewhere other than his eyes. He thought his lids were sealed in some manner. Was this the FarPlane? Surely not with the stench of blood and death lodged in his nostrils. How could his senses be operating without his control? Had he finally achieved his goal just when it had stopped being his goal? He could not understand.

He was dizzy and disoriented with pain. It filled his mind to the exclusion of all else. No thought could be followed to its end past the convolutions of the pain. It had become a separate body, a fiend-like creature gnawing at his vitals. He would have tried to strangle it were he not paralyzed. Had this been done on purpose? He knew of cases when badly injured Warriors had been cast into a protective paralytic coma until they could heal. Did the doctors know the pain felt in this treatment? Why didn't those who suffered like this report it when they woke? Maybe those who hurt like this did not wake but died. Was he dead? What was happening? He had to get away from the agony.

He felt a cool hand on his brow and knew it was Kaith. So he was dead and she had come to him. Now he could beg her forgiveness for letting her be killed during the training mission. He thought once he had her blessing, he could pass into Nothingness. He hoped so; he was not sure how much longer he could bear the pain. It had returned in renewed force, burrowing into his center with teeth and claws. Again he tried to scream; again he could not. He was confined within his tortured body with no way to communicate with the world outside himself. This was surely Hell.

Once more, he felt the presence of Kaith and her calming touch. He tried to express his regret to her. With no words, he projected his thoughts and believed he heard an echo. Then the pain descended again and he spiraled down into darkness and a merciful place of peace.