Chen/Part 1

The woman walked slowly into the fishing village, barely noticing the fearful stares from the children and the cautious glances from the adults. Had the woman been looking at the people in the village, she would have seen their alarmed expressions as she passed by the only inn, The Groveling Jackal. The woman did not see the villagers… but she could feel them, their stares, their fear. The woman had a magical sword. And she had scars that proved her knowledge of its use.

The woman slowed as she approached the cascading fountain in the makeshift town square. Her booted feet shuffled dust across the badly cobbled street as her feet stopped before the ancient, crumbling stone formation. The cool water made the summer heat nearly bearable for those who idled by the perpetually flowing wonder from a bygone age. Idlers moved away, however, as the woman stared into the cool depths of the water. Small trinkets dropped by children and travelers alike littered the bottom of the deep pool, a full man’s height down beneath the ground. The rippling water reflected poorly, and woman did not see herself. She did not see herself until she looked up at the fountain’s centerpiece. The stonework was sculpted to represent an eight-foot, armored woman with a magnificent crown and a spear gracefully shouldered and rising 20 feet into the air. The woman at the fountain did not, of course, resemble the statue’s icon, but she recognized herself nonetheless.

The woman slumped over into the fountain and her blood shortly colored the water near her red. The blood flowed freely as her will no longer held it in her veins for her will fled back to that bygone era as her consciousness slipped. The villagers stood aghast at the warrior dying in their town square. Who was she? What had mortally injured her? More importantly, was it coming for the village of Dramden even now? A bold boy threw a small rock at the woman, but it clattered against her skin with the sound of stone against something harder. At that sound, the boy’s nerve fled and he raced off laughing and crying at the same time.

The youthful herb-lady left her booth on the shady side of the town square that also served as the marketplace. She cautiously approached the warrior whose face and arms were submerged. With a fearful look she grabbed the woman’s shoulder and pulled her from the water. The warrior fell back and lay prone upon the cobblestone street. Blood spilled from a fist-sized hole in her chest.

“Don’t touch her Anala!” cried a young man from across the square, “She’s dangerous!”

“Look Pran! Her blood is red just like yours and mine. She’s no demon,” Anala managed with only a slight catch in her voice. The man turned back to his wares for a traveler was actually looking over his silverwork. Anala gathered the woman up into her arms, for the woman was short and of small frame—clearly a foreigner from these lands of large-bodied men and women. The woman’s face was clearly lighter and of different color than the natives own ebony skin but was currently much paler than it probably should be due to blood loss. With a look, Anala asked one of her friend’s sisters to watch her wares while she attended to the stranger.

Back in her house, Anala laid the strange warrior upon the braided mat that served as Anala’s own bed. It was a small house, but it was a house. Her parents had left it to her when they… were eaten by the Fair Folk. Anala had already applied herbs to the grievous wound in the woman’s chest; herbs that would stop the bleeding.

Anala carefully removed the light armor from the small woman. It was crude steel, barely better than iron. Anala thought she recognized it as the armor worn by the soldiers of a local lord who might have legal claim over Dramden. It did not fit the warrior well, and Anala thought it might be stolen. She clucked her tongue. The sword was clearly magical. The warrior still clutched it in her hand. Or maybe the sword held on to her hand. The hilt and pommel was some intricate work of gold and diamond; clearly a pattern of nobility. The blade was thin and straight and seemed made of soft gold. Anala knew better than to probe the weapon closely.

Once free of the armor and shabby traveler’s clothes beneath it, Anala could get a better look at the injury. It was quite gruesome. The woman’s ribs and shredded innards showed through, but still the woman breathed. Anala could observe the heart still beating. Much discomfited, Anala practiced her lore of herbs upon the patient. Within an hour, the house was filled with the pungent odors of Anala’s craft. The woman should have been dead long before she walked into town, but Anala was pleased that the color had improved.

“What happened?” asked Pran the next day.

“Nothing,” Anala replied tersely.

“Nothing?” he insisted. She walked away from him. “C’mon, Anala… were there sounds? Lights? Odd tingly feelings?” She merely shook her head. He let her be as she went about setting up her shop.

The day wore on, the summer’s heat scorching the earth and people walking it. It was a busy day; an entire caravan lodged in mid-morning at The Groveling Jackal to escape the heat and dry trail dust. Anala made a good trade with her cooling poultices. Pran made a slightly worse trade with his silverwork goods.

The afternoon rest-time in the shade of the buildings and near the soothing lull of the eternal fountain brought about renewed conversation about the most interesting things going on in Dramden. The fire-dragon cough going around town. The caravan. And the woman.

Anala did not know how to answer the queries. The woman had not awakened all night, that she could tell. The woman’s flesh was malleable like anyone’s despite the testimony of the child’s stone thrown the previous day. Anala downplayed the extent of the injury. She, herself, was scared but did not want others to sack her home and kill the unconscious warrior. After all, in this strange world, who knew what foul curse could befoul them all. Anala admitted to herself and to others that it was probably a mistake to help the stranger for she endangered them all. But all knew her love for the injured—it was why she had taken up her grandmother’s craft. Even Pran relented in his criticism.

The rest of the day passed swiftly enough. As usual, a dry wind scoured the dry land as it passed from west to east shortly after sunset. There were no other villages in this area because few could withstand the Southern heat. This village stood alone for miles due to the power of magics long forgotten. No one questioned the fountain’s existence, but used its renewing waters for their gardens and animals. It was the only respite in this otherwise arid land.

Anala cautiously passed the heavy cloth that kept the winds and the heat from her small home. She listened in the near-darkness for the woman’s breathing. It was steady and long, though choked by fluids. Anala sighed in relief and went to light an oil lantern. In its light, she examined her patient. The warrior still held the sword in her right hand and still lay in the position Anala had set her that morning. The bleeding had resumed somewhat and a patch of blood spilled across the smoothened stone floor on both sides of the woman’s bare chest. It was incredible, actually, that the gaping hole in her chest was not bleeding more, or even emitting the odd smells of the exposed guts that Anala had smelled on battlefields littered with dying soldiers. Rather, the herb’s odors were the only aroma that filled the room. Soon, Anala’s cooking replaced the herbs’ tangy smell.

By morning, Anala awoke with a stiff back for the woman had been given her mat. The herbalist checked her patient and nearly cried out aloud. The chest cavity had closed considerably over the night. The shattered and protruding bones had visibly mended and the bleeding had also lessened. Shaking her head in awestruck wonder, she applied more herbs and bandages to the warrior.

That evening, Anala returned to her home anxious to see the condition of the warrior. She had confided in Pran the woman’s miraculous recovery and he had gleefully informed her that the woman was probably one of the Dragon-Blooded Lords and would surely reward her for her care. He was quite satisfactorily jealous until he had left the market early due to a nasty cough.

Anala entered her squat house and listened to the regular, rhythmic breathing. She lit the lamp and yelped as she discovered the warrior’s body had gone!

“Thank you, good lady,” said a soft voice from one corner of the house. Anala yelped again and turned to face the voice.

The warrior sat with her back propped against a corner. The woman’s black hair shone with the lamp’s soft light and Anala could see, for the first time, the deep magenta eyes that regarded her from the woman’s dusky, olive-colored face.

“You are very welcome, my Lord. I mean… I hope I was not imposing…” Anala trailed off, suddenly very uncomfortable with the idea of addressing a naked Prince of the Earth who had bled all over her house.

The warrior stood easily and took a slow step forward. The woman’s bare chest showed a long crease in the flesh where the chest had not fully closed and long pink marks that striated away from the fist-sized wound. The woman’s modesty had called her to tie a sleeping cloth around her waist, but a shapely leg showed when she stepped forward.

“Do not be nervous, wise healer. My name is Chen. I am no Lord, and I am hardly anyone worth the attentions you have administered me.” The warrior named Chen had a soft, almost musical voice, but Anala found something not quite right with her speech.

“I am glad you are feeling… better. Um. Would you like some food? And water?” Anala nervously turned to the cooking pot and water kettle.

“I would not wish to ask more of you than you have already given. But thank you,” Chen replied.

Anala busied herself with the meager stew and spiced water while watching Chen out of the corner of her eye. Chen first examined the armor torn nearly asunder and then the remainder of her gear. Anala did not see the sword. Chen, with a quick glance to Anala who pretended not to notice, threw off the cloth and put on her pants and blood-stained (and damaged) shirt. The armor lay still on the ground. Chen then glanced around the meager house. Anala watched Chen take in the racks of herbs drying in the dark house and the clay pots that held the remainder of Anala’s herbal magic.

Dinner was soon served and Anala and Chen ate quietly. Chen did not offer conversation and Anala did not know what to say. When they were finished, Chen thanked her briefly and asked her if the local could direct her to someone who could lend her money to stay at the inn and repay a healer’s price. Anala refused and told Chen that by anyone’s definition, Chen still possessed wounds that were life-threatening, and she would not turn her away now. Chen smiled and thanked her again and lay in the corner, giving Anala her mat. Anala was thankful for that due to her stiff muscles from sleeping on the floor, and was only mildly embarrassed for not offering the mat to her patient. The patient, however, clearly did not need such mortal comforts.

The next morning, Anala found that Chen had gone, and taken her gear (including the destroyed armor) and had even made an effort to scrub the bloodstains from the stone floor. Anala was thankful that the strange warrior was gone, but wished she had had an opportunity to question Chen as to what had happened and what would happen next.

To Anala’s surprise, she found Chen in the marketplace, sitting quietly on the ledge of the fountain. Anala stared for minutes, but Chen’s gaze was fixed on the statue that rose from the watery depths. Shrugging, the herbalist set up her goods while immediately providing to the needs of the locals who needed remedies for the fire-dragon cough that was going about the village. Fire-dragon coughs usually lasted a long time, but rarely were truly life-threatening… except during the summer when people burned up. Already the Sun’s heat beat upon the marketplace. Anala glanced at Chen during the first few hours until she had an opportunity to approach the warrior.

“How are you this morning, Chen?”

Chen turned and fixed her purple eyes upon Anala and smiled, “Much better, but I would not show you in this public place.” Chen’s voice was almost fearful that she was being requested to impugn her modesty. Anala shook her head. “If it is alright, I will remain in this village of…” she trailed off in confusion.

“Dramden. This is Dramden,” provided Anala.

“Is it? That is not the name I remember…” but Chen trailed off. She resumed, “I do not think I have been here, however. Are there other villages around?”

“No. Not for a week in any direction. Sometimes a tribe comes close, but they do not settle.”

“Of course. Then it will happen here,” she said, this last to herself.

Anala waited a moment for Chen to continue, and when she did not, “What will happen? Is something going to happen?”

Chen fixed Anala with an almost sad expression. But she smiled and softly said, “Something always happens, honored healer. Everywhere, something is always happening. But here, something important will happen that will mean a great deal to your town, even though I will forget it with the passing of the years, I imagine.” Anala shook her head in utter confusion. Chen closed her eyes as she said, “Do not fear, honored healer. No harm will befall this town by my hand. I will be here until the happenings pass by.”

Anala was somehow comforted by that. She said, “Anala. My name is… Anala.”

“Of course, honored healer. I am pleased to meet you,” and Chen extended her hand and clasped Anala’s. Chen’s grip was strong and sure. Through the touch, Anala could feel Chen’s skin was cool despite the heat and not the least sweaty, even as Anala perspired so close to the cooling fountain.

Later, Pran came to Anala to buy a cough remedy. Anala spoke with him briefly and, in between wracking coughs, he apologized for bringing illness to the town square but his entire family was ill and he was the youngest and most fit to come. Anala was concerned because he was sweating despite the broad-brimmed hat and cool cloths pressed against his neck and face. He paused to drink at the fountain. There was no fear of contaminating the fountain. By its power, nothing could stain it or taint it, as had been proven many times by past plagues and attempts by nomads to poison it. In fact, Chen’s blood was the first thing Anala had ever seen alter the water’s color for even a moment.

When Pran was finished drinking, he looked up and saw Chen. From where he stood, across the fountain from her, he saw her face. Anala watched his face darken with fear and then anger. He strode over to the warrior. Anala tried to send the caravan master who was presently buying talismans for proof against misfortune on his way without further conversation, but could not be rude to a man so powerful. Anala cast a worried look to Pran, but he did not see it.

“Have you come to endanger us all?” demanded Pran as he approached the sitting woman.

“No, gentle sir,” said Chen, bowing her head. He was momentarily taken aback by this. He quickly realized that no Lord would bow her head to him. She must be some form of servant being or little god.

“Then what have you come to do?” he said, measuring his voice carefully.

“I came to die. But now, I await the future, sir. I humbly request to be allowed to tarry awhile in your town of Dramden,” she spoke so softly.

“And do you…. *cough* *cough*” Pran paused to regain his breath, “Do your plans involve leaving or paying your way here?”

“I will leave as soon as I am able, kind sir. I am afraid I have no money,” she said apologetically.

Pran decided that the town was probably better off without her and resolved to bully her away. If she was really some sort of god-blood, then she would surely survive the summer heat in the South. Besides, he reasoned, she was a stranger and he had no reason to care about life and no duty to her whatsoever, “As a representative of Dramden, I want you to leave our village. Immediately.” He drew himself up with his imagined authority.

Chen glanced up, “Please, sir, do not ask this of me. I must remain here to wait, and I will surely die from another such wound should I stay long outside,” she said, indicating her chest. He glanced down at her nearly flat chest and the torn shirt that, though washed, did not function as it should. The mark on her chest was nearly gone even though he had, a few days prior, seen the lifeblood pour freely from that most lethal injury.

Pran snapped his attention to the warrior’s previous words, “That which did… this,” he generally indicated her chest, “Still lurks around our village?”

“I imagine so, sir. In fact, I have no reason to doubt that it is not watching me even this moment.”

This caused Pran to pause. He glanced around and down the lengthy streets that led to the outskirts of town a few blocks away. He scanned the horizon and saw nothing.

“Then leave! We have no need of your troub—“ and Pran fell into a fit of coughing that gave cause for him to lean over the pool. His eyes opened to Chen’s hand offering a ladle of the sweet water. He took it and replaced the ladle on its hook before stalking off.

Anala approached Chen, “I am so sorry, Chen. He did not mean it, he’s… he is ill right now.”

“Do not apologize, honored Anala,” Chen said, “For he is right. I do endanger your town. But I cannot do otherwise, for my life is more precious to this world than it is to me.” She looked sad, somehow.

“I do not understand…” Anala said. Chen continued to confuse her.

“The man is your friend? Does he court you?” Chen said with a pleasant, almost conspiratorial tone.

“He tries,” Anala admitted. “I am not sure whether I want to remain here in Dramden, however. I… have bad memories of this place and would leave if I had the money...” she said. She did not know why she was explaining so much to this near-stranger. Something about Chen caused her to trust the warrior, though.

Chen smiled, “He seems like a strong man. An honorable man concerned with the welfare of the town. And your welfare, I daresay,” she said with a chuckle. Before Anala could protest, “And as for leaving, I would not recommend it. This seems like a good place. I wish I could have stayed at my home much longer than I did.” Chen met Anala’s eyes comfortably and squeezed her arm. Anala smiled.

Chen returned her gaze to the statue while Anala checked her place in the market to see if anyone wanted to buy anything. A child stood there, waiting for the cough remedy that his family needed. Anala gestured to wait but a moment, and the child nodded and smiled shyly to Chen, who did not notice.

“Do you like our wonder, The Resplendent Victor Who Offers Orchids and Violence?” asked Anala.

Chen looked up at Anala suddenly, “Is that who this is?”

“Yes,” Anala replied as though educating a child, “She is Dramden’s matron and preserver of our lifestyle. She protects us from starvation and drought with the water that is our lifeblood. The Victor was a hero from long ago, but she remains in our memories and lore as our savior.”

“Oh. Thank you for the story,” Chen said. Anala nodded and returned to her shop and the child but not before hearing Chen mutter, “So she must be the savior once again.”

By evening time, Anala was growing very concerned. A good portion of the town was using her remedies. Her garden was larger than most, and she imported some precious medicines, but she could not support the town for even two weeks on her current supply. More than a little scared, she gathered her things and approached Chen, who had stayed by the fountain the entire day. Many people had come, even ill, to see the recovered warrior, but no one had the courage to approach except for Pran’s brother’s girlfriend who delivered a clean and tidy shirt to Chen; an apology from Pran for his rude behavior.

“Chen?” Anala asked timidly.

As though broken from a reverie, Chen looked up, “Yes, honored healer?”

Anala knew that Chen had no money and no one to account for her, “I would be honored if you would join me this evening for dinner. Although I have little, I can offer you shelter from the cold night wind.”

Chen smiled, “Dinner would be pleasant. I do not think your offer of shelter will be required tonight, however,” she rose, and stalled Anala’s question with a gesture. Chen’s belly rumbled with hunger.

Anala giggled like the youth she still was, “You haven’t eaten today, have you? I was wondering if your people ate.” At this question Chen looked at Anala intensely and Anala turned away in discomfort.

“My people get hungry like you, honored Anala. But we do not starve. If you would rather enjoy solitude tonight…”

“No, come with me,” Anala interrupted.

Dinner was a thick, spicy stew that was the staple diet in this area. The hearty meal was full of grain, vegetables, and even a small portion of meat from an old cow that was butchered a week ago. This time, Anala chatted idly about growing up in the small town and how she really did fancy Pran and how she should consider asking him to join her household. Chen was quiet mostly, but would share a relevant anecdote from her own childhood in her own faraway village. Chen looked sad when remembering her village, though. Anala did not ask, but suspected that it was probably not there anymore.