She works diligently at the end of the bed, opening access ports in the mechanical leg, testing each servo, recalibrating each hydraulic actuator. Her dexterity with the equipment tells me she is no stranger to machines. Her eyes have not met mine since my mouth betrayed me and uttered such a word to a master. I fear what it will say if it dares to open again.
It takes her twenty minutes to finish, in that time I find my hand reaching for the bottle again, hoping to wash the shame from my mouth. I can scarcely look at her, my hearts fluttering becoming a distraction.
“Okay, I’m ready to begin removing the burned tissue, the coupling needs a fresh layer applied with medigel. It will hurt.”
“Kuwathi do not fear pain.” I boast. Why I boast eludes me, I feel the flush in my cheeks again.
She reaches towards my leg holding a tool, my jaw clenches shut, my eyes go wide, my breath slams in my chest as I pull my stump desperately away from her. Images and noises fill my mind of Mallock’s torment, his laugh ringing in my mind. Sweat begins pouring from me, my breath so uneven it brings stars to my eyes. I feel like I am back on the table strapped down again. Fear raging inside me.
“You’re having a panic attack – you need to relax.” She says to me, dropping her tools and grasping my shoulder “You’re here with me – calm – you’re here with me.”
A panic attack… me? Never. I wipe my forehead, the sweat drips from my hand… Sekat she is right, my body is betraying my will. I slam my hand against my chest. Closing my eyes, forcing my lungs closed. I am Kuwathi, we do not have panic attacks. You are my heart, you are my lungs… obey. I slam my hand against my chest again. There is a break in the torment. Everything begins to slow down again. My eyes open because I tell them to. My breath becomes steady again. She looks at me with a strange look on her face, her hands tremble holding my shoulder still.
“Give me a blade, I will remove the char myself.”
“Let me…”
“A blade.” I demand with my hand out.
She stands, moving towards the bathroom slowly, turning to me at the last moment, holding there until I nod to her. She returns a few moments later with a small blade that retracts into the hilt. I feel the weight of it, perfect balance.
“Mark what I must cut.”
She traces with a marking tool from the bag the darkest areas of flesh, some of the skin flakes off at the touch. Her hand trembles still, I grasp it firmly, so the lines become straighter. My mind focused on what I must do, giving her the strength to do what she must. When she is done, I begin with steady breath, cleaving the rot from my body. The pain further away than it normally would be, the motivation to be rid of the markings Mallock left on me drive my hand to guide the blade, blood soaks the sheets below the wound but I do not stop, each piece that falls away heals the fractures of my mind, giving me back control. She follows behind with a small amount of medigel to seal the wound.
When I finish, it is not much flesh that has been taken I realize, still, I am glad to be rid of it. There is relief as it begins to throb against the newly formed seal. My heart feels lighter, images of Mallock splattering play in my mind now, the madness creeping along the edges, it bids I smile at the images of his demise, I do not – he is not worthy of the effort to move my mouth, and the madness does not hold me. My will pushes back as it begins filling in the gaps that have been left by the madness retreating deep into the abyss of my mind. Trauma is not new to me, I am Ulima, whether it is of the mind or body, the forsaken must always pick themselves up faster than others can.
“Next we need to attach the sensors to the nerve bundles.” She says, there is a clench to her jaw. She does not like to see me in pain.
My heart beats to my rhythm now, falling back in line, it does not fall into the grasp of her beautiful musings. I am in control of myself. I am the one who decides how I feel, and when I feel it.
I watch her work quickly as she pushes electrodes into my stumped leg. My face barely flinches as she works. As the elders taught me, I breathe through the pain, letting it wash over me. It makes it easier that there is purpose to this pain, this pain means I will walk again, run and leap soon enough. I had always taken it for granted before, never again. To feel the wind upon your face, made from your legs pulling you is truly a blessing.
She has been at it for nearly an hour. Not speaking, her focus matching mine now, no longer timid at piercing my flesh and testing the electrical impulses that shock my nerves. There is still a skilled delicateness as she works however, I cannot help but admire it.
“Just need to attach the anchoring screws and the housing.” She says pulling out a drill.
“I am ready.” I say, clenching the bed frame firmly.
***
My jaw is still clenched when she finishes. The medigel she injects swirls inside sealing the wounds around the bones where the screws affix.
“You should be able to move it in a few hours. If we were in a better solar system this would have been much easier. They could have regrown the leg given enough time. I am sorry you had to go through this. It is my fault…”
Turning to meet her gaze I am puzzled by her words. Does she think herself a goddess, able to control destiny and the fates on a whim?
“Did you cut my leg off, one small piece at a time starting with the tips of my toes for hours on end?” I ask her, my gaze is fierce as it hits her eyes.
“No, I…” she begins, her eyes wide, flittering back and forth in mine.
“Did you pay Mallock to do it for you?”
“Of course not.” She protests.
“Then you have done nothing to wrong me.” I tell her, the guilt ebbs from her more now, threatening my focus, threatening my resolve.
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“At least let me help you find Mallock, deliver him to the courts for justice, those compounds are illegal.” She pleads, there is a fervency in her eyes that was not there before.
My mouth begins to laugh at the ridiculousness of her statement, she does not know of Mallock’s demise. She is torturing herself over the sins of a dead man. The laughter is not long lived as the will that focuses pulls me back.
“You can laugh at me, but I truly just want to help you.” She says moving closer to me now.
“You can help by attaching that to my arm.” I say motioning to the rusty metal arm. I am greedy to have another hand, my combat abilities are stunted without two. The faster she attaches it, the faster I can begin to adapt to it.
“Will you not let me help you with Mallock?” she asks, moving towards my arm now with her tools in hand.
I turn to her, taking her in fully, a dangerous thing I realize as I feel a deep calling from my heart. Pushing it back, I study her face, she really wishes to help me, but her eyes still look hollow, why can I not peer into them truly? Why does she have so much invested in me? Because I treated her wounds? Because I left her food and tools to save herself? She does not owe me this much; she has already paid it in full with an interest I could never hope to pay, just by helping my people with sponsorships. I am the reason she lacks funds in her account, I could see it earlier in her eyes.
I remember Warden Akaria telling me I set a record for the first day of the Grand Hunt, I may not know much about the currency, but sponsoring all of my grouping must have been expensive. My heart strums for her once more. My jaw clenches. My honor which has been silent for many moons begins to rise to meet me, it tells me I must treat her better. It tells me not to spurn her. My pride does not want to listen, my pride is ruthless for the masters, it wants to see them all dead, it wants to be the one to slay them.
“You do not need to help me with Mallock.” I say laying back onto the bed.
“Why must it always be a struggle to help you, I sent you hundreds of gifts to aid you in the Colosseum and you didn’t open any of them.” She pauses, her hands still connecting electrodes “Why won’t you take my help, you don’t have to like me, but let me repay...”
“He is already dead.” I say interrupting her.
She stops working and looks to me. I turn to meet her gaze, I will control myself around her, I should not fear the beauty of her face.
“How?” she asks, searching my face for answers.
The madness tries to crawl up to answer her with a gleeful smile, but I push it back. It will not control me, nor will she.
“I put a small overloading reactor in his mouth and sent him on his way.” I say to her finally, turning away as I feel the strings of my heart trying to strum, the kindness in her eyes sings a song my Ulima heart is not meant to hear. A song that would be dangerous for it to learn.
“You… why didn’t he just spit it out?”
“Because… I smashed it into his face again, and again until it lodged into his throat.” I say, trying to push her away with the words.
Her kindness has begun to soothe the rage in me, I cannot afford to lose it, I spent a lifetime honing it. Rage is a blade to me, useless when dull. Her kindness tells the focus to relax as the melody of her voice calls it to sleep. The beauty of her face throbs my heart once more as I steal another glance, the beauty asking my eyes to look at her longer. All of her causing a betrayal of my senses, a betrayal of my emotions, the thing that we Kuwathi pride ourselves on keeping. This woman may be more dangerous than a blade to me.
“That’s one way to do it.” She says.
I dare to turn and look at her, she is working again, seemingly unphased by what I said. Have I misjudged her? I cannot tell if she is pretending for my sake, the thoughts behind her eyes elude me. Perhaps she comes from a place where violence is commonplace too. Remembering the dance of her blade’s song, my eyes turn to my chest as I feel another small flutter. Sekat. You are my heart, you do not beat for her.
My internal conflict pauses as I see something that makes my eyes grow wider, the ember of hope igniting in my chest. At the end of the bed, my mechanical toes begin to wiggle for the first time. For a moment I forget all my problems as a smile washes the worries away.
***
“All done with your arm. It should take a few hours for it to begin working, just like the leg it is mapping the nerve signals.” She says, her hair is askew in a messy bun. She lets out a long sigh as she stands and moves towards the bathroom, adjusting her bun in the mirror, she pulls out a small container, placing something from her eyes into it.
Moving to the edge of the bed I am eager to try the leg which has been flicking back and forth. Putting my weight on my right leg, which is still flesh and bone I stand warily upon it. Slowly I move the metal leg forward, the servos hum as it begins to follow the command, the smile from before when my toes wiggled wrapping my face fully now as it takes the weight and I move forward. Pride surges in me, there is hope spurring within my chest, it lashes out at the despair I have been feeling. There is an unsteadiness in the leg however, it begins to shake, overcompensating for my commands. Sekat, I’m going to fall. Keep your balance.
I feel her hand grasp mine, steadying me. The pride wants to lash out, but I hold it back. There is a poison in me, a deep hatred that I can barely contain when I think of the masters, but there is something else budding in the soil of the toxins, something she tends and waters with her kindness even against the brashness of my words and actions. She planted a seed in me, the moment I saw Nekam stand again, the moment I felt my own standing upright. The seed is sprouting into something. With her help I begin to walk again.
“Thank you.” I say after a time, the words are hard to form. My people do not commonly thank each other, it is implied. It is stranger still that my tongue feels the need to say it for a master.
“You’re welcome.” She says after a long pause.
She turns to meet my gaze now, we are so close I can feel her breath upon my skin, the scent of a flower wafts from her skin. My pupils widen as I see for the first time the natural color of her eyes, no longer hidden from my gaze. I have never seen such a wondrous shade of purple before, the edges of her iris a deep black giving a contrast that makes the color shine. I feel a pull towards her as our eyes connect truly for the first time, like the gravity of the world shifts. It is written upon her eyes as well, I can see that she feels the pull.
Her eyes blink fast as she turns from me, hiding the beauty of them from me. Letting go of my hand.
My teeth grind for a moment as the pride wrestles inside of me, trying to hold back my tongue, eventually losing to something else, something rising from the deep, something she sowed the seed for, something that wishes to blossom. As she walks away, I grasp her arm delicately.
“What do I call you?”
“I…” she pauses, her eyes do not meet mine still as she utters “I cannot say, I am sorry.”
My eyes blink twice at the response. My hand releases her. She moves to the bathroom, grabbing from the small container something she places over her eyes. There is a tightness forming in my chest, the gears in my mind begin to spin. She asked me to trust her, it led to my capture and torture and still I persisted to try and trust her enough to follow. That which was growing now begins to wither as I move towards the door. I cannot be trusted with a name, yet they ask to hold my life. The nerve of the masters never ceases to surprise me.
“Wait – please don’t go, I can still help you.” She pleads rushing to the door to try to stop me. Her eyes are now green like her hair. I can see the edges of the lens she uses to hide the real color. A detail I had not noticed before, too distracted by her beauty.
“Lekar.” I say in the old tongue, trying to move past her.
She places a hand on the door, I try to open it. Why is she so strong, her frame would not suggest the strength her body possesses.
“I know that word. It’s the equivalent of hypocrite.”
“Let me leave.” I growl to her, the rage is rising.
“Not until you understand why I can’t say…”
“Am I your prisoner?” I ask, the blade she gave me beginning to strike its first chord.
“No, but…”
“Then let me go.”
She curses under her breath and removes her hand from the door, and I am out into the unfamiliar world of the Arasha people, the platform creaks as it arrives to take me from the rooms landing. The focus is returning, riding the coattails of the rage, mixing into a fervor. I must find a way to help my people, my current freedom is not for my enjoyment. There is work to be done.