Chapter Thirty-One

Nirrada

Michael was left standing with his arm gently aloft while a small bead of blood trickled down his temple where the arrow had only nicked him. For a single moment he let out a breath of relief, and then darkness swamped him and his head rolled back.

Oliver and Sarah barrelled forward and caught him as he toppled backward to the ground, spent by his Arcancy, whilst Nichole and Aroha tore into the bushes ahead and found the shooter.

Lying atop a crushed bush, squirming in pain and hissing through their pointed teeth, was a figure that was very nearly Draendican. Their skin was a blend of green and indigo, swirling with floral patterns like they were imprinted by the very trees around them. Their eyes were entirely without whites or pupils. They were pools of pale blue, the shade of seawater on a winter’s day. Their hair was shadow-tinted green and fuzzy, like a finger’s length of curling moss, collected messily around their narrow face.

As Nichole and Aroha approached, the sprite immediately hissed and growled at them, but seemed unable to actually retreat.

Nichole looked them over and nodded. “Atyon. Called it.”

Aroha raised her spear in a very nonchalant way and anyone who didn’t know her might have mistaken her tone for calm. “Where are your friends?”

Nichole looked sideways at her. “Easy.”

The woodland sprite merely glared and stayed awkwardly still, like they were unsure which way to move.

Aroha took a single step forward and looked with far too much interest at the point of her spear. “See, you shot at my friends. So right now, you are witnessing the end of my patience. Speak. There is no ‘or else’.” She levelled the spear toward the Atyon who flinched back.

“Ari!” Nichole grabbed her arm and looked hard into her eyes. “Stop.”

Aroha softened under her gaze and let out her anger in a small, silent breath.

Nichole gently took her free hand and said, “If there were others, we’d know about it.” She looked down to the forest-dweller and asked, “Why’d you shoot at us?”

“Twice.” Aroha interjected.

The sprite seethed through their teeth and began muttering in foreign tongue not so much as breaking their gaze.

Aroha shrugged. “Do you speak Common or are you just going to curse at us in Garganii?”

The Atyon warrior glared at her with their mesmerising blue eyes and muttered in heavily accented Common, “Not all Created speak Garganii.”

Aroha planted the spear in the ground. “So, you can speak. Great. Why the fuck did you shoot at us?”

Nichole pinched the bridge of her nose. “Ari, stop! Go help Michael. Go!”

Aroha pursed her lips but she held her tongue from casting any further insults. Instead she said, “If you so much as give my partner a nasty look, I’ll carve your eyes out.” And with that she walked back to the clearing.

Nichole sighed and looked down to the Atyon.

The blade which Michael had flung at them had glanced the outside of their thigh, just above the knee and was pulsing no small amount of blood. Nichole went wide-eyed at the extent of it.

“You need that looked at... Sorry, what’s your name?”

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The scout glared at her, but it was clear the anger was held more for situation than the young ranger. “Nirrada. And I am fine.”

Nichole sighed and shook her head. “It’s pissing blood.”

“I said I’m fine,” they seethed, their accent heavy with pain.

Oliver came stumbling into the clearing and Nichole glanced up at him. “How’s Michael doing?”

Oliver looked pale but he shrugged and said, “He’s fine. His Arcancy did some work on him, but if he’d been half a second slower or this Atyon had been a better shot, we’d be carrying his body home. Which brings me to you-”

“Oli, please, I just made Ari leave for this horseshit.” Nichole put a pleading hand on his shoulder.

Oliver’s kind face did suit anger. His dimples vanished. His softened was suddenly jagged. But Nichole’s touch pushed the ugliness back. Oliver quietly nodded and a wave of tension rolled out of him.

The Atyon, however, bared their fangs. “If you had not come into my people’s land and started burning sacred trees, we would not have to!”

“That campfire was built out of dead wood!” he said, exasperated.

“You butcher protected fish in our waters with your Drakonian!” they barked.

“We were making dinner!”

Nichole moved Oliver back half a step and yelled down at the Atyon, “Enough! Okay, fine! I’m sorry- We’re sorry. We didn’t know this land was inhabited. We didn’t mean any offence.”

Nirrada clenched their teeth and muttered, “You cannot burn our sacred trees without consequence.”

Nichole took a deep breath and let it out between the gaps in her teeth. “We did not mean to. We’re sorry. Let us fix your leg to make up for it.”

The Atyon looked ready to disregard her once more but upon glancing at the wide gash on their thigh, they thought better of it. “Fine.”

Michael was sitting up by the campsite with a small wad of fabric pushed against his temple. He watched as the Atyon was carefully carried into the light on Oliver and Nichole’s shoulders. Nirrada was sat gently on the ground in front of one of the fallen logs.

The sprite looked at the burning bonfire and seethed with anger but said nothing more.

Michael stood up and wandered around to their side of the fire. The gash had opened their leg up quite seriously, arcing around the side of their thigh in the shape of a crescent moon, though much of it was hidden under their hand.

Michael’s stomach plumed with a sickly feeling and he clenched his teeth. “Didn’t think I would actually hit you.”

Nirrada glanced at him and shrugged. “Neither did I.”

Michael knelt down and said, “This isn’t the kind of thing you just walk-off, you know? May I?”

Oliver raised his brow. “Michael- They shot you.”

“I’ve had worse.” Michael pulled off his shirt and immediately tensed under the chill of the wind. He began tearing it into long sheets of fabric as he said, “Nichole, can you go get some water from the stream?”

Nichole nodded and took off, dragging Aroha with her.

Michael looked at Oliver and silently nodded for him to take his seat.

Oliver sat, awkwardly looking at his hands while Sarah put down her spear as casually as she could.

“Where did the other Atyon go?” Sarah asked, the fatigue of the day now returning to her body.

Nirrada lifted their hand and inspected their wound. They changed to a paler shade of green instantly. “They left after we tried to scare you away the first time. I am only here because this segment of the forest is under my protection.”

Nichole and Aroha returned with water cupped in the great long leaves they’d used for the fish earlier, desperately trying not to spill it as it sloshed around.

“Thanks guys. Can you pour some over her wound so I can get a better look? I’m going to need you move your hand, please.?”

Nirrada cleared their throat and said, “Their wound. My heart is raoksha.”

Michael frowned. “Is that a Shanii word for Noble?”

Nirrade nodded drowsily.

Michael blushed and nodded, “My apologies. Are all Atyon this way?”

Nirrada nodded, wincing through their teeth as Nichole washed out the wound with fresh water. “Well, most. Some of us with too much contact with Draendicans have been known to latch on to your bizarre ideas.”

Michael watched carefully as the water rushed the blood out and he saw cut was nearly to the bone and throbbed with every beat of their heart. The blood was pulsing out in no slow way.

Michael had treated a few injuries in his life, but nothing quite like this. He stretched out his hands but they still shook. “Okay, Nichole, more water. Oliver, can you put pressure above the wound? Nirrada, right? Keep as still as you can. Sarah maybe find something for them to bite down on. Aroha, is there any way you know how to contact Sidney? This won’t be a permanent fix.”

Aroha nodded and began digging through her pockets. “I’ve got something for emergencies…”

“I think this will qualify. Everyone ready? Nichole, go ahead. Oliver don’t mind me, I’m taking your belt.”