Fight. That's what he meant. You missed your chance before. Take it now. Fight back any way you can.
She took the blade. Then she put on her wraps and boots.
Eighteen
"The sun." Moria laughed. "The sun, Daigo. It came."
He grunted and walked behind her, prodding as if to say, Yes, yes, that's all very nice, but it
won't come down here and rescue you, will it?
That's when she noticed blood on the rocks.
The blood drops continued over the rocks. Then the drops became smears, as if the wounded had fallen. Furrows were raked in the soft ground by the creek. Someone dragging himself along. Near death but trying to escape it.
When she rounded a boulder, she saw a man's body downstream, his arms over his head. A sword lay beside one hand. His hair was in braids. His forearms were covered with tattoos.
There were only two guards with braids and ink. She'd already found one and left him in the stream.
"Gavril," she whispered.
Daigo leaped over and started nudging Gavril's corpse. She wanted to call to him. Tell him to leave the body. She'd had enough--enough of looking upon the spirit-fled corpses of people she'd known, people she had cared for. There is a point when the mind says, I've had enough. Strike me again and I'll shatter.
She took a deep breath and walked slowly toward him. Daigo nosed away his braids to show a gash in the back of Gavril's head. Moria took a moment's pause to brace herself, then she bent and laid her hand on his inked forearm, and--
She yanked her hand away and bit back a yelp.
Gavril's skin was warm. She pressed her hands to his upper arm, as if there might be some sorcery in the tattoos that warmed the skin. When her ice-cold fingers touched warm flesh, her hands flew to his neck. She felt a pulse. A strong one.
Daigo huffed as if to say, I told you.
"Yes, yes," she muttered.
While she'd been trained in battle healing, Ashyn was much better at it. Moria had spent most of her lessons grumbling that, in a battle, she was supposed to be on the front lines with the warriors, not tending to the wounded. That was woman's work, and it seemed that's why she was being trained in it--a sign that they might give her a blade, but they didn't truly expect her to be much use on the battlefield. So to prove them wrong, she'd thrown her focus into fighting instead of healing. A foolish choice, motivated by pride.
She dragged Gavril by his tunic to drier ground. Daigo tried to help, but when she snapped at him for ripping Gavril's breeches, he stomped off, offended. As she reached the edge of the mud, it seemed to make one last effort to keep Gavril, and she had to dig her boots in, hands wrapped in his tunic, and heave--
Gavril's arm shot out and struck her, the blow so unexpected she let go as he scrambled to his feet, his hand going to his empty sword scabbard. Only as he pulled out his dagger instead did he look up.
He stopped. He squinted. He brushed a hand over his face, smearing mud.
"Moria?"
Beside her, Daigo chuffed and rolled his eyes. Who else would bother? he seemed to say.
Gavril staggered up, dagger raised. "You're a spirit."
"A spirit couldn't have hauled your arse out of the mud."
"You followed us." He cursed under his breath. "You child. Your duty is with the village, Keeper--"
"The village is--"
"Your duty, one you're far too immature and foolish to--"
All the fear and the grief poured out again, and she whipped her daggers. They whistled through the air, one on either side of Gavril, no more than a hand's span away, embedding themselves in trees.
"The village is gone," she said, her voice thick with rage and tears. "Everyone's dead."