How had it gone so wrong?
Mark wanted to swear as he made his way down and around the hill. He held back for obvious reasons.
It had been his intention to convince Atissa of the futility of a rescue attempt. A young girl with a bow and a… modern city dweller with a stick opposing a gang of presumably experienced fighters? He was going to die.
Mark had spent enough hours on the mats to know he was a proficient grappler. It was a perfect sport to keep both mind and body occupied.
But this didn’t make him a fighter. Yes, he could easily subdue the average person on the street. But there was most likely a significant difference between the average person at home and the axe-swinging barbarians on the other side of this hill!
When I told her to think it through, I didn't mean to find a different way to get me killed, he thought.
Reaching the creek, he paused. Should he flee? He analyzed his options. Again.
He came to the same results as he had when Atissa laid out her crazy plan. I can run but where would I go, he thought?
Atissa and her uncle had taken him in. Supplied him with food, clothing, and shelter. Would the next people he ran into be as kind? It was impossible to predict. And that presupposed that he found his way through this wilderness.
Mark sighed.
Atissa’s plan was not so bad. At least that was what he decided to believe. Based on my profound tactical knowledge, from watching movies on airplanes, he thought. The biting sarcasm made him feel better. At least a little bit.
He waded through the creek, taking his position. It was time to begin.
How should he go about this? He looked over to the hill. Atissa had selected this spot. The distance between the creek and the house was the shortest here. Don’t overthink this, he thought.
Mark dropped the stick on the ground and waded back into the middle of the creek. Looking around he selected a larger stone the size of a football, lifted it over his head, and threw it into the water in front of him.
As the stone broke through the water's surface, the impact produced a half-gulping half-splashing sound. Water drops hit his face.
“Damn it!”
Had that been loud enough? He wasn’t sure if the noise would carry well. He waded back to the shore, splashing as much as possible.
“Damn it! This…day is just the worst!” For a moment, the embarrassment he felt was stronger than the fear of his impending death. Only for a moment, though.
Now what? The Mark of fifteen minutes ago would never have believed that he would ever consider acting a worthwhile skill. You live and you learn, he thought. If I live that is.
He decided to take a knee and pretend that he was rebinding his sandals. He did not actually open the binding. If this all went wrong, he would run. Atissa was far enough away to extract herself if she chose to.
She might not.
He snapped his jaw shut, grinding his teeth together. She was not his responsibility. He was done with that.
Focus!
He cursed some more.
Had there been a sound? A rustling of leaves maybe?
Mark wished he had Atissa’s sharp senses. He tried to see the hill from the corner of his eyes, but he had kneeled at an unfavorable angle.
Then he heard the men approaching.
He decided not to look, yet. The quick movement might steer them to action.
They had discussed different responses, depending on how many came to investigate. If three or all more of them came down, Atissa would try to save her uncle while Mark distracted the warriors. In case he had to run away, wading through the water would slow the men down enough to give him a head start. Unless they shot an arrow into his back.
Mark decided that he had let them come close enough. He turned his head.
There were two.
And one held a bow, arrow on the string, ready to be drawn.
Mark did his best to push down the fear.
“Hey, you,” the bigger of the two said. He brandished a shield and axe. The axe head had the reddish-golden color of bronze and once more Mark asked himself where in the world he had ended up.
Now was not the time to think about that.
He stood up slowly so as not to alarm the men and picked up the walking stick.
The men tensed. The bowman immediately stepped to the side. Presumably to have a clear line of fire.
Mark planted the stick on the ground next to him. He hadn’t considered that the men could see it as a potential weapon.
He tried to look as unthreatening as possible. “How may I help you?”
The men stared at him wide-eyed. “A magi?” the bowman whispered. There was a hint of fear in his voice.
They exchanged uncertain looks. No, focus on me, Mark thought.
“Excuse me, I lost my way,” he said, raising his voice. “Can you tell me how far it is to the next gas station?”
His question met confused looks. Ah, damn. He was too nervous.
The bowman opened his mouth but the arrow piercing his neck interrupted whatever he was going to say. All that came out was a gurgle.
Mark just stared, fixed on the spot, frozen in shock.
The bowman made a step forward, the bow falling to the ground as he clawed at his throat. The arrow had almost gone all the way though. Crimson blood was gushing out.
The noises and Mark’s stare made the axe man turn his head. Seeing his comrade fall to his knees, he reacted without hesitation, spinning around. Bringing his shield up in front of his body, he was just fast enough to block Atissa’s second arrow.
Snap out of it, Mark thought! It had been his job to distract the men long enough for Atissa to fire twice. He had not been prepared for the blood.
While he just stood there, shock and a faint sickness threatening to overwhelm him, the axe man located Atissa poised between the trees they had passed coming down the hill. He charged.
Fuck, Mark thought. What to do?
Atissa had her third arrow on the string, but the axe man covered himself with his shield. She hesitated. Mark could see panic rising on the girl’s face.
Then he was running. Water splashed as he crossed the creak. When had he made this decision?
His eyes fixed on the man’s back he knew he would not make it in time.
Thirty feet away the man lifted his axe. And stumbled. Then fell to one knee.
Looking over him Mark could see Atissa, scrambling backward only holding the bow. She had taken the shot. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Mark was impressed.
With a pained grunt, the axe man scrambled back to his feet. The arrow stuck in his left thigh muscle.
Losing sight of Atissa, Mark tried to run faster. He let go of the stick.
The man took a step forward. A second passed. His axe came up.
Mark tackled him.
Of course, he had done this before - attacking an opponent’s back. But that had been in training. There had never been any sprinting or jumping involved. Or axes.
Both men slammed into the ground together. Mark immediately rolled onto his back, taking the warrior with him. His legs wrapped around the man’s hips, holding him in place. His right arm snaked around the throat. The left went behind the neck, closing a rear naked choke. Got you, Mark thought!
He was wrong. His opponent had tucked in his chin at the last moment. Pressing against it, Mark was not interrupting the blood supply to the brain. Having lost his weapons, the warrior tried to get a grip on Mark’s arm.
The men struggled desperately. Mark knew he had to switch grips, but the panic of a real life-or-death struggle made him hesitate. Knowing that he was done if the arm slipped under his chin, his opponent fought to rip the limb off his throat. His nails dug into Mark’s uncovered skin.
Mark grunted in pain and responded by tightening his hold with all his strength.
There was a wet noise somewhere. Mark barely registered it. Then the resistance disappeared. Caught in his struggle, he used the opportunity to glide his arm under the chin.
Sweat dripped into Mark’s eyes.
“It’s ok. You…you can let go now,” Atissa said.
Mark noticed that the man’s body had turned slack, his arms hanging limply to the side. Carefully, he loosened his choke and the warrior’s body slid off to the side.
Mark blinked.
As he rubbed his stinging eyes, he realized that it wasn’t sweat but blood. He pushed himself out from under the man’s body and saw the source. The axe man’s head had been split with his own weapon. In his struggle, Mark had not even noticed it happen.
He looked up at Atissa.
The girl was just standing there, staring down at the corpse. She looked drained of color.
Mark rose and carefully approached her.
“Hey...,” he said, touching her shoulder tenderly. She spun around and wrapped her arms around him.
Ah, crap, Mark thought.
Atissa had chosen a bad moment to fall apart. How loud had they been? The other men could come looking for their comrades any minute.
For a couple of awkward seconds, he just stood there, holding up his arms. This is like teaching Anne how to ride her bicycle, he thought, his teeth clenched. He heard a sniffing sound coming from his chest. Was she crying? This had to stop! He wasn’t good in these situations. Anne had said so many times.
Pushing the memories aside, Mark took Atissa’s shoulders and carefully pushed her away, so he could look into her face. Her eyes were wet, but she hadn’t quite started to cry yet. She was trying to hold on. Once more he was impressed with the girl.
“Look, we can’t lose focus. No crying, ok? There is no time for that.” He tried to sound empathetic but stern, masking his own nervousness.
“I killed him… both of them,” Atissa whispered. There was something in her voice that Mark did not like. He looked over to the hill. They remained alone. For now.
“You have killed before. You said yourself…” He interrupted himself. Comparing it to hunting would not work. If she had shot both men from a distance, he might have gotten away with that. But what could you compare to standing over a human and splitting his face in two? He needed a different approach.
While he felt Atissa’s body starting to tremble Mark’s mind mulled through his options. He had no psychological training, but he had seen a lot of movies. He needed a rousing speech. Something to distract her. I need to shift her focus, he thought.
He crouched down. Sitting was a dangerous idea when he needed to be able to spring up quickly, but he wanted to move below her, to seem more comforting as he spoke. “Hey, do you remember this morning? How I wrestled with your uncle?”
Atissa frowned.
“Do you remember his face?” he asked, his voice becoming more insistent. “He had a great time. Can you see it in your mind?”
Atissa stared at him. Then she shook herself and nodded. “I remember,” she said quietly.
“Good. Hold that picture in your mind. It isn’t just about what you do. It is also about why you do it!” He made a small pause for effect. “When you kill… a deer, you don’t kill it to…kill it. You feed a family. It is the same with those men.”
The mention of her victims made Atissa turn her head in the direction of the corpses.
“Eyes on me!” Mark said. “You didn’t murder these men, you are saving your uncle. Say it!”
Atissa hesitated for a second, just standing there open-mouthed.
“You are saving your uncle,” Mark repeated, his voice and expression calm.
She swallowed. “I… I am saving my uncle!”
Mark nodded. “Good. Now, quickly get your things. We have been quite loud.” He gave Atissa a little push.
He felt idiotic but his little pep talk seemed to have worked. As Atissa started moving, her demeanor changed. Determination returned visibly with every step. He hoped it would last.
Mark prided himself in being able to encourage people to shift their focus, in being persuasive enough to bring others around to his way of thinking. He’d picked these skills up from an ex. She’d been a lawyer and they’d dated casually for about a year. Both juggling demanding careers, the relationship had been little more than just intellectual and sexual stimulation. And after it had run its course, Mark had made his mind up about lawyers. Definite sociopaths.
He jogged back to pick up his walking stick. He considered recovering the axe, but he could not quite bring himself to pull it out of the man’s face. What would that sound like, he thought?
The first step of Atissa’s hunting plan had succeeded. Mostly. They lured half the men away from the house and killed them.
For a moment, Mark’s mind wanted to reflect on the fact that he had just helped to kill two people. He shut that line of thought down immediately. He’d year of training in that.
Atissa rejoined him. She had scavenged some of the bowmen’s bronze-tipped arrows.
“Those look bigger than your own,” Mark said.
Atissa put one of her own on the string. “These are war arrows. They are longer and heavier. I’ve only got one left.” She hesitated before adding. “I couldn’t retrieve…”
“I understand,” Mark said. Asking her to cut them free from the men’s corpses was probably a bit much.
Atissa gave him a quick glance. “I think they will do on a short distance. I just have to make the first count.”
“I am sure you will,” Mark said. “Take the lead.” And I will stay behind you this time, in case you don’t, he thought.
They snuck up the hill again. Atissa did not lead them the direct way the men had come but circled around again. Moving closer, she took advantage of the trees to give them cover.
When the hut came in sight, she stopped dead.
Mark carefully stepped up behind Atissa to look over her shoulder. When he saw the scene before the house, he understood what had caused her to pause.
Uncle Tatros was still on his knees but now he faced in the direction of the path down to the creek. A man with a shield stood behind him, holding a spear aloft ready to thrust it through his back.
There was another man Mark hadn’t seen before. His tunic was wider and somehow more lavish. A chain decorated his chest. In his right hand he held a staff, the length of a spear. But instead of a tip the metal formed a symbol Mark didn’t recognize.
Then he spoke, his voice booming through the woods. “I know you are there. You cannot hide from Assan’s eye. Come out!”
Standing close to her, Mark felt Atissa starting to shiver.
Her voice was a whisper. “Another magi.”
How had it gone so wrong?
Mark wanted to swear as he made his way down and around the hill. He held back for obvious reasons.
It had been his intention to convince Atissa of the futility of a rescue attempt. A young girl with a bow and a… modern city dweller with a stick opposing a gang of presumably experienced fighters? He was going to die.
Mark had spent enough hours on the mats to know he was a proficient grappler. It was a perfect sport to keep both mind and body occupied.
But this didn’t make him a fighter. Yes, he could easily subdue the average person on the street. But there was most likely a significant difference between the average person at home and the axe-swinging barbarians on the other side of this hill!
When I told her to think it through, I didn't mean to find a different way to get me killed, he thought.
Reaching the creek, he paused. Should he flee? He analyzed his options. Again.
He came to the same results as he had when Atissa laid out her crazy plan. I can run but where would I go, he thought?
Atissa and her uncle had taken him in. Supplied him with food, clothing, and shelter. Would the next people he ran into be as kind? It was impossible to predict. And that presupposed that he found his way through this wilderness.
Mark sighed.
Atissa’s plan was not so bad. At least that was what he decided to believe. Based on my profound tactical knowledge, from watching movies on airplanes, he thought. The biting sarcasm made him feel better. At least a little bit.
He waded through the creek, taking his position. It was time to begin.
How should he go about this? He looked over to the hill. Atissa had selected this spot. The distance between the creek and the house was the shortest here. Don’t overthink this, he thought.
Mark dropped the stick on the ground and waded back into the middle of the creek. Looking around he selected a larger stone the size of a football, lifted it over his head, and threw it into the water in front of him.
As the stone broke through the water's surface, the impact produced a half-gulping half-splashing sound. Water drops hit his face.
“Damn it!”
Had that been loud enough? He wasn’t sure if the noise would carry well. He waded back to the shore, splashing as much as possible.
“Damn it! This…day is just the worst!” For a moment, the embarrassment he felt was stronger than the fear of his impending death. Only for a moment, though.
Now what? The Mark of fifteen minutes ago would never have believed that he would ever consider acting a worthwhile skill. You live and you learn, he thought. If I live that is.
He decided to take a knee and pretend that he was rebinding his sandals. He did not actually open the binding. If this all went wrong, he would run. Atissa was far enough away to extract herself if she chose to.
She might not.
He snapped his jaw shut, grinding his teeth together. She was not his responsibility. He was done with that.
Focus!
He cursed some more.
Had there been a sound? A rustling of leaves maybe?
Mark wished he had Atissa’s sharp senses. He tried to see the hill from the corner of his eyes, but he had kneeled at an unfavorable angle.
Then he heard the men approaching.
He decided not to look, yet. The quick movement might steer them to action.
They had discussed different responses, depending on how many came to investigate. If three or all more of them came down, Atissa would try to save her uncle while Mark distracted the warriors. In case he had to run away, wading through the water would slow the men down enough to give him a head start. Unless they shot an arrow into his back.
Mark decided that he had let them come close enough. He turned his head.
There were two.
And one held a bow, arrow on the string, ready to be drawn.
Mark did his best to push down the fear.
“Hey, you,” the bigger of the two said. He brandished a shield and axe. The axe head had the reddish-golden color of bronze and once more Mark asked himself where in the world he had ended up.
Now was not the time to think about that.
He stood up slowly so as not to alarm the men and picked up the walking stick.
The men tensed. The bowman immediately stepped to the side. Presumably to have a clear line of fire.
Mark planted the stick on the ground next to him. He hadn’t considered that the men could see it as a potential weapon.
He tried to look as unthreatening as possible. “How may I help you?”
The men stared at him wide-eyed. “A magi?” the bowman whispered. There was a hint of fear in his voice.
They exchanged uncertain looks. No, focus on me, Mark thought.
“Excuse me, I lost my way,” he said, raising his voice. “Can you tell me how far it is to the next gas station?”
His question met confused looks. Ah, damn. He was too nervous.
The bowman opened his mouth but the arrow piercing his neck interrupted whatever he was going to say. All that came out was a gurgle.
Mark just stared, fixed on the spot, frozen in shock.
The bowman made a step forward, the bow falling to the ground as he clawed at his throat. The arrow had almost gone all the way though. Crimson blood was gushing out.
The noises and Mark’s stare made the axe man turn his head. Seeing his comrade fall to his knees, he reacted without hesitation, spinning around. Bringing his shield up in front of his body, he was just fast enough to block Atissa’s second arrow.
Snap out of it, Mark thought! It had been his job to distract the men long enough for Atissa to fire twice. He had not been prepared for the blood.
While he just stood there, shock and a faint sickness threatening to overwhelm him, the axe man located Atissa poised between the trees they had passed coming down the hill. He charged.
Fuck, Mark thought. What to do?
Atissa had her third arrow on the string, but the axe man covered himself with his shield. She hesitated. Mark could see panic rising on the girl’s face.
Then he was running. Water splashed as he crossed the creak. When had he made this decision?
His eyes fixed on the man’s back he knew he would not make it in time.
Thirty feet away the man lifted his axe. And stumbled. Then fell to one knee.
Looking over him Mark could see Atissa, scrambling backward only holding the bow. She had taken the shot. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Mark was impressed.
With a pained grunt, the axe man scrambled back to his feet. The arrow stuck in his left thigh muscle.
Losing sight of Atissa, Mark tried to run faster. He let go of the stick.
The man took a step forward. A second passed. His axe came up.
Mark tackled him.
Of course, he had done this before - attacking an opponent’s back. But that had been in training. There had never been any sprinting or jumping involved. Or axes.
Both men slammed into the ground together. Mark immediately rolled onto his back, taking the warrior with him. His legs wrapped around the man’s hips, holding him in place. His right arm snaked around the throat. The left went behind the neck, closing a rear naked choke. Got you, Mark thought!
He was wrong. His opponent had tucked in his chin at the last moment. Pressing against it, Mark was not interrupting the blood supply to the brain. Having lost his weapons, the warrior tried to get a grip on Mark’s arm.
The men struggled desperately. Mark knew he had to switch grips, but the panic of a real life-or-death struggle made him hesitate. Knowing that he was done if the arm slipped under his chin, his opponent fought to rip the limb off his throat. His nails dug into Mark’s uncovered skin.
Mark grunted in pain and responded by tightening his hold with all his strength.
There was a wet noise somewhere. Mark barely registered it. Then the resistance disappeared. Caught in his struggle, he used the opportunity to glide his arm under the chin.
Sweat dripped into Mark’s eyes.
“It’s ok. You…you can let go now,” Atissa said.
Mark noticed that the man’s body had turned slack, his arms hanging limply to the side. Carefully, he loosened his choke and the warrior’s body slid off to the side.
Mark blinked.
As he rubbed his stinging eyes, he realized that it wasn’t sweat but blood. He pushed himself out from under the man’s body and saw the source. The axe man’s head had been split with his own weapon. In his struggle, Mark had not even noticed it happen.
He looked up at Atissa.
The girl was just standing there, staring down at the corpse. She looked drained of color.
Mark rose and carefully approached her.
“Hey...,” he said, touching her shoulder tenderly. She spun around and wrapped her arms around him.
Ah, crap, Mark thought.
Atissa had chosen a bad moment to fall apart. How loud had they been? The other men could come looking for their comrades any minute.
For a couple of awkward seconds, he just stood there, holding up his arms. This is like teaching Anne how to ride her bicycle, he thought, his teeth clenched. He heard a sniffing sound coming from his chest. Was she crying? This had to stop! He wasn’t good in these situations. Anne had said so many times.
Pushing the memories aside, Mark took Atissa’s shoulders and carefully pushed her away, so he could look into her face. Her eyes were wet, but she hadn’t quite started to cry yet. She was trying to hold on. Once more he was impressed with the girl.
“Look, we can’t lose focus. No crying, ok? There is no time for that.” He tried to sound empathetic but stern, masking his own nervousness.
“I killed him… both of them,” Atissa whispered. There was something in her voice that Mark did not like. He looked over to the hill. They remained alone. For now.
“You have killed before. You said yourself…” He interrupted himself. Comparing it to hunting would not work. If she had shot both men from a distance, he might have gotten away with that. But what could you compare to standing over a human and splitting his face in two? He needed a different approach.
While he felt Atissa’s body starting to tremble Mark’s mind mulled through his options. He had no psychological training, but he had seen a lot of movies. He needed a rousing speech. Something to distract her. I need to shift her focus, he thought.
He crouched down. Sitting was a dangerous idea when he needed to be able to spring up quickly, but he wanted to move below her, to seem more comforting as he spoke. “Hey, do you remember this morning? How I wrestled with your uncle?”
Atissa frowned.
“Do you remember his face?” he asked, his voice becoming more insistent. “He had a great time. Can you see it in your mind?”
Atissa stared at him. Then she shook herself and nodded. “I remember,” she said quietly.
“Good. Hold that picture in your mind. It isn’t just about what you do. It is also about why you do it!” He made a small pause for effect. “When you kill… a deer, you don’t kill it to…kill it. You feed a family. It is the same with those men.”
The mention of her victims made Atissa turn her head in the direction of the corpses.
“Eyes on me!” Mark said. “You didn’t murder these men, you are saving your uncle. Say it!”
Atissa hesitated for a second, just standing there open-mouthed.
“You are saving your uncle,” Mark repeated, his voice and expression calm.
She swallowed. “I… I am saving my uncle!”
Mark nodded. “Good. Now, quickly get your things. We have been quite loud.” He gave Atissa a little push.
He felt idiotic but his little pep talk seemed to have worked. As Atissa started moving, her demeanor changed. Determination returned visibly with every step. He hoped it would last.
Mark prided himself in being able to encourage people to shift their focus, in being persuasive enough to bring others around to his way of thinking. He’d picked these skills up from an ex. She’d been a lawyer and they’d dated casually for about a year. Both juggling demanding careers, the relationship had been little more than just intellectual and sexual stimulation. And after it had run its course, Mark had made his mind up about lawyers. Definite sociopaths.
He jogged back to pick up his walking stick. He considered recovering the axe, but he could not quite bring himself to pull it out of the man’s face. What would that sound like, he thought?
The first step of Atissa’s hunting plan had succeeded. Mostly. They lured half the men away from the house and killed them.
For a moment, Mark’s mind wanted to reflect on the fact that he had just helped to kill two people. He shut that line of thought down immediately. He’d year of training in that.
Atissa rejoined him. She had scavenged some of the bowmen’s bronze-tipped arrows.
“Those look bigger than your own,” Mark said.
Atissa put one of her own on the string. “These are war arrows. They are longer and heavier. I’ve only got one left.” She hesitated before adding. “I couldn’t retrieve…”
“I understand,” Mark said. Asking her to cut them free from the men’s corpses was probably a bit much.
Atissa gave him a quick glance. “I think they will do on a short distance. I just have to make the first count.”
“I am sure you will,” Mark said. “Take the lead.” And I will stay behind you this time, in case you don’t, he thought.
They snuck up the hill again. Atissa did not lead them the direct way the men had come but circled around again. Moving closer, she took advantage of the trees to give them cover.
When the hut came in sight, she stopped dead.
Mark carefully stepped up behind Atissa to look over her shoulder. When he saw the scene before the house, he understood what had caused her to pause.
Uncle Tatros was still on his knees but now he faced in the direction of the path down to the creek. A man with a shield stood behind him, holding a spear aloft ready to thrust it through his back.
There was another man Mark hadn’t seen before. His tunic was wider and somehow more lavish. A chain decorated his chest. In his right hand he held a staff, the length of a spear. But instead of a tip the metal formed a symbol Mark didn’t recognize.
Then he spoke, his voice booming through the woods. “I know you are there. You cannot hide from Assan’s eye. Come out!”
Standing close to her, Mark felt Atissa starting to shiver.
Her voice was a whisper. “Another magi.”
