Arrival

It’s dark out and the arid desert has transitioned into something much more tolerable: a grassland. The man takes step after sluggish step, trembling and hunched over. His face looks like a corpse.

“Are we there yet?” He wheezes.

“How would I know?” Mimo retorts, sounding just as exhausted.

“Are we there yet?”

“No.” He answers in a deadpan.

A forest appears in the vicinity. It’s actually pretty close. When did that happen?

☼

A young boy stands at the edge of his village, just past the forest. He’s wearing a white, knee length nightgown with an oversized jacket. His pale hair is tousled by the cool evening breeze.

He gazes into the sky and appears to be thinking about something with a wistful expression. Stars are reflected in his wide, green eyes.

He steps forward and his boot is stopped by something. Something soft… A bit squishy. Concern growing, he wiggles his foot. Beneath the softness, there’s something hard. Bone? Is it an animal?

As much as he doesn’t want to, he carefully lifts his foot, eyes moving down in trepidation. His eyes adjust slowly… There’s definitely something there!

He leaps back, warily eyeing the creature. Wait… It looks more like a pile of fabric, a human sized one.

He makes out a cloak. Goggles. Fluffy hair. A hand. A face… This is a person!

He crouches down, cautiously examining the person. They’re bigger than him, probably an adult, but their cheeks are round with baby fat. The hair is short and there’s nothing about the clothes that scream feminine, so he assumes this is a young man.

As the clouds part, moonlight illuminates the young man’s skin and catches in his thick eyelashes. His hair is a deep, passionate red. The boy’s cheeks tingle.

Not only that, but he looks like he’s been through quite a lot. Dark circles bruise the undersides of his eyes and his brows are scrunched in distress. There's also now a large dirt smudge on his face.

Guilt wells up within him. “Hey… Are you okay?” He whispers while gingerly patting his cheek.

The man doesn’t respond. This might have something to do with the boy’s touches being as light as a butterfly. He can’t shake the feeling that he’s bothering the stranger and that he’d be inconvenienced if woken up.

“Hey… Hey!” He’s growing more exasperated, but isn’t speaking any louder. He frowns and scrunches his brows.

He takes off his jacket and places it over the wanderer. His hand brushes against something on the wanderer’s hip. It’s some kind of tablet. Its screen is black and it doesn’t seem like it’s on.

Without paying it much mind, he runs to his village. “Baaya!” he calls.

ꕤ

The cottage only has one circular room. It’s spacious, with a fire crackling off to the side in a glass cylinder that filters the smoke out through the roof. A wide assortment of herbs hang from the walls, enough for a clinic. Counters stacked with medicinal equipment and instructional books line the single, ongoing wall, curving to the bend of it.

The man sits next to the fire, a blanket around his shoulders, warming his hands with a ceramic cup full of hot tea. His cloak is hanging by the door and his outfit is now visible – a tight, sleeveless turtleneck with decorative metal designs, rugged pants with thigh holster for extra storage, and long, fingerless, leather gloves with padding at the elbow.

Fashion seems to have been the intention just as much as function. The clothing flatters the contours of his lithe, muscular body without being overly revealing. Muted browns and blacks make up the colors, with silver accents and a tattoo on his shoulder adding a pop of red. It’s of some kind of limbless, vertebrate fossil, curled up into a spiral.

The most notable part of his outfit is a strange amulet, chunky, white, and with an engraved piece of emerald crystal as a pendant.

The boy can’t help but stare at it, along with the rest of this mysterious and exciting new person. He’s exchanged his nightgown for some kind of healer’s uniform with a green robe and large hat, both with gold trim and large gemstone insets. A staff sits in his grip.

He meets eyes with the traveler, who flashes him a smile. He looks away hurriedly. It would be rude to stare. He thinks, a blush coming to his face. When his gaze moves back up they catch sight of a sizable knife attached to his thigh holster.

“Don’t worry. I only use it in emergencies.” The man assures him. Mint has no difficulty believing him.

An old woman with a stout body and an ornery face sits at a nearby counter, grinding something with a mortar and pestle. A monocle sits on her face. Her hair is in a loose bun and she’s wearing a long, pleated skirt with a loose robe that’s almost of the same length.

“Umm… Thanks for helping me. I’m pretty sure I would’ve died out there.”

She stands with an effort and walks to him with a slow and unsteady gait. “We don’t get visitors often. You sure surprised us.” She looks him up and down, stony expression unchanging.

Despite the nerves he feels under her intense gaze, he musters a pleasant smile. “My name’s Niklaus.”

He’s lying, but you wouldn’t be able to tell that by his demeanor. His real name is Asa.

“I’m Baaya, the healer of this village,” She gestures to the young boy at her side. “And this is Mint. He’s my apprentice.”

Mint sheepishly bows his head. “Nice to meet you.”

Asa examines Mint’s strange clothes. “Pardon my question, but isn’t that an Animaguard? Aren’t you a little young for one?”

He draws into himself when the attention is on him. She answers for him. “It used to be mine. I handed it down to him recently.” There’s a subtle hint of pride in her voice. “He’s a fantastic healer, particularly for his age. The only problem is that he’s dreadfully shy. He’s the one who found you, but he wouldn’t speak loud enough to wake you. He ran all the way back to get me so I could do it. You weren’t even hurt!”

“How’re you supposed to treat patients if you can’t even talk to them?” She scolds. Mint folds into himself further, looking ashamed.

“Hey…” Asa says, leaning towards Mint. “I think you did a great job. Have more confidence, okay?”

He looks up at him, then nods with a small smile. “I will.”

Asa smiles in return, then settles back into his chair.

“Now, it’s time for you to go home.” Baaya says.

Mint visibly deflates. “Why?”

“Children need their rest. Now go.” She pushes him towards the door with a few firm pats on the back.

He reluctantly walks to the door, then opens it. Once on the other side, he pokes his head in from the crack in the door, disappointment evident by his sad puppy dog eyes. “Good night, Baaya. Good night, Niklaus.”

“Good night.” Says Baaya.

“Good night.” Says Asa, more cheerfully. He waves.

Mint slowly closes the door. A loud click resounds through the silent room.

For a few moments, the two sit there without uttering a word. The atmosphere has become tense.

Baaya waltzes to one of the counters and eyes Mimo, who is charging beneath a bright lamp. “This is a piece of military equipment, is it not?”

He suppresses a cringe as his “wanderer” cover story starts to fall apart. She looks at him with her steely gaze, and his eyes fall to the floor.

“I don’t know what you’re doing here, but whatever it is, you best not cause any trouble.” The warning is soft spoken and hospitable, but still manages to make his stomach flip.

“I won’t. I have no plans to.” His eyes remain trained on the floor. He feels naked beneath her stare. It’s like he can’t hide anything from her.

“You can rest here tonight, but you’re going to leave tomorrow. Understand?”

He nods with a submissive hum.

She looks away, satisfied by his answer. “You don’t seem like a bad kid.”

She sits at her workplace and resumes grinding the ingredients for what he assumes is medicine. His eyes grow distant, and something gnaws at the pit of his stomach.

☼

Cool wind blows calmly through the chilly night. A six-wheeled armored transport is parked in the sand. Someone in a grey uniform stands at the side of the vehicle, spotting the forest through binoculars. As he lowers them, his likeness reveals itself.

He’s a man in his late thirties with a tall hairline, skin that’s pale enough to be sickly, and a thin, angular face that would be handsome if it wasn’t for a smarmy, overly self-confident smirk as crooked as his nose. The intense moonlight bounces off the lenses of his square-framed glasses, white reflection blocking any view of his eyes.

He hands off the binoculars to a helmeted soldier who’s half-seated, half-leaning out the door of the passenger seat, and points in the direction of the forest. “That’s it. It’s hidden behind the trees.”

“We’re almost there.” He says. The smirk on his face stretches further, taking on an ominous quality.

“Are you sure about this, sir?” Asks the soldier, his lack of confidence apparent.

His eyebrow twitches and his smile falters. “Of course I am. What is there to be unsure about?”

“Are you sure that using brute force will work? We hardly have a strategy this time.”

The smirk re-emerges, broader than before. “What could they possibly do? They’re a bunch of farmers out in the middle of nowhere. Their weapons are primitive at best, and they don’t have any clue we’re coming. Once we show up with a big transport and threaten them a little, they’ll let us through.”

“I guess you’re right…” The soldier still seems uncertain.

“Don’t worry. I always have a backup plan.”

They both return to their seats, slamming the heavy, metal doors shut with a clunk. The engine ignites and the vehicle starts trucking again, wheels kicking up dust.