Chapter 39 - Hold On

Hammers clamour distantly as the sounds of a village clinging to life enter into my ears. 

I try to lie in the murky twilight of my consciousness for as long as possible whilst I take inventory of my emotions but each strike of the hammers is like an alarm bell. 

I have to learn to let my anger retreat. But it’s never that easy. 

I try to sit up as best I can but my left arm fails to move so now I am sitting in an awkward slump. 

My glasses are gone. 

“Where are my glasses?” I twist my head frantically looking for them, giving myself a fresh sense of vertigo before I notice the small boy at the foot of my bed.

It’s him, the boy I saved. Held loosely in his little hand are my glasses. 

He’s asleep on a small wooden chair, his small chest rises and falls in a steady, peaceful rhythm. A smudge of soot still marks his cheek like a strange birthmark, and his hair is a tangled mess. I dare not wake him after what he has gone through. 

I watch him for a long time. He is my one, undeniable victory in a night of devastating loss. Proof that my choice matters.

A dry, coppery cough escapes my throat, and the boy stirs. He blinks a few times, disoriented, then his deep, clear brown eyes look towards me. He doesn’t look surprised or scared. He just looks… curious. Like he’s been waiting.

“Hey” A meek smile accompanies my raspy voice. 

The boy sits up straight, his small hands gripping the edge of the wooden chair. He doesn’t reply, just continues to stare at me with that unnerving intensity only a child who has seen too much can possess.

“What’s your name?” I ask, the words a little easier this time.

He swallows, his small throat working. “Noaki” he says. His voice is small but clear, not a child’s uncertain mumble.

“Noaki?” I repeat and shake my head with approval. It’s a fitting name. “It’s nice to meet you, Noaki. I’m Shikara.”

He just nods, absorbing the information. A moment of silence stretches between us, not awkward, but filled with a quiet understanding. We’re bonded by circumstances beyond our control afterall. 

“How old are you?” I ask, imitating all the grownups who asked me that when I grew up. 

“Six” he says, holding up seven grubby fingers as if to prove it.

Six. He’s a little older than I thought but he's still too young to have had to experience what he has. 

He looks at me expectantly, and I realize it’s my turn.

“I’m twenty-two.” I say, a lifetime of pain and failure packed into two short decades. The gulf between our ages, places an air of responsibility on me.

Noaki seems to consider this for a moment, before slipping off the chair. His bare feet make no sound on the dusty floorboards. 

He wanders out of my blurry field of view, and I feel a pang of irrational panic as he vanishes with my glasses in his hands. 

But then he reappears, his small hands struggling to carry a small cup filled with water. He holds it out to me, his arms trembling from the effort.

“Here.” he says.

Tears prickle at the corners of my eyes. I carefully push myself further up into a sitting position, my left arm screaming in protest. The water is cool and clean, and I drink it down in three greedy gulps.

“Thank you for the water, that was very kind. Can I have my glasses? You’ve done such a good job looking after them.” He truly is a little sweet heart. 

He gives me my glasses and before I can reacquaint them with my face he vanishes again. This time he returns with a small, hard piece of bread. He places it gently in my hand. I take a bite. It’s stale, but it’s food. It’s fuel. It’s a gift.

“Thank you, Noaki.” I say, my voice overwhelmed with an emotion I haven’t felt before.

He gives another one of his solemn little nods and climbs back into his chair, as if his duties are now complete. He seems content to just sit and watch over me.

“What’s happening outside?” I ask him after a moment of pause.

Noaki’s small brow furrows in concentration as he tries to find the right words. “Lots of soldiers are here now.” he says, his voice hushed. “They came this morning. They have big horses and spears.”

Kingdom guards. Roach must have gotten word to Ineiba just too late. 

Noaki’s simple, surface-level report tells me everything I need to know. The immediate crisis is over thankfully.

I look down at my left arm, lying uselessly on the blanket. The borrowed tunic sleeve has been cut away, exposing the full horror of the wound. The old, pale scars of my past have been violently reopened. It’s grotesque. It’s monstrous. It’s a physical manifestation of the ugliest parts of my soul.

Noaki follows my gaze. I expect him to recoil, to look away in disgust or fear. It’s what anyone else would do. It’s what I want to do.

But he doesn’t. He hops off his chair once more, his expression not of horror, but of simple, unblemished curiosity. He slowly reaches out a small, hesitant hand. His fingers hover over my arm for a second before gently and tentatively touching my arm. 

His touch doesn’t change his expression. There’s no judgment in it at all. Simple. Inquisitive. 

The poison in my veins still throbs with a venomous ache, but his innocent touch is a counterpoint of acceptance in a symphony of self-loathing.

He doesn’t see a monster. He doesn’t see a curse or a punishment. He just sees me. He sees my hurt. And he isn’t afraid.

I feel like breaking into tears but for his sake I will contain myself. 

This small boy is no longer just someone I saved. 

He’s someone who has saved me.