On the Hills of Eden

“You need to believe it, Rumi.”

Soleiman stepped his way around the knotted roots and gnarled vines that carpeted the earth just along the perimeter of their other camp. The one they used for everything that wasn’t eating or sleeping, located about a fair hundred metres or so from where Pallas slept.

Crossing the vague threshold of the forest-clearing boundary, he saw as Qingxi stepped back as Rumi got into position to unsheathe the Xiafan blade.

“Mmh. Okay.”

“Still training, Rumi?”

The both of them turned to look at him, Rumi still holding herself in that half-squat with her hand firmly affixed to the blade’s hilt.

“Soleiman!” she called out to him. “Look at this pose Qingxi taught me!”

“Looks good!” he said, sitting himself down on a nearby rock.

She flashed a smile back at him.

“Careful about the blade, Rumi.”

“Oh?”

“Remember,” Qingxi continued, holding onto the scabbard that had been tied down to Rumi’s fingerless hand. “The bottom of the hilt should always face your opponent.”

“Oh, right, sorry,” she responded, hastily readjusting her grip on the blade to set it straight.

“Alright,” Qingxi said. Stepping back again, she squinted her eyes to size up Rumi’s form. Knees bent, scabbard midways forward and her body stood at an angle against where Qingxi had directed her towards. Aligned such that her profile would appear thinner to whomever happened to be on the receiving end of her attack.

“Repeat to me again what the steps are.”

“Okay,” Rumi said. “First, I calm my mind. Still as a pool.”

Qingxi nodded. “Good.”

“And then, I declare my intent. In this case, to not fire off the windblade, right?”

“Correct.”

“Okay. I will not fire off the windblade,” she said. “And then, I pull the scabbard back, sinking as I do so.”

“Right.”

“And then I unsheathe the blade, lunging forwards.”

Qingxi nodded. “Very good, Rumi.”

Rumi huffed out in happiness.

“Alright, now put it all together.”

The wind was still and the air was cool. Soleiman and Qingxi watched on in silence from a safe distance, both of them staring unblinkingly in anticipation of what she’d do.

Her thoughts silent and her mind like a pool, Rumi began.

I will not fire off the windblade.

At once, her knees bent slightly as she sank downwards, her left hand pulling the scabbard back while her right hand held the blade still. When half of the blade’s length had escaped the leather sheath, she suddenly sprang her entire body into motion, surging forward while standing in place and swinging her right arm out in a wide arc.

And the blade split the air, leaving the forest quiet and keeping the glow on the hilt’s final band from going out.

Then, she stepped backwards, rising from her stance as she placed the blade’s face against the mouth of the scabbard whilst she kept her eyes on her imaginary opponent. The blade’s cutting edge pointing away from her, she slowly slid the entire length of the sword against the scabbard’s mouth- guiding it into position. Though, it slipped off once, at which point Rumi had to look to be able to get it back into position. And once its tip met the scabbard’s mouth, she slid it in, making sure to keep the face of its hilt facing her opponent at all times.

“Good job Rumi!” Soleiman called out in encouragement.

Qingxi nodded. “You did well to control the windblade.”

“Hehe.”

“But we will have to work on your resheathing a little.”

“Alright,” Rumi responded. “But may I rest for a while, please? My shoulder hurts a bit.”

“Of course.”

Undoing the bands that affixed the scabbard and its blade to her bandaged palm, Rumi continued, saying, “Resheathing is the hardest part, I think. I just don’t get how you can keep it so steady.”

“Usually, swordsmen cup their hand around the scabbard’s opening to serve as a guardrail for the blade,” Qingxi said. “But…”

Rumi waved about her left hand, almost as if to try and wriggle fingers that no longer existed.

“Yeah…” Rumi said. “Maybe you could make something, Soleiman?”

“Hm?” he replied.

“Something to help resheathe the blade.”

“Oh. Yeah. Maybe,” he said. “I’ll see.”

Rumi nodded, smiling.

“Okay! I’ll be back in a bit.”

Rumi left them, hurriedly making her way to their other camp.

And from then on it was just Soleiman and Qingxi alone in the clearing, ten or so metres in diameter, neither of the two even so much as acknowledging the other’s existence.

Slowly, the wind began to pick up speed, sending a few stray leaves tumbling and rolling across the gold-bathed blades of verdant emerald grass. Drops of dew glistening in the radiance of the sky.

Soleiman felt the need to say something. Egged on by the lingering pain in his bruised cheek. Warm and tender and in the proximity of the one who caused it. But he did not know what to say, the words always climbing up to his mouth only to slide back down his throat as his mind struggled with indecision. Unsure of what would do him justice. Of what would let that Chitite, leaning against the trunk of a tree opposite him without so much as a second thought spared for the pain she had caused him, know of how he felt.

But, after a while, he could hold back the pressure no longer. The words spilling out of his mouth, ignorant of his hesitation.

“Wouldn’t it be better if you used the blade, Qingxi?”

Qingxi looked at him, her cool gaze meeting his.

“No,” she replied, looking away and at the blade lying atop the grass. “I’d rather have three of us able to fight instead of two.”

“Even though she can only use one hand?”

“She can still use the blade,” she responded, turning around to undo and retie her gi.

“Yeah, by tying it to her hand. She can’t even sheathe it properly,” he said, half rising from his seat.

“She’s quick. She’ll learn.”

“Maybe if you had used it she’d still have her fingers.”

Using her hand to hold down her gi, she turned to look at him.

“What?”

The disbelief on her face he could see even through the bandages.

“Outside Kardia. She only lost her fingers because she had to use the blade,” he said, now having fully risen from his seat.

“You take that back,” she said, approaching him. “You know I’d already been knocked out by that point.”

“Yeah. Because you didn’t use your sword!”

“Say that again,” she said, now face to face with him. Her bandages mere centimetres from his face. The deep voids of her irises boring into his eyes.

“And what are you gonna do about it?” He asked her. “Hit me again?”

She stared at him, as if to say something. But she bit her tongue and pulled away, returning to where she once stood to resume tying her gi.

“Maybe we could’ve killed the Protoataphoi if you’d used your sword.”

The winds kicked up, whistling through the trees and tossing the fabrics of their garments about. Qingxi’s scarves and the hems of his pants fluttering wildly in the wind.

“Stop.”

“And you slapped me because of that,” he said. Jutting his head forward, presenting the patch upon his face that concealed the bruised and purpled cheek below to her back. “Because you didn’t want to use your sword!”

“Soleiman, please.”

“No, don’t please me, Qingxi,” he said, stepping forwards. “You haven’t even apologised and you’re here trying to say please?”

She responded not, fixing the last knot of her gi and patting it down to ensure it had been done properly.

“Qingxi!” He yelled.

No response.

“Pallas nearly died because of you-”

“Stop it!”

Soleiman stumbled backwards, the forest breeze suddenly billowing and rushing against his face, forcing his eyes shut and stealing his breath away.

And when he opened his eyes, tearing at the sudden wind, his gaze fell upon her back.

“Really?”

Qingxi gave him a brief look over her shoulder. Before walking off into the forest, back to the village.

“Qingxi!”

But she did not respond.

Soleiman clenched his left fist, his entire arm shaking with rage.

But the Chitite did not turn back. Instead walking onwards, that white tail of hers swishing tauntingly at him as she did so. Until eventually she disappeared into the depths of the forest, completely out of view.

And slowly, the winds began to die back down. The cool breeze that flowed through the now silent, lonely clearing falling still and stagnant.

…

Though it would not be silent for long.

“Soleiman!”

He turned around to the source of the noise, the rage in his furrowed brows suddenly dissipating at the first showing of fear.

“Help!”

“Rumi?” He asked, shuffling his way to where he thought she was.

“Help! I need help with Pallas!”

Heading out into the forest following the voice of his fellow, he squinted his eyes. And sure enough, hidden behind the density of the trees and their vines, Rumi slowly made her way to where he was. Pallas’ arm slung about her as she crutch carried his unconscious sister, a river of red staining the front of her chiton.

Without hesitation, he sprinted forward, tripping over an exposed root but getting back up without so much as missing a beat.

“Pallas!”

He looked his sister in the face, grabbing her other arm and hoisting it over him to support her other side.

“What happened to her?”

“I don’t know! I- I was just on the way to the bags and I found her bleeding out by a tree!”

“Alright, alright,” he said, visibly panicking as he looked around trying to think of what he should do. “Take her back there!”

Steadily, they carried her along, Rumi’s right arm and Soleiman’s left keeping her upright as they navigated across the uneven earth back to where their supplies had been stocked. With each step being a struggle to not trip over the myriad of hazards strewn across the ground, they could do nothing but listen as Pallas breathed with serious difficulty, her breaths shallow and often interrupted by random stops. Her lungs sounding as though they were on the verge of failure.

At the very least, it seemed that her bleeding had stopped, leaving just a static bloodstain that stretched from her chest to her feet.

When they eventually got back to home base, they gently lowered her on the tarp rolled out across the ground. Soleiman placed his ear against her chest, checking to hear that her heart was still beating. Though it was doing so at an abnormally slow rate. As if her entire body was straining to keep her alive.

“Rumi, grab me some Edenberries,” Soleiman said, undoing the two fibulas on her shoulders that held the piece of wavy fabric around her.

“Anything else?” Rumi asked, slipping away and hurrying over to the bags.

“Bandages too!” he responded, pulling the edge of the fabric down to her waist.

At first glance, the wound very clearly had grown since the last time they examined it. It had blossomed from a small diamond shape about the size of a small river pebble to a sizable flower about the size of his outstretched palm. Moreover, the firm plate of blood armour that had hardened over her heart had grown flimsy, once again beating and pulsating in turn with her heartbeats.

“Shit, Rumi!”

Rumi grabbed a satchel from the pile, painstakingly trying to unzip it with only one hand before deciding to hold it in place under her left arm. Once opened, she began pilfering through its contents in search of bandages, placing them on the ground once she did so.

“Just throw them, Rumi!”

The bandages rolled their way over to him and Pallas, and he immediately began unrolling them.

Then, Rumi moved over to one of the larger sacks, pushing her fingers through its tiny opening to pry it apart before being able to yank it open.

Soleiman began to wrap the bandages about Pallas’ body, wrapping them in an X-pattern around her chest and having to gently lift her body using his knees in order to get the bandages under her. And he struggled, with the bandages shifting about often given that he only has his non-dominant left hand to work with.

“Soleiman!”

Rumi knelt beside him, a small bowl of Edenberries balanced atop the palm of her left hand and stabilised by her right.

“There were only five Edenberries in the bags!”

“Can you mash them for me?”

“Yep!”

They worked as quickly as they could, and each slip up Soleiman made killed him on the inside a little bit more.

But eventually, Rumi had the paste prepared, having pulverised the berries with her fist.

They began dabbing little pieces of bandage in the paste, having to cooperate where one of them would hold the roll while the other pulled the piece off. Then, they would apply the glowing golden paste-soaked pieces of fabric on her wound, letting the essence of life itself seep into her heart such that it may reinvigorate her.

Once all the paste had been applied, they got to wrapping the bandages about her.

Rumi carefully lifted Pallas from her slumber, sitting her upright and placing her right forearm squarely along Pallas’ head, neck and upper back to support her. Soleiman managed to pin the one end of the bandage under one knee, having to shuffle about and pass it back and forth with Rumi as he led the roll itself around and around her body.

And finally, the work was done.

Gently, Rumi lowered her back down on the tarp, Pallas’ chest almost entirely bare were it not for the X-shaped bandage that ran across it- securing the golden glow of the berries in place above her heart.

“Oh thank goodness,” Rumi said. “I- I really thought…”

“No… no, she’s fine, she’s fine,” Soleiman responded. “Where did you say you found her again?”

“She was lying against a tree, half-awake and bleeding out from her heart.”

“Half-awake?”

“Yeah,” she said. “She said something about… the 2nd Soteira? And being like her?”

“The 2nd Soteira?”

“Mm,” Rumi replied. “I didn’t really catch anything else though, and she passed out before I could ask her anything.”

Soleiman looked at his sister. The lily white of her skin a stark contrast to his tawny brown. Her hair long and messy, some strands sticking to her sweaty face. And her chest slowly rising and falling, a sure indicator that she would live on.

He sighed.

Oh thank goodness indeed.

“Something’s-”

Pallas suddenly gasped, jolting upright as she coughed, causing the two of them to flinch in response.

“Pallas!”

Wide-eyed, she gasped for air, heaving repeatedly as she remained unresponsive to their calls.

“Pallas! What happened!” Soleiman grabbed her by her shoulders, shaking her.

“Huh?” She responded. “Oh- I…”

She looked down at herself, the X-bandage visibly stained a colourful orange by the mix of Edenberry and blood.

“I had one of those dreams.”

Soleiman paused, looking at her with a look of dead concern.

“The same one as on the ship?” Rumi asked.

Pallas nodded.

“But when I was awake.”

She looked Soleiman straight in the eye, seeing her concern reflected in them.

“Has… this ever happened before?” Rumi asked again.

“No,” she responded. “Not at all.”

The three of them sat in silence for a moment, Rumi and Soleiman concernedly observing Pallas while she sat still.

“Why did you leave the camp?” Soleiman asked.

“I… hold on,” she said. She quickly picked up the edges of her chiton and took the fibulas from them to wrap it around her torso again, before rolling onto her back and lifting her feet into the air.

“Pallas?”

She bent her knees and planted her arms against the ground, suddenly springing forwards as a red sheen of blood appeared across her arms before finally landing on her feet. Standing upright, as if she hadn’t just been knocked out cold was bleeding halfway to death just moments before.

Rumi and Soleiman looked at her dumbfoundedly, Soleiman’s jaw having fallen to the ground.

“That was why,” she responded. “I figured I got stronger, and… I got a little bored of just lying around.”

The two of them were still at a loss for words.

“Look,” she said, lifting her chiton up to reveal her legs. The moment she squatted down, that same red sheen suddenly materialised from beneath her skin and coated her thighs and calves, springing along with her muscles and throwing her several metres up into the air when she jumped.

The ground shook when she landed again, and she let her chiton fall just as the sheen disappeared back beneath her skin.

“My body creates those assistive blood muscles on its own now,” she said, standing upright. “And my blood’s gotten thick enough to where I can replicate the strength of soaked ropes with just cloth.”

They didn’t know what to say.

“Cool, right?”

Rumi nodded, slowly at first. “Yeah… yeah, Pallas, that’s amazing!”

“Wait, wait, so it just… happened?”

“Yeah. I woke up and just got stronger.”

“You took years to be able to learn to control ropes!”

“Yes! And… I just got better, overnight!”

Soleiman closed his mouth, sitting back as he huffed and looked about in shock.

“Well paint me green and call me a pickle,” he said. Beads of sweat now dripping from his scalp and down along his forehead, he readjusted the patch on his face to make sure none of the adhesive had become dilute and loose. Pulling a part of it off his face just barely long enough for Pallas to register the blue-black blotches hidden beneath it.

…

“Soleiman,” she said, raising her voice slightly.

“Yeah?” he replied, looking back up at her while he patted the patch down.

“Seriously, what happened to your face?”

He winced slightly at the question, averting his gaze from hers.

“Erm…” he struggled, unwilling to drag Pallas into his problems. A second rift in the party was just about the last thing they needed if they wanted even a fleeting chance at defeating the Protoataphoi.

But Rumi nudged him, poking her elbow into his upper arm. Her eyes warm and reassuring. As if she was telling him it would all turn out just fine.

“You should tell her, Soleiman,” she said. “Maybe then we can all sit down and talk things through.”

He sighed.

“Alright,” he said. “Qingxi slapped me.”

They heard a burst of wind erupt from the woods in the direction of the training grounds. Before they could turn around, the tarp below them began to stretch beneath their feet as Qingxi made her landing.

The three of them looked at her in shock, as she returned their gazes with wide eyes and raised brows, tightening the bandages around her face. Though not before they caught a glimpse of the red, leathery skin below.

“Qingxi?” Pallas asked.

“You’re safe,” she said, huffing slightly. Her breathing audibly laboured, even after she expressly exposed her mouth and nostrils to better be able to respire. “I thought…”

“Yeah, we’re safe,” Pallas responded. “But we have something to talk about,” she said, crossing her arms. Her thick brows furrowing slightly as she did so.

“Oh, right. Yeah,” she replied. “I… Soleiman,” she struggled, trying to get the words out.

He looked her in the eyes.

“Give me a moment,” she said suddenly. “Stay there!”

Without another word, she burst back out into the woods from whence she came, leaving the three of them in the wake of her winds, hair flying about erratically.

“When did this happen, Soleiman?”

“About… when you passed out at the battle.”

She huffed out in response.

“I mean,” Rumi said. “I’m sure she has a… a-”

“A good reason to hit him?”

“Well, no, but- we should hear her out anyway,” she said. “We’re supposed to be a party, remember? We have to talk things through.”

Pallas hummed. She was right.

They needed Qingxi more than anyone or anything else at the moment.

So, they waited, sitting themselves back down in a circle awaiting her return. Trusting in her word.

And return she did, stepping out of the shadows of the trees with a tray and a tea set in tow.

When she emerged into the light of the camp clearing, she stopped in her tracks, lowering the tray to her navel- the height at which her blue belt had been tied at. She looked at them for a moment, eyes hopping from one head to the other, before finally speaking her mind.

“I’m sorry.”

A breeze blew through the forest clearing, refreshing this time. Carrying with it the scents of the trees and lifting all the stress and anger and resentment that weighed down upon their shoulders. Freeing their mouths such that they could smile and freeing their brows such that they could not scowl.

Renewing them, as Qingxi hoped the tea would do too.

She bowed deeply, tea set still in hand and held completely level as she did so. Rising from her bow, she made her way over to three of them, placing the tray before her as she knelt down in the seiza position.

“I let my emotions take over,” she said. “And I did some things that were really selfish of me. So I would like to apologise.”

“But…” she continued. “I think it would be best if I made you some tea to go with the apology. Like I’d promised, back on the ship.”

She raised her forlorn gaze from the tea set, locking it with Soleiman’s.

“Is that okay?”

Soleiman sighed.

“Of course, Qingxi.”

Soon, Qingxi began carrying out the preparations. She put together three pairs of wooden saucers and cups, both items knocking against each other pleasantly as she assembled them and handed them out to her three fellows. Then, she pulled the kettle off of its candle stove, letting the scented aroma of the burning applewood fill the air with a sweet, fruity fragrance. Setting the stage for the tea to come.

Carefully, she rose to her knees, leaning forward to pour the tea into their cups.

Before she could, though, Rumi jumped slightly and rushed to pick her cup and saucer off of the tarp, lifting it up so it would be easier for Qingxi to pour the tea. And when it came time for Pallas and Soleiman to receive their fill, they did the same too.

Already, they could smell the fragrance of the tea, its incredible floral scent imbuing the little puffs of steam and mist that floated off of its reddish brown surface. A powerfully pleasant smell for a deservingly beautiful drink.

Once that was done, Qingxi sat herself back down, pouring for herself a small cup too.

“Okay,” she said. “I’m sorry, Soleiman. I really am.”

He nodded.

“I got a little bit in over my head… over what should be done,” she said, picking the saucer up with her left and holding the cup still by passing a finger through its handle from her right. “And I lashed out at you because things didn’t go my way. Which… is wrong. Really wrong. Especially since we’re supposed to be allies,” she said. “So I’m sorry. And from here on out I promise to never hit you again.”

He nodded again.

“Do you forgive me?”

“Yes, Qingxi,” he said, not even hesitating for a moment. “I… I think you mean it, so I forgive you.”

She bowed towards him.

“Thank you.”

He hummed back in return, taking to sipping a little bit of the tea from his cup.

“And, as for my sword,” she continued. “I… I can’t use it. Really.”

“Absolutely?” He asked her.

And she nodded in return.

“I know… I know that cost us the battle. And your fingers, Rumi. And… everything else that’s gone wrong with this whole journey,” she said, her voice growing weaker by the word. “But… please. You need to understand that I… I just can’t use it,”

Soleiman sighed.

He knew well the pain of having one of his forearms turned into dead, burnt weight. How he had to put so much more effort into doing even the most basic of things now without his right arm. How he struggled to put his pants on, how he couldn’t reach parts of his back when bathing and had to call Pallas in for backup. How he could no longer write or tie knots or rummage through bags as easily as he once could’ve. How it must’ve hurt Rumi too.

But he remembered the scars left on Qingxi’s face. The smell of smouldering flesh. And he didn’t feel as bad as before. The heat of contempt faltering under the persistence of human compassion and empathy.

“I understand, Qingxi,” he said.

“Really?”

He nodded. “I believe you.”

She sighed in relief, bowing again. Her ears flopping forward as she did so.

“But… could you at least tell us why you can’t use your sword?”

She rose from her bow, blinking blankly for a moment.

“Ah, of course,” she said. Then she paused for a moment.

“But before that… I think I’ll have to tell you how I got here first.”