EVIL MAGES CHAPTER 2
Tirin looked at the boy she just dug out from the ruins of this village’s protection wall, and swore when he fainted again. His face was covered by red, dried blood, and his clothes were soaked, but he was alive, and she wanted to keep him that way.
“Wake up!” she roared and shook him in her hands. “Or do you want to lie and rot among the other corpses, stupid boy?”
She muttered angrily, and stroke her red hair away from her eyes, and looked at him up and down. He was injured in many places, probably a couple of broken bones… it would not surprise her if he had lost some blood too.
She started to drag him away from the ruins, and rested him against the only house wall that still stood upright, but first she kicked it to see if it was strong enough. It was. She let go of the boy and started to look in her bag after something that could help, but did not find anything useful. She had no medicine, no bandages… she swore again, a colourful string of bad words she had learned from her father, like everything else, and then she picked up a little knife she had in one of her pockets, and tore the boys brown tunic in two parts with the help of it. She sighed when she saw his wounds, and thought that it would be harder than she had imagined at first to help him survive. But she did not want to be alone again, she never wanted to be alone again, the only survivor, the only one who did not fall for the horrible fires of the Mages. She felt the tears burning behind her eyelids, but forced herself not to cry. Instead, she bit hard in her tongue and looked at the boys wounds. Half of his chest was coloured red and blue, and she could see the white part of a bone pricking out of his skin, and drops of blood slowly ran down. He also had a cut on the other part of his chest, deep enough to leave a scar. She would probably have to sew it. She stroke his light brown hair out of the way and looked at the left of his head. Blood poured out of a wound in his temple, and slowly ran down his cheek and neck, colouring his tunic dark red.
Tirin sighed, and tore a piece of her own tunic. She did not have any water, but she could go and look for it when she had stopped the bleeding.
“There might be a river or something nearby”, she muttered while pressing the wool against the boy’s temple. “But I’ll need something to carry it in too; I can’t drag him all the way down…”
She rose, and looked around her after something that could be useful, but the only thing she saw was ashes, black burned wood, houses in ruins and stones. She just had to accept it – nothing here could help her.
“Then I’ll have to make it without water”, she hissed between her teeth. Ripped of a bigger piece of the boy’s tunic and started to take care of the wounds on his chest. She carefully tied the piece of wool around his chest and hoped it would stop the bleeding at least a bit, but it did not take long before a spot of blood started to grow bigger and bigger. It was hopeless. She could do nothing but wait and see if he could heal himself, which he probably couldn’t. But he had to live. If he didn’t, she would be alone. Again.
“Damn this. Damn it all”, she said calmly, trying to think. But then he moved. Just a little bit, but he moved. The expression on his face changed from death to pain as he moaned and turned his head.
“I’m…” he whispered. “It hurts…”
“Shut up or you’ll make it worse!” Tirin said, ripped off another part of wool from her tunic and tied it around his chest, even harder so that the broken bone would fall into place.
“Oow!” he hissed, and then he was gone again.
He looked like a dead, pale in his face, clothes full of blood… but she knew he would survive. Somehow, she knew it.
When Zhaine woke up the first thing he saw a blue sky. And then he felt the pain. Sharp like a knife, throbbing in his body like even his own heartbeat hurt. He could barely move, but after a few tries he preferred not to; as soon as he moved a muscle the pain rushed through him and it felt like he would loose consciousness again.
“Don’t move”, he suddenly heard someone say at the right of him. He tried to sit up, but felt hands on his chest carefully pulling him down again. He screamed when the hand touched his torn chest, and big, black dots appeared in his field of vision. He blinked to make them disappear.
“Who are you?” he hissed between his teeth, with a voice as dry as sand.
“You have nothing to fear,” the voice answered, and it bothered him he could not see who it belonged too; he feared he would throw up as soon as he moved his head. But it sounded like the voice belonged to a young girl, and she continued speaking with a soft voice.
“Just try to rest, okay? I don’t want you to die now, when I had so much trouble saving you.”
Die? He thought. And then he suddenly remembered everything that happened. The Mages. The horrible fires. The screaming, and the fear when he saw the wall collapse over him. And then darkness. He should have died, like everyone else. Why did he survive?
“The village…” he whispered.
“Shut up. There is no village anymore. There are no villagers. There is… burnt wood. Corpses. And ashes. You will have to accept it.”
“I didn’t find anyone else alive. Only you.”
“You mean they are… dead?”
The girl did not answer, and Zhaine feared he already knew the answer. A new kind of pain appeared inside him. Right in the middle of his chest. The tears slowly started to run down his cheeks, and he sobbed painfully.
“Don’t cry, chicken, it won’t help, so just don’t… be a coward, please.”
How could she be so… cold? How could she be so indifferent? Everyone he loved had probably died, and she told him to be brave, to not cry, but how was that possible? Had she ever lost anyone she loved?
“You don’t understand what I feel – “ he began, but she interrupted him abruptly.
“I do!” she said angrily. “I know exactly how you feel! My own village burned like a torch, my own family… I know exactly what you feel, chicken, so don’t think you are alone.”
Zhaine sighed. He suddenly felt so tired, the pain suddenly felt even stronger. He just wanted to die. To lie down and die, just like he was about to do before this girl saved him.
“I’m… sorry…” he said quietly, “I didn’t know… but why are they doing this? The… Mages?”
He could hear the girl move, and then she came closer. She leaned over him, and he could finally see her face. Fire-red hair framed two big, green eyes, cold and hard, but at the same time shining with joy of living, and just by looking at them he could conclude that she was the most strong willed girl he would ever meet. Those eyes were the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen.
The girl smiled sadly.
“I don’t know why they are doing this. There is only one thing I know – I want to stop them. I am going to stop them! I don’t know how, but I will, and I hope you will stand by my side when we fight them.”
Zhaine could hear in her strong voice, clear like ice cold water, that she hated these Mages, that she hated them more than anything else, and her eyes shone with a light that told him she would never stop fighting before every mage lay dead on the ground.
“You mean…” he said, “that it is our destiny… to fight them? Like heroes? Like the gods let us survive to destroy the evil?”
The girl shook her head and stared at him with eyes hard as stone.
“No”, she said, “there are no heroes. There are no destiny and no gods. There are just us.”