HEAR YE, HEAR YE [Assorted Medieval Fantasy Stories]

[01] Chapter 9: A Permanent Lie

"He's Georgie. Hunter like me. Nice guy, new to the job. We's taking contracts for villages, monster hunting. One day, we's taking a contract for a village. Snakes, they say. We's near the desert, so we's think it's desert snakes. Big n' scary, but easy to kill. We's patrolling around when the creature's jumping us." He took a moment to think of that gruesome scene again, trying to find the best way to deliver it to such a sweet woman. "You's knowing what a lindworm is?"

"A lindwurm, yes... I's knowing." Yona shuddered as her other hand joined the wrap of their fingers. "Well, we's finding a lindworm. Big adult one. Blood of acid. I's knowing of that part, Georgie don't. Georgie's near the lindworm when he's cutting it open. Acid's melting his face off."

Bartholomeu paused again, Georgie's scream echoing in his ears. "We's kill it. Georgie's dead. We's take what we's can and we's leave. They villager's pay us. We's move on." Bartholomeu leaned forward, drawing his eyes closer to Yona's. "We's always dying, Yona. We's just don't know when or where. When we's die, we's just accept it. If we's revived, we's only dying again. I's fine, Yona. I's seeing death before. I's fine."

Yona shook her head. "You's not fine..." She pulled a hand away and placed it onto Bartholomeu's chest. "I's feel your pain... You's seen much death, much suffering, much hardship... I's don't want you to suffer. I's seen your scars, your trophies, the way you's fighting, so fearless and reckless... You's in pain, and I's just want to help..."

"You's too kind," mumbled Bartholomeu, grabbing and pushing away the hand that had fallen onto his heart. "Yona... you's too kind. You's care too much about I. I's fine... You's care about yourself, and I's fine. You's going now, go sleep, so you's can leave tomorrow." Yet Yona shook her head. "I's not sleeping, and I's not leaving you!" Bartholomeu tried to pull his fingers away from Yona's grasp, but her grip only tightened around his hand. "You's leaving," stated Bartholomeu, "It's best for you."

"I's not leaving!" she repeated defiantly, "I's staying! You's got nobody to care for you. You's needing company... you's needing care, Bartholomeu." He stared at Yona, and he could only wonder how such a kind and fiery spirit could have fallen into this filthy monster hunter's lap.

Bartholomeu was about to speak, but then Yona covered his mouth entirely with the palm of her hand. "You's said enough," she chided, now pulling her hand back and grabbing for something in her luggage box. Bartholomeu watched as she pulled out a small cracker, offering it to Bartholomeu.

"Eat," she said, demanding more than asking. Bartholomeu took the cracker, eating it whole and fearing no poison, even welcoming the idea wholeheartedly. Instantly, as the crumbs sank into his tongue, he was washed with a sweet serenity, something like a waterfall rushing off all the soreness in his muscles.

At the same time, Bartholomeu felt his chest burn brighter, yet he realized soon enough it was not from the cracker. "You's face is red," noted Yona, a pinch of concern in her voice, "You's hot? No, don't say." She quickly took a small piece of white chalk from her box, then drew a rune onto her palm with the chalk. The rune glowed a cool cyan, and she rested her palm onto his chest. A tingling cold sank into him from her hand, yet Bartholomeu did not complain.

"I's staying," she stated with such confidence that Bartholomeu knew he couldn't change her mind. "Fine," he reluctantly replied, "but... you's going where tomorrow?" Yona tapped against his chest, saying, "Where you's go, I's follow." Bartholomeu shook his head, yet Yona squeezed his hand and said, "You's injured, and I's no fighter. I heal you, you's protecting me. We's keep each other safe, yes?"

That cell was awfully silent for some time, with the whimpering winds outside all they could hear. "I... Yona, you's know where I's going. I's a monster hunter. I's always in danger."

"Then I's always in danger, too." She suddenly wrapped her arms around him, gently pulling him close as she gave him a soothing embrace. Bartholomeu did not remember the last time he was ever embraced. He was filthy, sweating, bleeding, and yet here she was, holding him as tight as a sword. It felt oddly safe, as if he didn't need to sleep with a hand on his dagger. "I's not leaving your side... Where you go, I's going, too."

Bartholomeu didn't know how to respond. All he could do was stare blankly at the wall and feel a refreshing breeze coarse through his body. The winds, the aroma, the twinkle of sunlight bleeding from the torn roof, all these pieces fell together to bring him back to an older time. It was a different room, on a different continent, with a girl so young and so naïve. How they all bled...

"You's not going with me," he murmured. "Then what if I's in danger," countered Yona, "and you's not around? Or what if you's in danger... who will care for you?" Bartholomeu tried to answer, and yet he could only hold his tongue. There was no good answer, nor would there ever be one. All he could think to do was return her embrace, hoping to the gods—any and all of them—that she would not be another victim.

The bodies came back to his mind. Fresh and rotten and dusted. A hundred faces in various stages of decay. All died on his watch, following in his footsteps. "Yona... please..." He pushed her away, true tears now spilling from his eyes as he swallowed his guilt. "I's nothing but a curse... You's needing to run. Go. Run."

Yona swiped Bartholomeu's hand into hers, and when he tried to tug away, she only locked fingers and stiffened her stance. "You's my curse now. I's living with it. You's protecting me, and I's protecting you. We's sticking together..."

"Why...? Why is you so stubborn? I's a nobody..." Bartholomeu tried to pull his hand away, but she persisted in her grip. She was strong for an elf. Her eyes sharpened to a stern edge, yet her lips quivered under some unseen pressure. 

"I..." Her eyes seemed to fall into his for a moment, and the grip on her hand weakened as she wiped at the tears in his eyes for the hundredth time. "I can't... lose... you..."

Those four words drove a spike into his heart, one that sank deeper than any arrow and that hurt more than any fire. Suddenly, he could not bring himself to pull away from her. His mind buzzed as the question came forth; who did she have to lose to fear the loss of a stranger?

All Bartholomeu knew was that he couldn't be the stranger she lost. He had settled his mind now. Some unknown force had pulled them together, a man and an elf who lost enough to not want to lose each other. Complete strangers... maybe just for now.

Bartholomeu clasped his hands onto her shoulders, trying his best to form a promise. The words stung, and so did the commitment; a thousand lies had come before this moment, and here he was making another lie. He said it either way. "You... you's not losing me..."