World of Io

13. Healing with the Heart

Milo fought with everything he had, moving swiftly to kill without caring how it looked. There was no beauty in a fight such as this, no time for grace. The Judges were trained well, and they were many, at least a dozen: swarming around him like persistent flies. It was a stupid thing at a stupid time! It was a pointless attack, and all while the midday sun was shining at its brightest, which meant that he was at his weakest.

He heard the clangs of swords and daggers to his left, telling him that Vigilante was there too. He forced himself to stay focused: she could take care of herself, she wasn't "unskilled" after all.

Strike by strike, he regained control over the situation, and his movements became less hurried, more precise. He had slain four men and the number of swords around him was declining. He punctured the lung of one, feeling the dagger sink in between the man's ribs. He lost his grip on the hilt as the man slumped on top of his horse and had to strangle a curse on its way out.

"Retreat!" he heard their commander shout, and Milo let out a frustrated breath. He was angry enough to want to maim a few more of those bastards.

The Judges retreated in a chaotic formation, leaving their dead behind in their hurry. He watched their backs as they galloped away, wanting to confirm that they were actually going. The horses without riders followed, all except the one in front of him. He hadn't been aware that he held its rein, but the grey stallion stayed put, surprisingly calm despite the other's departure.

He swore again, the Judges would surely come back, and if that happened they should be better prepared. He wasn't used to traveling like this: out in the open in broad daylight, and it made him uncomfortable. It was embarrassing to feel weak, to feel that he should  protect the others. He didn't want to care, he couldn't afford to care.

He glanced over at Vigilante and felt a flash of cold go through his body as he saw the long slice that had cut right across her chest, a wound she didn't seem to notice. She had her eyes focused on the retreating men while blood continued to pour out in a steady stream. He forgot everything else at the sight, he forgot about his anger and his brief succumb into self-pity.

"You're hurt."

She turned towards him, drawn by his words, but her eyes remained distant. As they regained their focus she looked down at her chest and started to wobble. He let go of the horse and rushed to take her before she fell.  He reached her just as she slumped towards the ground, losing her hold of consciousness. He became even colder inside, cold but determined. He had to get away from the road in case the men decided to return.

He looked back and thanked his luck that the horse was still standing where he'd left him. Milo held out his hand, and to his amazement the horse came. The dead man still slumped in the saddle slid off, but the horse didn't seem to care. Reaching his outstretched hand, the horse started to nuzzle him. The invitation was clear enough so he placed Vigilante across the stallion's back. There was no time to waste. He needed to reach his medical kit, which was with the others. He had to find them before it was too late. He felt a burst of anger again. They were getting increasingly vulnerable with two out of four unconscious, also, they were being chased, and he had no idea of why.

He didn't want to increase their speed, but he had to as she was bleeding too much. His heart thumped in his chest, partly from fear, but also something else. He couldn't focus with her body held against his, her soft hair caressing his face. No, he wouldn't think of that now. He needed her to survive, he needed to stop the constant flow of blood that warmed his arm, but cooled his heart.

"Vigilante, hold on," he heard himself say, not aware that he had voiced anything. He sped up the horse, caution giving way to desperation. Soon, the horse was carrying them as fast as it could, without being urged forward.