Free To Be Me

[Shoki]

77.02.14
Night
Heading to Artemis' Weyr

Night at Rainbow Mists was quiet. Sure, there were some more active at night, the Wher Handlers and some guards, but for the most part it was silent. There was still light, the night sky was generous this evening. And through it, there was a shape moving. They moved toward the rider weyrs. Carefully forward. They had an ‘appointment’ with one of the Queen riders. It certainly wasn’t the Jr. Weyrwoman, they weren’t interested in the Rainbow Rider. Never had been. No, they were going to one of the younger riders. As they stepped into a hall leading there, a guard spotted the figure.

“Halt! What is your business here?” The guard stepped forward, hand on a sword. The figure turned slightly, and a voice reached out.

“So sorry, I was trying to speak with Rekkora.” The figure turned all the way and Irai let a little smile on her face. “I had a nap this afternoon, and I seem to have over slept. I would rather not sleep in the dining hall all night.” The elderly woman waited patiently as the guard moved forward.

“It is quite late. I’ll escort you. But if she doesn’t wake up I’ll get you to someone else who should be able to put you up.”

“So kind of you.” Irai walked with the guard, toward Rekkora’s weyr. They walked slowly, to accommodate the elderly woman’s strides. The guard kept looking around, while Irai merely looked ahead, keeping her goal in mind. The guard looked down at her and did a double take. It looked like there was a shape on her hip. It looked kinda familiar. Irai hardly seemed to notice his stares.

“Is that a knife?” The guard was looking down at her, and Irai looked at him with the corner of her eye. Suddenly, like lightening, the guard was on the ground, bleeding. Two knives were in the old woman’s hands, and there was one more stuck in the guard himself. Instead of the kind face of Irai, Kumori’s natural sneer was on the old woman’s face. Forget the lies. She was going to spend the rest of the night as herself. Kumori, former Copperrider, and assassin. She stalked off towards Artemis’ weyr. Yeah, she was never here for Rekkora. She would let her protégé sleep. When she woke up, hopefully, all the things standing in Rekkora’s way would be gone. Including one Azurerider.

[Ghost of Fire (Fëanáro)]

Kel strode through the halls. His face was visible now, for he had pulled the cloth mask from his lower face. A casual observer probably would not have thought he was old enough to be anything but a Weyrling, and a young one at that, at least until they got close enough to note that certain look to his eyes, that certain cast to his face. They might have noticed before getting that close, though, for though he strode down the halls at a decent clip, his footfalls were close to silent.

He came around a corner, entering the hall that led to the weyrs occupied by the young queenriders, and jerked to a stop. There, in front of him, was the guard normally stationed in the hall. The man was dead, clearly dead, hands somehow still clasped to the wound that had taken his life. Idly, a part of his mind realized that it was the scent of the man’s blood and bowels that he’d been detecting for the last second or two. The death was recent.

Motion up ahead, a figure in skirt and top, maybe an inch or so taller than him, moving towards Aretemis’s weyr. Instincts, honed by Turns as a drudge accompanied by guardsman training and training with Nalkeldar’s favorite styles and followed by training with the syndicate, shrieked at Kel. He didn’t even really need the slight glint of light off the knives in the woman’s hands, the very movements shouted that this was a threat and the killer of the guard.

There wasn’t that much distance between him and the woman. It hadn’t taken him long to note the guard’s fate. Kel sprang forward, knife already in hand. If he could take her from behind, that would be best, though failing that he needed to get in between her and Artemis’s door.

Outside, Belegurth roared.

[Shoki]

Kumori rolled her feet silently, so when a footfall was heard she spun. Turns upon turns of practice guided her, which is why she had but a moment between the opponent and throwing her knife with her off hand right at him. Her face held danger, an infinitely dark abyss of danger. She had spent too long pretending to be sweet. She hadn’t been truly herself in so long that now she burned. Burned with a desire for a time when she could just slaughter her enemies. A time that she had tasted only so briefly. She had thirsted for war. The time for lies had past. Truth was, she was a monster.

When the Midnight dragon roared, Kumori chuckled. A dragonrider came to face her? She grabbed a spare knife from its hiding place. Her voice escaped, quiet and menacing.

“Step aside boy. I’d hate to have the whole weyr keening too early.” And yet she hadn’t tried to be any less accurate with the knife. If he got in her way, she would not sacrifice her artistic integrity. She would use her ‘arts’ to their fullest, no matter who it was. “I don’t stay my knife for children.” If only he knew. If only.

[Ghost of Fire (Fëanáro)]

Kel sprang forward, knife positioned for a thrust to the mid-back, and the woman whirled around. She truly was old, her short grey hair topping a weathered face seamed with creases and lined with scars. There was nothing grandmotherly about that face though. Indeed, in the brief instant that their eyes met — hazel against dark brown — K’rad felt that flicker of fear than a person might feel, who stared into the opening of the gates of hell. In the next instant, the woman’s off-hand knife flew at him.

K’rad snapped his own left shoulder back, twirling his body around half a turn to stand perpendicular to the path of the weapon. Unfortunately, he wasn’t quite fast enough, and the knife sliced across the outer surface of his left arm, biting deep. Even as it struck he was throwing himself forward and towards the ground.

He came out of his roll smoothly, the woman’s final words in his ears as he came up between her and her way forward to Artemis’s weyr. Ignoring his injury, he stepped into the woman’s reach, left arm coming towards her chest as his right leg came to sweep her feet out from under her. Behind the left arm, the knife waited, held ready in his right hand.

K’rad, don’t be a dimglow!

K’rad ignored his dragon. This intruder had announced her intentions, and he’d just discovered (or maybe admitted was better) that he cared what happened to Lady Artemis, cared what happened to all the people of this Weyr, that he, K’rad, Cyan’s friend, had found that in himself that could be pushed no further. He had pledged his protection to Lady Artemis, and by the shards of every dragon’s shell, that was what she would receive.

[Shoki]

Kumori had learned over the turns how to maximize effectiveness in her style of fighting. She could no longer jump around like a monkey, she had to anticipate, get ahead of problems before they were problems. Even though this boy was clearly not the most terrifying physical creature that one could be at his age, he had the boon of youth, quick healing and mistakes could be made and bounced back from.

Kumori had long lost that luxury.

But when his arm came toward her, her style was to respond thusly. Instead of a proper dodge, or a harmless deflection, she moved into it. So that as he struck out at her, she would be able to cause him a long gash that would bleed quickly. That was her art. As a youth people had wondered why Kumori had any interest in healing, despite not practicing herself. It was because poison and cure were often two sides of the same coin. It was enough that she could slightly sidestep. But him trying to kick the feet from under her had the same sort of effect. She started to fall, but her ‘copper teeth’ clawed out at him to bring him down with her. Or if she was going to be on the ground, he would FEEL her fall. Her style might be good for killing, but it wasn’t entirely about that. It was about making you bleed. As much and as frequently as possible.

A Copperrider to the last.

[Ghost of Fire (Fëanáro)]

K’rad felt the knives bite deep, first along his arm and then pulling him down after the woman, one in his leg and the other along his back. He had no choice but to fall with her, but even as he fell he saw an opening and took it, knife shooting forwards across the narrow distance between them. He was aware of his advantages, knew that the woman in front of him would tire more swiftly than he did, would lack the strength and even flexibility that were the possession of dedicated youths.

He knew that, but he couldn’t let this fight drag out, especially now that he was bleeding. Age might tire swiftly, but injured and bleeding tired even swifter. No, this was a fight to the death, and it was a fight that he must not lose. For if he lost, what was he then?

Even as he fell along with the woman and stabbed forward and slightly to the side with his knife, a tiny part of his mind planned his next move, the tearing slice as his knife was pulled with him, cutting deeper and further into the woman’s flesh, when he rolled away.

[Shoki]

This was no neat and clean dual. Both sides were grasping for any opportunity to destroy the other, and looking good was not an option. The youth’s knife flashed twice, biting into Kumori. It was so much easier than it would have been before. She bled easily. But the feeling was an old friend, a certain nostalgia. To happier times. She must be old, since her mind so easily cast itself back to a glorious battle, side by side with a dragon who knew her truly. She rolled herself up, the wounds were easily assessed by her. She would bleed out, and die. Unless she stopped it and went straight to a healer.

It was a laughable thought.

So she would die. But that didn’t mean she would stop here. Kumori stood as tall as someone with her height could manage. Her offhand knife flew again, but a second later her other knife also took flight. It was spaced that way to make it easier to determine where he would dodge to. She grabbed the last knives she had hidden. Her last ones were slightly more vicious looking, more curved. She wouldn’t throw these. She would die with them in her hands.

[Ghost of Fire (Fëanáro)]

K’rad’s blows, struck by instinct and a sort of desperation, as much as any real plan, were far better placed than many could have hoped, and he was able to roll away and come up in front of the woman once more. He may not have been able to match her experience in assessing wounds — though he was far better than he, perhaps, should have been — but he knew that his opponent was dead. She would not succeed in her mission, because if she tried to staunch the flow, he would have her dead even faster.

She stood then, and once more she threw a knife. Once more, K’rad dodged, but this time, he wasn’t lucky enough. The first knife went sailing past, but he wasn’t so lucky with the second. That one entered and stuck, and K’rad staggered back, the knife sticking out of the middle of his abdomen on the right side. Sticking out of the lung, in truth.

He forced himself upright, shifting position to a ready stance. He would see this through, one way or another.

[Shoki]

There was the same satisfaction when she saw her handy work, but it was accompanied with some light headedness. Her expression only got more dark at that. Time was an enemy that couldn’t be killed, only fought against with quickness. She was running out.

Well, time. Finally come back to bite me? One more go.

One last furious, amazing moment, as Kumori. She would desperately try to take her opponent with her, but that was hardly a question she would ever have the answer to. If he died, it would be time. Time and bleeding. A sneer was plastered on her face and she lunged forward with what coherence she had. This tiny, vicious old woman would get all of her energy into her last moments.

And without a single thought that this was a wrong thing to do.

[Ghost of Fire (Fëanáro)]

Belegurth roared. K’rad barely heard him, so focused was he on this fight. Somehow, he forced himself to step back and to the left, leading with his left leg, turning completely side on as the woman rushed him, so that her rush would carry her past him, rather than to him. He was ready for the next strike, the blow from his left hand to the juncture of neck and skull. The blow that should drop her completely.

He was fighting on instinct now, and did not really expect to survive. Not really. That absence, that lack of expectation, meant nothing in this moment. Finally, a part of him knew, he had a cause worth fighting for, worth dying for. A pure cause, with no twinge of regret behind the actions required.

[Shoki]

Kumori was aware of this fight slightly more than the child was. She could see it all falling around her. She had missed, her body had failed her, and she was about to pay. Pay the ultimate price. In the shadows, it was possible to see a more joyous grin then one had ever seen on ‘Irai’s’ face. Kumori had smiled in her youth but not like this, not often. It looked remarkably similar to one time in particular, the time she had stood before an Abyss clutch, in fact.

In the instant before the push off a cliff without a bottom she thought, quite properly one sentence. ‘I shall see Mathirath again.’ It was her favorite thought. And then there was oblivion.

Kumori’s body was propelled forward with a mix of her last lunge and the force of Kel’s strike. The body crashed into the wall, falling at an awkward looking angle. One hand was pinned between the wall and the crumpled body, the other was free. Free enough, that there was a small metallic sound as the hand could no longer hold the knife and it fell to the ground.

And that was the end of a woman who had lied for about sixty turns solid. Who had ended her life with one gloriously messy truth. Who died with satisfaction.

[Cait]

Rekkora, wake up. Wake up NOW![/b]

Rekkora had been reading over a few records, trying to worm her way into a less tenuous position in the Weyr. After a time the numbers and words had all blurred together and she'd fallen asleep in the chair in a rather awkward angle. She felt that now as she jolted awake and then winced as something in her neck popped from moving too quickly. At first she was irritated; until she felt the urgency in Sunvoiath's mind. Her chest grew tight, it wasn't like the Abyss to get worked up over just anything; typically the only time she ever got worked up was when she felt that Rekkora was in danger.

So then...

Irai is here, something is...faulty...no, defective. SHARD IT WOULD YOU JUST FIND HER!

Rekkora was stunned at the outburst and it only made her more anxious. Something had happened to Irai? The woman was old, if she'd hurt herself trying to come and visit her... Any pain of stiffness she felt was immediately forgotten along with her ankle boots as she went flying out the door and into the lower caverns. From Sunvoiath she gathered a general location; it was late, very late. OH sweet Faranth, if anything happened to her friend...the woman was like a grandmother to Rekkora. She'd taken her under her wing and taught her how to defend herself, how to be proud and strong. She was getting far too old to make the journey to visit.

Skirts held clear up to her knees she ran, startling a guard or two. She flew past her own weyr and towards...Artemis' weyr? Maybe she'd gotten lost? It was nighttime and the corridors all looked the same to Holders, didn't they? She slowed just slightly, then heard the sound of metal hitting stone and breathing heavily, she rounded the corner. "Irai?"

Rekkora...

The timbre of Sunvoiath's voice, the regret and anger started...it twisted around her and squeezed until she thought she couldn't breathe. As she rounded the corner, she knew in her heart what she would find but still was not at all prepared for the sight before her. Blood...everywhere. There were two bodies...and a man dressed all in black with a knife in his side. It was a familiar knife, she'd seen it before when Irai had taught her how to use the knives she'd been given as a gift. Wide, disbelieving eyes went from the larger body on the ground--a guard--to the smaller one crumpled against the wall, a matching knife just centimeters from her fingertips.

"No!" It was barely more than a whisper as Rekkora surged forward, thinking only that she had to get to Irai, to help her. She was so still, there was so much blood... With shaking hands, the Abyss rider pulled Irai away from the wall to lay her out. There had to be something she could do. There was so much blood soaking the front of the woman's tunic. She tried to press her hand over the wounds but she couldn't even find them, then her gaze strayed to the old woman's face and a strangled sob escaped her when she noticed the unnatural angle of the woman's head.

There were sounds of booted feet in the distance but Rekkora didn't hear it; all she could hear was the sound of her own blood rushing through her head. All she could hear was the sound of her heart breaking. The one person she loved most in this weyr. The one person who had never judged her or questioned her integrity because of her dragon's hide, the one person who saw the real Rekkora beneath the facade she'd created to keep the world content and willing was dead.

Rekkora do not--

You don't tell me what to do!

Her bloodied hand moved slowly to the knife that had once been held in Irai's hand. Her fingers curled around the hilt as she stood. Her gown was stained with blood and her hair a mess as she turned, blue eyes bright was anger and hurt and vengeance. Her body nearly shook from the grief and the rage. This man; he'd killed the one person who cared about her. Rekkora Castor, not her Abyss. Her voice was raw with her emotion, little more than a whisper as she stalked forward, her bare feet leaving bloody foot prints in her wake. "You did this."

The booted footsteps grew louder but all Rekkora could hear was the pounding of her broken heart. She shifted her grip on the blade and her nostrils flared and the fingers of her free hand twitched. As she stalked closer it was clear that she wasn't in her right mind and Sunvoiath reached out to the guards approaching, urging them to get there faster. She would not tolerate any harm to come to her rider, not even if it was harm of her own doing. The guards rounded the corner at the same time that whatever it was that had been building up inside of Rekkora exploded.

"YOU DID THIS!!!" Her voice was raw, ripped directly from her heart. Sunvoiath's roar shook the Weyr awake as she launched herself at the man with the knife in his side. Irai had died trying to defend herself from this man, she'd almost taken him too. Rekkora was seized by a grief fueled determination to see the job finished. Before she could reach him however, she was grabbed around the middle by one of the guards and the near feral scream that exploded from her mouth left her throat raw as she flailed wildly against his grip. "HE DID THIS!! HE KILLED HER!!"

She kicked and she twisted and when she tried to stab at the man's arm he plucked the knife from her hand even as he dragged the young queenrider away from the disturbing scene. She raged and screamed and fought like a trapped animal, crazed the man might even be pressed to say. She screamed until her voice was hoarse and nearly gone. Then the tears came hard, she shook with them as she sobbed and gasped for breath. The guard, one of the ones that usually stood outside the Abyss rider's door for the night shift had been down in the lower caverns with her. He'd only stepped away for a moment and she'd disappeared. As she'd been in the record room--the very same one that had witnessed the death of the Headwoman--he'd naturally started to panic, especially when he saw her boots left behind. It had been the Abyss that had alerted him to the potential situation.

Truth be told he was fond of the little blonde from the North. Most of the time she was smiles and charm and anything you might expect from a queenrider. A little vain perhaps but when she didn't think anyone was watching...she was clever and beautiful and strong. To see her so utterly shattered twisted at his heart and much to his embarrassment he found his eyes threatening to mist over as he finally stopped and set Rekkora back on her feet. The woman's legs gave out and with a faint curse, the guard pulled her back against his chest as the sound of more booted feet grew louder. He had only caught a glimpse of the entire situation--his goal had been to remove Rekkora from danger--but it had been gruesome.

[Ghost of Fire (Fëanáro)]

K’rad stared at Rekkora. He could feel fluid bubbling at the corners of his mouth, like if he was blowing bubbles into water, only the water was warm, not cool. He watched the young queenrider drop to her knees beside the intruder, then she was coming at him. He staggered a little, trying to step back out of reach. His head felt light, and his vision was a little blurry, not to mention his chest hurting and the fact that he felt like he couldn’t get enough air. He could hear booted feet, and then Rekkora was pulled away from him and dragged off, her voice ringing in the hall, in his ears, settling into his heart. He hadn’t been wrong, couldn’t have been wrong… could he?

Hands, not gentle. Belegurth was silently crying out, but making no physical sound. Drawing no attention, just like when he’d been younger and their teachers had been displeased about some exercise they had failed. So strange, that it should come all the way back to that. Kel tried to hold onto the knife, but it was twisted out of his hand. He hated that, hated that under the current circumstances these guards and wherhandlers (people he’d trained at sword-work with) were all enough bigger and stronger (and more importantly, outnumbered him and all had really strong grips on him) that he couldn’t get loose.

Pressure on his side, a bandage of some sort, and more on his back.

“Come on you, Weyrbowl to get those stabilized.” The two men holding Kel’s arms stepped forward, half-carrying and half-dragging him.

“What’d you do?” one of the other wherhandlers inquired. Had Kel’s brain been moving more quickly, he would have recognized the man from a certain misadventure whereby he wound up attacking several people at the end of training. “Lose your head again and reckon that some unarmed old lady was going to go on a rampage.”

Kel opened his mouth, than snapped it closed again. He wasn’t going to be able to change the man’s mind, and what possible reason could he offer for not having helped the hall-guard when the woman attacked? It wasn’t like he could tell them he hadn’t been at his own post, after all.

They reached the WeyrBowl. Kel looked up at a shape blocking the moonlight, than his energy melted out of him and he slid into darkness.