The Wanderer - Part Six

PART ONE (click here)
PART TWO (click here)
PART THREE (click here)
PART FOUR (click here)
PART FIVE (click here)


PART SIX
A look of shock was frozen on his face as he slowly examined the result of the Wanderer’s strike. Sliced from shoulder to thigh, the Bandit’s blood rapidly escaped his body. With only a thin layer of sinew keeping the gash from unzipping his entire body the Bandit began to double over, clutching at the stump which once held his hand. The Bandit stumbled back against the well as the Priestess charged him with the spear-like broom handle. She dug the splintered point of the handle into the side of his throat.

“She didn’t tell you did she?” the Bandit growled, leaning precariously on the rim of the well. “I was to be a priest. I was to guard these crystals alongside her.”

“You stole from the shrines, you stole from the priests and you stole from me,” shouted the Priestess, pressing the point from the shattered broom harder into his neck. “You stole my life, sentencing me to live here, all alone, to guard the crystals.”

The Wanderer slowly got back on his feet, using his blood-smeared sword as a crutch.

“This isn’t you,” he said, resting his hand on the Priestess’s shoulder. “And he’s not worth it.”

Her face, once flooded with anger, returned to its calm demeanor.

“I want you to leave.” She said to the Bandit with closed eyes. “I want you to walk away from this place and forget it ever existed.”

With one last push she removed the splintered broom handle from his neck and turned her back to him. She steeled her self and walked back to the shrine, her air of dignity impermeable.

Pushing off of the crumbling well, the Bandit rushed the unsuspecting Priestess with a dagger gripped tightly in his remaining hand.

With the hollow unsettling thump of bodies colliding, the Bandit hung lifeless on the Wanderer’s back. The Wanderer had tucked the blade under his arm and stepped in between the Priestess and the Bandit. A cough of blood was the last sign of life in the Bandit as his empty hand swung down at the Wanderer’s side. The Wanderer’s now crimson blade fused the two men together leaving all the weight on his fatigued legs. His eyes were clenched tightly as pain and discomfort coursed through his body. He could feel the Bandit’s weight pulling him backwards stumbling against the well. The sides of the well began to collapse from the stress as the two men began to fall in. He closed his eyes and felt something tugging at the hilt lodged in his armpit. Through weary eyes he could see the Priestess pulling with all her might on the sword.

“Let go of him you bastard!” she yelled at the Bandit’s corpse.

She dug her foot up high on the Bandit body and kicked hard sliding the blade out of his body and freeing the Wanderer. The blade’s release sent the Priestess flying backwards and the Bandit’s body fell violently into the well. His impact at the bottom of the well caused the walls to collapse inward, filling the darkness with the sounds of rubble. The Wanderer was so weary from the fight that he didn’t realize that he was the only one still standing. With blood cascading down his working arm he extended his hand to help the Priestess to her feet.

Becoming aware of her dischevelment, she began straightening her kimono, brushing the fabric free of dirt. With an elated smile she looked up at the Wanderer who was attempting to slide the sword back into the sheath. Without a word he turned and began to walk back to the entrance of the temple.

She darted in front of the Wanderer standing in his path with her eyes fixated on the ground. He continued walking until she was close enough to lightly rest her head on his chest.

“Don’t go.” She whispered, choking on the most delicate of tears.

With his still functional arm he gently held her, then stepped back so he could look into her shimmering eyes.

“Before I met you I had nothing to offer,” he whispered. “I could never describe how it feels to know that I could give you the world.”

They both drew in a deep breath as the Wanderer cradled her cheek in his hand. The passionate kiss that was so long awaited melted away the world around them. Their mouths pressed and opened slowly as the lovers’ tongues lightly embraced. The Priestess’s hands ran across the Wanderer’s damp back, tracing the now tattered bandages she wrapped him in the night before. With equal resistance the lovers broke their intimate embrace.

As the Wanderer stepped aside and began to walk back towards the woods, his lifeless arm brushed against her. As she watched him walk away the Priestess felt a tear run to the corner of her mouth. The saline of the tear mixed with the metallic taste of the Wanderer’s blood she was becoming aware of. She looked down at her hands and saw they were soaked; she looked back to the Wanderer who limped across the clearing.

As he reached the path the Wanderer reached beneath his shredded kimono and pulled out the hollow tipped dagger. The blade had made a sheath of the soft flesh of his stomach muscle and tissue. He threw the blade into the woods and continued walking. There was no pain for the Wanderer, as the kiss burned its way into his memory every other physical sensation faded away.


PART SEVEN


Exile

Original_exile@hotmail.com