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The story of a lost flower
Posted: 19 Nov 2005 06:39 PM |
Natalyia frowned down at the human. She hated to see him like this, but a small voice in her head reminded her that it was inevitable, and there was nothing she could do.
Aleksei, for his part, smiled weakly up at Natalyia. She had been a good friend to him, almost a daughter, for the most part of his life. It had been a strange road they had traveled together, but he knew that this would be the end of it. He was dying; age had crept up on him, and now struck him with all the force and finality of a sword’s blow. He tried to lift himself up with his arms, and turn to see Natalyia, but his strength failed him. Aleksei slowly tilted his head upon the pillow, and looked at her with a faint smile.
She still looked so much like a child, he thought. He cast his mind back to when they’d first met. Aleksei remembered with a slight sense of awe that he’d been but a child.
He remembered seeing a small girl, about his height, sitting outside the mines in Port Royale. She was dirty, and looked hungry. It was a look he knew well, he’d seen it on each of the rare occasions he’d looked in a mirror during his short life. He’d wandered over, and they’d spoken. It had amazed the young human that any child his age could be so mature. She was almost like a teenager.
The thought amused Aleksei as he lay in bed, looking across at Natalyia. She’d not been his age, then. Not even a teenager. He imagined she’d been in her 20s, or even 30s. He didn’t know how old she was now, for that matter. Older than him, he knew… yet still a child.
He’d taken her back to his parents. His father had been a blacksmith, and barely earned enough to support the three of them. He remembered the pained look on their faces when they saw another mouth not properly fed. Aleksei presumed that they’d simply not had the heart to turn his new friend away, not wanted to explain to their son the realities of life at the age of 8. They’d have been surprised to know that he’d already learned them. Growing up in the shambles of Port Royale did that to a child.
The memories of his childhood were fond. He’d always had a friend, almost a sister to play with in the slums. Someone to talk to, to pass the days when younger… and later to spend what little free time he had with once he was apprenticed to his father. Over time, he’d come to accept that Natalyia didn’t grow. He didn’t think to ask about it, understanding came later.
Iakov and Julia, his parents, had died shortly after his 19th birthday. They were killed in a robbery which went sour in his home, whilst he and Natalyia were trying to scrape together what food they could for the family in the marketplace. When they returned to the house, the thief was tearing it apart, looking for something. Aleksei remembered attacking him, struggling, and finally hearing his tearful explanation that he was searching for a Night Masks stash he had heard was stored in the house. He had believed that Aleksei’s parents had been Night Masks agents, and not believed their tormented testimony that they were simple folk. Aleksei could remember until that very day the confused feelings of rage, pity, and so many other conflicting thoughts swirling in his mind.
He had been simply amazed when Natalyia, at that stage still but a child, who was standing by the man, suddenly stabbed him through the eye. He hadn’t seen, but she’d picked up his weapon, and skillfully palmed it. Then she simply struck when she saw that Aleksei wouldn’t. It had caused him great confusion, at the time. He had wondered, and still wondered, if that made Natalyia just as wicked as the man she’d killed. Then time passed. Later, he thought nothing of it.
Life had gone on, and he’d continued to look after Natalyia. When he married, he became much like a father to her, but also still a friend. He’d remembered travels with her, to Buckshire, and even once to Midor as he plied his trade. He’d told her stories, nurtured her mind, and taught her what he could. She, for her part, had helped him with his work where she could.
He remembered her comforting him when his wife had died of illness, just after giving birth. He knew that he could never thank her enough for her support, her kindness, and her help raising his son- so much like a mother, he thought. She’d never slept, which meant that she could look after the child for most of the night. That, in turn, meant that he could rest soundly, and work well during the day. He was thankful for that, as well. He had trouble enough earning coin when he could do a full day’s work for a full day’s pay. It amazed him, even at nearly 30 years old, how slowly she grew. She looked to him to be barely entering her teens- if that. Yet she was a loyal companion and friend to him.
As the child grew, he remembered the way she had been mother, sister, and eventually daughter to her, as well. Yet she never seemed to complain, or question the speed with which they aged. She obviously understood, and never felt the need to ask, explain, or even discuss it with what was in effect her family. Until now, she had never even complained.
As time passed, his daughter had left, and married. She was in Midor, now. It was somewhat amusing to him that Natalyia, his childhood friend, had been the one to take care of him as he aged. That it was her who sat by his bed, now.
He wondered…
Natalyia sighed softly as his eyes closed. She didn’t bend closer to check. She knew it had happened. His hand had relaxed in hers, and she placed the limp arm upon his wizened chest. She blinked back a tear, as she stood. The Sisters was noisy, she noted. Yet the noise seemed strangely distant. She turned and headed for the door, walked down the seemingly endless corridor, left the building… and slowly walked back to the only place she had ever really known. Except now, she was there alone for the first time in sixty years. |
Quis custodiet ipsos custodes? |
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