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locker_monsterTitle: The Boy Who Waited (15/49)
Rating: PG
Characters: Rory, with appearances from Barbara
Timeline: set between "The Pandorica Opens" and "The Big Bang"
Summary: London, 1996. Barbara Wright prepares the Pandorica for exhibit at the National Museum. As the work unfolds, she recounts the lengthy history of the stone box and its loyal protector, the Lone Centurion.
Disclaimer: Doctor Who belongs to the BBC. Everything else is me taking liberties with history.
A/N: A huge thank you to my beta
punch_kicker15. This story would still be sitting on my hard drive if it weren't for you.
Up. It was the one thought in Rory’s head.
He had no idea where he was going, but an abstract feeling spurred him to ascend higher up the mountain. Marco’s fever still hadn’t broken, but his breathing had eased slightly during the night. It seemed contradictory, easier breathing with thinner mountain air, but he would take what he could get.
He babbled as they rode, breaking up the silence. In hopes to coax Marco back into the land of the fully conscious, Rory told ever increasing outlandish tales. He started out with stories about Leadworth and Amy, but now he had moved on to retelling his adventures with the Doctor.
Prisoner Zero and the Atraxi. Space vampire fish in Venice. The Dream Lord. The Silurians.
“Lizard people. It was bizarre, but they had these extraordinary underground cities. They must have stretched on for miles.” Rory paused, remembering Alaya and Restec and all of their people.
He still remembered what it felt like to die.
The memory pulled at him, like it had a will of its own, but he didn’t want to relive that moment. He closed his eyes and shook his head, trying to remember another story, but that was the last before Stonehenge and the Pandorica and there lay another memory he didn’t want to think about.
In his mind’s eye, he saw Restec, on her last breath, raising her gun to shoot the Doctor.
“No!” Rory cried out, his eyes flying open.
He drew in a breath and blinked in surprise. For a second, he thought it was a mirage, but this was the mountains, not the desert. It had to be real.
They had come over a rise and now Rory looked down into an incredibly verdant valley. It was so green, almost unnaturally so. Right smack dab in the middle was a lake, its surface glinting like diamonds in the sunlight. It was like Eden, an untouched world. Rory had to fight his horse to stop it from making a break for the lush plains of grass.
No wonder people thought the mountain air had healing properties. Here was all this life amongst lifeless rock and snow.
“Come on, Marco,” said Rory, giving the young man a nudge. “You need to see this.”
Without needing much encouragement, his horse galloped down into the valley. The fresh, clean smell of grass filled the air as his horse’s hooves stirred up the land. Rory directed them to the lake and they rode along its edge until he found a suitable spot with shade for Marco and lots of grass and plants for the horse. He removed the saddle and let the animal run wild while he set up camp.
All along the lake he had seen evidence of other camps. All sorts came here it seemed. He might have wondered why it had taken a year to find out about the miraculous properties of the mountain, but then again, he had people cursing him and the Pandorica wherever he went. Who would want the devil to destroy paradise? He would have to be careful if he spotted others entering the valley. They might consider throwing him over a cliff if they recognized him from Faizabad or some of the other settlements in the province.
Ensuring that Marco was comfortably settled and in no harm of being attacked by man or beast, Rory went off to fill a skin with fresh water. He found the river that fed the lake not far off and took a moment to clean himself up. His clothes, face, and hands were still caked with dirt from the mines. There was nothing he could do for the clothes, unless he wanted to go running around in just his pants, but he could clean his face and hands. The grime swirled away in the water and after a few minutes, he looked somewhat presentable.
On the way back to Marco, he heard a splash from the lake. Rory looked out at the glimmering surface and saw the ripples spreading out from the source, but he didn’t see anything that would have caused the splash. Curiosity drew him to the lake’s edge, until the water lapped at the soles of his boots. It reminded him of a lake just outside of Leadworth. All the kids would play there in the summer, splashing around in the water to cool off. Rory hadn’t gone for a swim in ages, baring the ten years at the bottom of a well.
There was another splash and he caught a flash of silver skin. A fish. The lake was full of fish. Or possibly tiny mermaids, but fish seemed like a more plausible explanation. Fresh fish. It was better than dried horse meat.
He made his way back to camp. Marco lay peacefully on his side, nestled on the soft, springy grass, his wheezing eased. He was still hot to the touch, though. “How about some fish, Marco?” He needed to get some nourishment into the young man, lest he waste away. Too bad he didn’t know how to fish.
An idea came to Rory, but it seemed incredibly stupid. At the same time, their supplies were low and he needed to supplement them somehow. His way felt like cheating, but did it really matter in the grand scheme of things?
Stripping off his boots, Rory rolled up his trousers and waded out into the lake until the water was at his knees. He stood there for a moment, just admiring the vista before him. The mountains surrounded the plain, but it didn’t feel like the valley was hemmed in. From his perspective, the lake stretched on to the horizon and didn’t stop.
He was stalling; even he could see that. “They’re just fish,” he said to himself.
Rory took a deep breath. He raised his hand, fingers together, and pointed it at the surface of the lake. He only had to think it to make it happen.
With a mechanical buzz, his hand snapped in half. His fingers flopped down, like they hung on a hinge. A twin set of thin metal barrels, one long, one short, protruded from inside his hand. It was unnerving. His hand still looked real but here was this alien gun sticking out of it. Rory was both fascinated and mortified.
He took the shot, firing once into the water, just so he wouldn’t have to keep staring at his hand. A small geyser burst up from the spot, sending droplets of water flying in all directions. When the spray of water cleared, a couple of lifeless fish floated on the surface of the lake.
His hand snapped back together without him needing to think about it. Rory absently massaged the spot where his hand had split, trying to remain detached about this. The gun was only harmful when he wanted it to be. He had complete control over when it would appear and when it would be fired. There was no outside force urging him to use it. He had killed some fish but that was it. These thoughts ran over and over inside his head until he felt reassured that nothing bad would happen.
Rory scooped up the fish and waded back to the shore. At least the gun had one useful function. Back on land, he found the horse had returned from its meal and the animal seemed to be staring disapprovingly at him.
“You didn’t see that,” he said to the horse as he went to prepare the meal.
With supper over, he threw the remains of the fish back into the lake. It was only a second later that he thought it might be a bad idea. Would the other fish nibble on the meat still on the bones? Was he promoting cannibalism now?
On the health front, Marco had taken a bit more broth than last night and he had kept it down. Whether it was the mountain air or something in the water prompting these changes, it didn’t matter to Rory. Any improvement was encouraging to see and in turn he felt less useless. Toiling in a mine had brought in money, but now he was doing what he had trained to do; nursing others back to health.
Leaning back against the saddle, Rory settled down for the night. He had seen some birds of prey wheeling overhead before sunset, but he wasn’t completely convinced that was it in regards to the fauna of the area. There had to be predators somewhere.
He stoked the fire, getting it to burn a little brighter. The halo of light extended for a few feet, which didn’t do him much good if something decided to attack them from the darkness, but Rory would hear anything long before it pounced. He had kept the sharp rock from the mountains and one of the logs from the fire could be easily grabbed.
It was impossible to gauge the passage of time in the dark. It was a new moon so he didn’t have that to rely on. Once the sky started to lighten then he knew morning was coming, but before that, it was just unending blackness. So when Rory heard footsteps trampling across the grass towards them, he didn’t know if he had been sitting in front of the fire for five minutes or an hour. The former meant something was eager to attack them while the latter suggested the thing had been watching them for some time and was only now striking because it had an opening. Rory stayed still and tightened his hold on the rock.
He listened carefully and it soon became obvious that the thing approaching them only had two legs. Another traveller maybe, here to partake in the fresh mountain air? A fire was a welcoming sight amongst deep shadows. If it was a poor lost soul, Rory couldn’t turn him away.
He gave up his ruse and turned to look behind him. A vague figure of a man had paused just beyond the circle of light given off by the fire. “It is all right,” Rory said in the local language, trying to sound as non-threatening as possible.
The figure walked forward into the light and Rory held back a frown when he saw it was the grizzled miner who had told him about the mountains in the first place.
“Hello,” said the man in Arabic. He inclined his head at Rory, just as he had done when Rory ran out of the mine.
“Hello.” He hadn’t expected to run into anyone he knew out here, but the man had told him about this place. It seemed obvious that Rory would end up here. But then, it begged the question: why had the man followed him out here?
Pushing aside his growing suspicions Rory indicated that the man should sit down at the fire across from him. The man had no provisions, no horse even. Had he been robbed while in the mountains? “I never asked your name,” said Rory. Striking up a conversation seemed like the polite thing to do, at least until he had the situation sorted.
“I am Tahsin.”
“I need to thank you, Tahsin. If you had not told me about the mountains, my friend would still be in ill health.” Truthfully, Marco was still sick, but Tahsin didn’t need to know that.
“I am glad to hear it.”
One of the logs collapsed, sending a cascade of sparks into the air. “Do you normally wander the mountains on your own?” joked Rory.
Tahsin sat with his hands up the sleeves of his robe, like he was meditating. “Coming up into the mountains at the beginning of a sickness can cure it almost instantly.”
“So you are feeling ill?” The man didn’t look sick, but it was hard to tell. Gaunt features were the norm, especially in the lower caste.
“No, but I am here to be rid of a sickness.”
At first, Rory didn’t understand. Then Tahsin pulled out a knife from the sleeve of his robe, the blade glinting in the orange firelight. “Tahsin, what are you going?” Rory gripped the rock, the sharp edges digging into his plastic skin.
“The boys at the mine are not the only ones who think you a demon. You have plagued the world for some time now. You will not bring down your curse on others anymore.”
“I am not a demon.” Rory faltered here, unsure of how to explain his strange qualities. Anything he said would only further prove that he was inhuman. “Tahsin, listen to me. Once my friend is well, we will leave this region. There is no need for any bloodshed.”
“There will be no bloodshed, demon, for you have no blood!”
Tahsin leapt at him, sailing over the fire like a bat. Rory moved out of the way, but not fast enough. He avoided getting a knife to the chest, but Tahsin still hit him. The blade sank into Rory’s right thigh, right up to the hilt. He let out a mighty scream that echoed across the valley. As his whole body rocked with pain, he lost his hold on the sharp rock.
Tahsin pulled the blade free and Rory collapsed back against the ground. With the fire behind him, the grizzled man loomed like a giant. His expression was serene, not crazed, like he was about to slaughter an animal for a meal. He raised the knife, ready to plunge it down into Rory’s heart.
The image of the fish floating on the surface of the lake came back to Rory. He had the gun. He could end this.
He surged to his feet, pushing past the pain, and tackled Tahsin to the ground like they were rugby players. The knife flashed as it flew out of Tahsin’s hand and disappeared into the darkness. The back of the man’s head struck the hard packed earth and he was momentarily dazed. Rory grabbed the front of his robe and levelled his hand at Tahsin’s face. His chest heaved with each breath he took, dragging out the seconds. If Rory wanted to shoot, he had to do it now before Tahsin fought back.
“No…” The memory of Amy’s limp body in his arms and the horror of what he had done to the woman he loved flooded his senses. He couldn’t use the gun on another human being. Never again.
Rory balled his hand into a fist and punched Tahsin right in the face. The man reeled from the blow but he didn’t pass out. Another blow caused blood to spurt from Tahsin’s nose but his eyes rolled up into his head and he finally went limp. Rory let go of the man’s robe and he stumbled back until he tripped on the edge of the saddle. He fell down hard but he barely felt it.
A demon. A monster in human form. That wasn’t him.
That wasn’t him.
First light. The sky was a swirl of orange and light blue with some magenta thrown in. Rory, laid out flat on his back, watched the progression of the sky as it slowly changed colours, the orange and magenta fading away. He only stirred when the horse trotted over and stared down at him with deep brown eyes. It whinnied and stamped one of its hooves, as if it was demanding that he get up. Rory was reminded of his mom and those early mornings when he didn’t want to get out of bed to go to school.
He sat up, rubbing a hand over his right thigh. He didn’t feel sore, but there was a sort of phantom pain; in his imagination the wound was still there. In actuality, it was just a scar now. He had melted the skin back together and he had even sewn up the hole in his trousers. When he rose to his feet, he resisted the urge to place all his weight on his left leg.
A walk down to the lake helped him to forget the non-existent pain but some cold water splashed on his face did nothing to make him forget about last night. He couldn’t stop thinking about how close he had come to killing Tahsin. Times like these made him wonder if he had really conquered his Auton conditioning. The urge to end someone’s life shouldn’t have been so strong. It didn’t help that he had conflicting personalities waging a war in his head every day. He was a nurse, but he was also a soldier and neither one was technically the wrong identity.
This time, he had reached a compromise with himself, as strange as that sounded. He hadn’t killed Tahsin, but he had inconvenienced the man the best he could. With some spare rope from the saddlebags he had tied up the miner and carried him off to an isolated spot. He was sure Tahsin would eventually free himself, but before that happened Rory hoped he and Marco would be long gone from the lake.
Rory stared down at his reflection in the water. His image rippled as the water lazily lapped against the shore. Picking up a pebble, he dropped it into the water and it caused his reflection to warp and waver and for a second he did look truly demonic. People saw him as a demon now, but things would settle given enough time. Maybe once the Dark Ages came and went he wouldn’t have to worry about villagers coming after him with torches and pitchforks.
The horse whined and to his ears it sounded like an urgent call. Rory jumped to his feet and ran back to the camp. Had Tahsin escaped his bonds already? He was tense and ready for a fight, but he quickly saw there was no need. The horse stood above Marco and was gently nibbling on one of the blankets. An arm lifted up and weakly pushed the offending muzzle away.
Rory grabbed the reins and dragged the horse away. He then slapped it on the rump to encourage it to take a run. As it trotted off across the plain, he turned back to Marco. The young man was trying to sit up but with little success.
“Careful.” Rory swooped in and gently moved Marco into an upright position.
“Centurion?” Marco’s voice was hoarse from disuse. “Where are we?”
A laugh threatened to bubble up from within Rory. Leave it to Marco Polo to ask about where they were first instead of inquiring about himself. “I will explain, but first, tell me how do you feel?” He put his hand to Marco’s forehead and for the first time in a year, it wasn’t hot to the touch. The fever had finally broken.
“I feel… hungry.”
At that point, Rory couldn’t help but laugh.
It was a fine morning in the mountains, but Rory was glad to be heading back to Faizabad. He glanced back over his shoulder, but the valley had disappeared from view ages ago, swallowed up by the rise in the mountain path.
“You keep looking back,” remarked Marco. An extra day around the lake had restored most of his colour, but he was still weak. It would be at least another week before the young man would be strong enough to sit astride a horse for long periods of time.
“I thought I saw…” What? A predator? No, he kept looking back just in case Tahsin had managed to break free of his bonds. They could move faster than him on a horse, but the man was determined and he would likely follow them until he had the chance to kill Rory again. But he didn’t want to mention it to Marco. “A bear,” he finished lamely.
Marco nodded vaguely. He rested against Rory’s chest, wrapped up tight in the blankets. His slow, careful breaths came out as clouds of vapour in the cool mountain air. “Have you given any thought about why the mountain air cures people of their ailments?”
Rory had given this topic quite a lot of thought. “I do not think it is the air itself. I think it has more to do with the water.”
“The water?”
“It is likely there are minerals in the water beneficial to one’s health.” Rory couldn’t think of any other reason. Up in the mountains, the water was fresh from the source. There was nothing in air that was useful in defeating viruses or diseases.
“Perhaps we can take some of this water with us,” suggested Marco.
He had a sudden vision of shelves full of bottled water with the label, “Marco Polo’s Miracle Mineral Water.” Even a slogan popped into his head. “Good for what ails ya.” Rory shook his head at the notion. “You will not be sick again, Marco. I will make sure of it.”
By the afternoon they had made it back to the plains at the foot of the mountains. Before nightfall they would be back in Faizabad. Rory was more than ready to leave the country, but he knew he would have to wait. Besides waiting for Marco’s strength to return, the Polo brothers also needed to return from their quests and even after that they would need to resume their travel preparations. There were mountains and deserts ahead of them. One didn’t just pack up and leave without making sure everything was in order.
If there were others like Tahsin in town, well, Rory would just have to keep a low profile.
He was in the middle of describing the mining operation to Marco, again, when a familiar rider appeared on the horizon. Even in silhouette, he recognized the form of Niccolò Polo. He was taller than most men in Badashan province and his saddle was more elaborately decorated. Rory raised his arm and waved at the man.
Niccolò took off like a shot and his horse thundered across the plain towards them. Marco shifted eagerly in the saddle, like a young schoolboy. Rory brought their horse to a stop and hopped down. He was just helping Marco down when Niccolò came upon them. The man practically leapt off his mount. He pulled his son into a tight embrace and words just flowed out of him as he expressed his joy to see his son well again.
Rory hung back, wishing he could give the two some privacy. He ended up half hidden behind his horse.
“It is a miracle,” said Niccolò, his voice thick with emotion. “Centurion!” He pushed the horse out of the way and surprised Rory with a hug. Rory awkwardly patted the elder Polo on the back. They broke apart, but Niccolò kept him at arm’s length. “I returned to the inn, but they told me you had left. I feared the worst.”
Rory hadn’t even thought to leave a message behind for the brothers. “I apologize. I should have left word with the innkeepers. I took Marco into the mountains. I was told the air up there could help with his illness.”
“Clearly it has.” Niccolò reached out to his son and pulled him close. “I am in your debt once more, Centurion. Pope Gregory was quite truthful when he said you would be of great service to us. Thank you.”
That scene in the courtyard back in Acre seemed so long ago, like decades had passed since then, not a mere year and a half. A part of Rory still resented Visconti, but the rest of him was glad the Pope had sent him along on this wild expedition. “You owe me nothing.”
Rating: PG
Characters: Rory, with appearances from Barbara
Timeline: set between "The Pandorica Opens" and "The Big Bang"
Summary: London, 1996. Barbara Wright prepares the Pandorica for exhibit at the National Museum. As the work unfolds, she recounts the lengthy history of the stone box and its loyal protector, the Lone Centurion.
Disclaimer: Doctor Who belongs to the BBC. Everything else is me taking liberties with history.
A/N: A huge thank you to my beta
punch_kicker15. This story would still be sitting on my hard drive if it weren't for you.1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36 | 37 | 38 | 39 | 40 | 41 | 42 | 43 | 44 | 45 | 46 | 47 | 48 | 49
Up. It was the one thought in Rory’s head.
He had no idea where he was going, but an abstract feeling spurred him to ascend higher up the mountain. Marco’s fever still hadn’t broken, but his breathing had eased slightly during the night. It seemed contradictory, easier breathing with thinner mountain air, but he would take what he could get.
He babbled as they rode, breaking up the silence. In hopes to coax Marco back into the land of the fully conscious, Rory told ever increasing outlandish tales. He started out with stories about Leadworth and Amy, but now he had moved on to retelling his adventures with the Doctor.
Prisoner Zero and the Atraxi. Space vampire fish in Venice. The Dream Lord. The Silurians.
“Lizard people. It was bizarre, but they had these extraordinary underground cities. They must have stretched on for miles.” Rory paused, remembering Alaya and Restec and all of their people.
He still remembered what it felt like to die.
The memory pulled at him, like it had a will of its own, but he didn’t want to relive that moment. He closed his eyes and shook his head, trying to remember another story, but that was the last before Stonehenge and the Pandorica and there lay another memory he didn’t want to think about.
In his mind’s eye, he saw Restec, on her last breath, raising her gun to shoot the Doctor.
“No!” Rory cried out, his eyes flying open.
He drew in a breath and blinked in surprise. For a second, he thought it was a mirage, but this was the mountains, not the desert. It had to be real.
They had come over a rise and now Rory looked down into an incredibly verdant valley. It was so green, almost unnaturally so. Right smack dab in the middle was a lake, its surface glinting like diamonds in the sunlight. It was like Eden, an untouched world. Rory had to fight his horse to stop it from making a break for the lush plains of grass.
No wonder people thought the mountain air had healing properties. Here was all this life amongst lifeless rock and snow.
“Come on, Marco,” said Rory, giving the young man a nudge. “You need to see this.”
Without needing much encouragement, his horse galloped down into the valley. The fresh, clean smell of grass filled the air as his horse’s hooves stirred up the land. Rory directed them to the lake and they rode along its edge until he found a suitable spot with shade for Marco and lots of grass and plants for the horse. He removed the saddle and let the animal run wild while he set up camp.
All along the lake he had seen evidence of other camps. All sorts came here it seemed. He might have wondered why it had taken a year to find out about the miraculous properties of the mountain, but then again, he had people cursing him and the Pandorica wherever he went. Who would want the devil to destroy paradise? He would have to be careful if he spotted others entering the valley. They might consider throwing him over a cliff if they recognized him from Faizabad or some of the other settlements in the province.
Ensuring that Marco was comfortably settled and in no harm of being attacked by man or beast, Rory went off to fill a skin with fresh water. He found the river that fed the lake not far off and took a moment to clean himself up. His clothes, face, and hands were still caked with dirt from the mines. There was nothing he could do for the clothes, unless he wanted to go running around in just his pants, but he could clean his face and hands. The grime swirled away in the water and after a few minutes, he looked somewhat presentable.
On the way back to Marco, he heard a splash from the lake. Rory looked out at the glimmering surface and saw the ripples spreading out from the source, but he didn’t see anything that would have caused the splash. Curiosity drew him to the lake’s edge, until the water lapped at the soles of his boots. It reminded him of a lake just outside of Leadworth. All the kids would play there in the summer, splashing around in the water to cool off. Rory hadn’t gone for a swim in ages, baring the ten years at the bottom of a well.
There was another splash and he caught a flash of silver skin. A fish. The lake was full of fish. Or possibly tiny mermaids, but fish seemed like a more plausible explanation. Fresh fish. It was better than dried horse meat.
He made his way back to camp. Marco lay peacefully on his side, nestled on the soft, springy grass, his wheezing eased. He was still hot to the touch, though. “How about some fish, Marco?” He needed to get some nourishment into the young man, lest he waste away. Too bad he didn’t know how to fish.
An idea came to Rory, but it seemed incredibly stupid. At the same time, their supplies were low and he needed to supplement them somehow. His way felt like cheating, but did it really matter in the grand scheme of things?
Stripping off his boots, Rory rolled up his trousers and waded out into the lake until the water was at his knees. He stood there for a moment, just admiring the vista before him. The mountains surrounded the plain, but it didn’t feel like the valley was hemmed in. From his perspective, the lake stretched on to the horizon and didn’t stop.
He was stalling; even he could see that. “They’re just fish,” he said to himself.
Rory took a deep breath. He raised his hand, fingers together, and pointed it at the surface of the lake. He only had to think it to make it happen.
With a mechanical buzz, his hand snapped in half. His fingers flopped down, like they hung on a hinge. A twin set of thin metal barrels, one long, one short, protruded from inside his hand. It was unnerving. His hand still looked real but here was this alien gun sticking out of it. Rory was both fascinated and mortified.
He took the shot, firing once into the water, just so he wouldn’t have to keep staring at his hand. A small geyser burst up from the spot, sending droplets of water flying in all directions. When the spray of water cleared, a couple of lifeless fish floated on the surface of the lake.
His hand snapped back together without him needing to think about it. Rory absently massaged the spot where his hand had split, trying to remain detached about this. The gun was only harmful when he wanted it to be. He had complete control over when it would appear and when it would be fired. There was no outside force urging him to use it. He had killed some fish but that was it. These thoughts ran over and over inside his head until he felt reassured that nothing bad would happen.
Rory scooped up the fish and waded back to the shore. At least the gun had one useful function. Back on land, he found the horse had returned from its meal and the animal seemed to be staring disapprovingly at him.
“You didn’t see that,” he said to the horse as he went to prepare the meal.
With supper over, he threw the remains of the fish back into the lake. It was only a second later that he thought it might be a bad idea. Would the other fish nibble on the meat still on the bones? Was he promoting cannibalism now?
On the health front, Marco had taken a bit more broth than last night and he had kept it down. Whether it was the mountain air or something in the water prompting these changes, it didn’t matter to Rory. Any improvement was encouraging to see and in turn he felt less useless. Toiling in a mine had brought in money, but now he was doing what he had trained to do; nursing others back to health.
Leaning back against the saddle, Rory settled down for the night. He had seen some birds of prey wheeling overhead before sunset, but he wasn’t completely convinced that was it in regards to the fauna of the area. There had to be predators somewhere.
He stoked the fire, getting it to burn a little brighter. The halo of light extended for a few feet, which didn’t do him much good if something decided to attack them from the darkness, but Rory would hear anything long before it pounced. He had kept the sharp rock from the mountains and one of the logs from the fire could be easily grabbed.
It was impossible to gauge the passage of time in the dark. It was a new moon so he didn’t have that to rely on. Once the sky started to lighten then he knew morning was coming, but before that, it was just unending blackness. So when Rory heard footsteps trampling across the grass towards them, he didn’t know if he had been sitting in front of the fire for five minutes or an hour. The former meant something was eager to attack them while the latter suggested the thing had been watching them for some time and was only now striking because it had an opening. Rory stayed still and tightened his hold on the rock.
He listened carefully and it soon became obvious that the thing approaching them only had two legs. Another traveller maybe, here to partake in the fresh mountain air? A fire was a welcoming sight amongst deep shadows. If it was a poor lost soul, Rory couldn’t turn him away.
He gave up his ruse and turned to look behind him. A vague figure of a man had paused just beyond the circle of light given off by the fire. “It is all right,” Rory said in the local language, trying to sound as non-threatening as possible.
The figure walked forward into the light and Rory held back a frown when he saw it was the grizzled miner who had told him about the mountains in the first place.
“Hello,” said the man in Arabic. He inclined his head at Rory, just as he had done when Rory ran out of the mine.
“Hello.” He hadn’t expected to run into anyone he knew out here, but the man had told him about this place. It seemed obvious that Rory would end up here. But then, it begged the question: why had the man followed him out here?
Pushing aside his growing suspicions Rory indicated that the man should sit down at the fire across from him. The man had no provisions, no horse even. Had he been robbed while in the mountains? “I never asked your name,” said Rory. Striking up a conversation seemed like the polite thing to do, at least until he had the situation sorted.
“I am Tahsin.”
“I need to thank you, Tahsin. If you had not told me about the mountains, my friend would still be in ill health.” Truthfully, Marco was still sick, but Tahsin didn’t need to know that.
“I am glad to hear it.”
One of the logs collapsed, sending a cascade of sparks into the air. “Do you normally wander the mountains on your own?” joked Rory.
Tahsin sat with his hands up the sleeves of his robe, like he was meditating. “Coming up into the mountains at the beginning of a sickness can cure it almost instantly.”
“So you are feeling ill?” The man didn’t look sick, but it was hard to tell. Gaunt features were the norm, especially in the lower caste.
“No, but I am here to be rid of a sickness.”
At first, Rory didn’t understand. Then Tahsin pulled out a knife from the sleeve of his robe, the blade glinting in the orange firelight. “Tahsin, what are you going?” Rory gripped the rock, the sharp edges digging into his plastic skin.
“The boys at the mine are not the only ones who think you a demon. You have plagued the world for some time now. You will not bring down your curse on others anymore.”
“I am not a demon.” Rory faltered here, unsure of how to explain his strange qualities. Anything he said would only further prove that he was inhuman. “Tahsin, listen to me. Once my friend is well, we will leave this region. There is no need for any bloodshed.”
“There will be no bloodshed, demon, for you have no blood!”
Tahsin leapt at him, sailing over the fire like a bat. Rory moved out of the way, but not fast enough. He avoided getting a knife to the chest, but Tahsin still hit him. The blade sank into Rory’s right thigh, right up to the hilt. He let out a mighty scream that echoed across the valley. As his whole body rocked with pain, he lost his hold on the sharp rock.
Tahsin pulled the blade free and Rory collapsed back against the ground. With the fire behind him, the grizzled man loomed like a giant. His expression was serene, not crazed, like he was about to slaughter an animal for a meal. He raised the knife, ready to plunge it down into Rory’s heart.
The image of the fish floating on the surface of the lake came back to Rory. He had the gun. He could end this.
He surged to his feet, pushing past the pain, and tackled Tahsin to the ground like they were rugby players. The knife flashed as it flew out of Tahsin’s hand and disappeared into the darkness. The back of the man’s head struck the hard packed earth and he was momentarily dazed. Rory grabbed the front of his robe and levelled his hand at Tahsin’s face. His chest heaved with each breath he took, dragging out the seconds. If Rory wanted to shoot, he had to do it now before Tahsin fought back.
“No…” The memory of Amy’s limp body in his arms and the horror of what he had done to the woman he loved flooded his senses. He couldn’t use the gun on another human being. Never again.
Rory balled his hand into a fist and punched Tahsin right in the face. The man reeled from the blow but he didn’t pass out. Another blow caused blood to spurt from Tahsin’s nose but his eyes rolled up into his head and he finally went limp. Rory let go of the man’s robe and he stumbled back until he tripped on the edge of the saddle. He fell down hard but he barely felt it.
A demon. A monster in human form. That wasn’t him.
That wasn’t him.
First light. The sky was a swirl of orange and light blue with some magenta thrown in. Rory, laid out flat on his back, watched the progression of the sky as it slowly changed colours, the orange and magenta fading away. He only stirred when the horse trotted over and stared down at him with deep brown eyes. It whinnied and stamped one of its hooves, as if it was demanding that he get up. Rory was reminded of his mom and those early mornings when he didn’t want to get out of bed to go to school.
He sat up, rubbing a hand over his right thigh. He didn’t feel sore, but there was a sort of phantom pain; in his imagination the wound was still there. In actuality, it was just a scar now. He had melted the skin back together and he had even sewn up the hole in his trousers. When he rose to his feet, he resisted the urge to place all his weight on his left leg.
A walk down to the lake helped him to forget the non-existent pain but some cold water splashed on his face did nothing to make him forget about last night. He couldn’t stop thinking about how close he had come to killing Tahsin. Times like these made him wonder if he had really conquered his Auton conditioning. The urge to end someone’s life shouldn’t have been so strong. It didn’t help that he had conflicting personalities waging a war in his head every day. He was a nurse, but he was also a soldier and neither one was technically the wrong identity.
This time, he had reached a compromise with himself, as strange as that sounded. He hadn’t killed Tahsin, but he had inconvenienced the man the best he could. With some spare rope from the saddlebags he had tied up the miner and carried him off to an isolated spot. He was sure Tahsin would eventually free himself, but before that happened Rory hoped he and Marco would be long gone from the lake.
Rory stared down at his reflection in the water. His image rippled as the water lazily lapped against the shore. Picking up a pebble, he dropped it into the water and it caused his reflection to warp and waver and for a second he did look truly demonic. People saw him as a demon now, but things would settle given enough time. Maybe once the Dark Ages came and went he wouldn’t have to worry about villagers coming after him with torches and pitchforks.
The horse whined and to his ears it sounded like an urgent call. Rory jumped to his feet and ran back to the camp. Had Tahsin escaped his bonds already? He was tense and ready for a fight, but he quickly saw there was no need. The horse stood above Marco and was gently nibbling on one of the blankets. An arm lifted up and weakly pushed the offending muzzle away.
Rory grabbed the reins and dragged the horse away. He then slapped it on the rump to encourage it to take a run. As it trotted off across the plain, he turned back to Marco. The young man was trying to sit up but with little success.
“Careful.” Rory swooped in and gently moved Marco into an upright position.
“Centurion?” Marco’s voice was hoarse from disuse. “Where are we?”
A laugh threatened to bubble up from within Rory. Leave it to Marco Polo to ask about where they were first instead of inquiring about himself. “I will explain, but first, tell me how do you feel?” He put his hand to Marco’s forehead and for the first time in a year, it wasn’t hot to the touch. The fever had finally broken.
“I feel… hungry.”
At that point, Rory couldn’t help but laugh.
It was a fine morning in the mountains, but Rory was glad to be heading back to Faizabad. He glanced back over his shoulder, but the valley had disappeared from view ages ago, swallowed up by the rise in the mountain path.
“You keep looking back,” remarked Marco. An extra day around the lake had restored most of his colour, but he was still weak. It would be at least another week before the young man would be strong enough to sit astride a horse for long periods of time.
“I thought I saw…” What? A predator? No, he kept looking back just in case Tahsin had managed to break free of his bonds. They could move faster than him on a horse, but the man was determined and he would likely follow them until he had the chance to kill Rory again. But he didn’t want to mention it to Marco. “A bear,” he finished lamely.
Marco nodded vaguely. He rested against Rory’s chest, wrapped up tight in the blankets. His slow, careful breaths came out as clouds of vapour in the cool mountain air. “Have you given any thought about why the mountain air cures people of their ailments?”
Rory had given this topic quite a lot of thought. “I do not think it is the air itself. I think it has more to do with the water.”
“The water?”
“It is likely there are minerals in the water beneficial to one’s health.” Rory couldn’t think of any other reason. Up in the mountains, the water was fresh from the source. There was nothing in air that was useful in defeating viruses or diseases.
“Perhaps we can take some of this water with us,” suggested Marco.
He had a sudden vision of shelves full of bottled water with the label, “Marco Polo’s Miracle Mineral Water.” Even a slogan popped into his head. “Good for what ails ya.” Rory shook his head at the notion. “You will not be sick again, Marco. I will make sure of it.”
By the afternoon they had made it back to the plains at the foot of the mountains. Before nightfall they would be back in Faizabad. Rory was more than ready to leave the country, but he knew he would have to wait. Besides waiting for Marco’s strength to return, the Polo brothers also needed to return from their quests and even after that they would need to resume their travel preparations. There were mountains and deserts ahead of them. One didn’t just pack up and leave without making sure everything was in order.
If there were others like Tahsin in town, well, Rory would just have to keep a low profile.
He was in the middle of describing the mining operation to Marco, again, when a familiar rider appeared on the horizon. Even in silhouette, he recognized the form of Niccolò Polo. He was taller than most men in Badashan province and his saddle was more elaborately decorated. Rory raised his arm and waved at the man.
Niccolò took off like a shot and his horse thundered across the plain towards them. Marco shifted eagerly in the saddle, like a young schoolboy. Rory brought their horse to a stop and hopped down. He was just helping Marco down when Niccolò came upon them. The man practically leapt off his mount. He pulled his son into a tight embrace and words just flowed out of him as he expressed his joy to see his son well again.
Rory hung back, wishing he could give the two some privacy. He ended up half hidden behind his horse.
“It is a miracle,” said Niccolò, his voice thick with emotion. “Centurion!” He pushed the horse out of the way and surprised Rory with a hug. Rory awkwardly patted the elder Polo on the back. They broke apart, but Niccolò kept him at arm’s length. “I returned to the inn, but they told me you had left. I feared the worst.”
Rory hadn’t even thought to leave a message behind for the brothers. “I apologize. I should have left word with the innkeepers. I took Marco into the mountains. I was told the air up there could help with his illness.”
“Clearly it has.” Niccolò reached out to his son and pulled him close. “I am in your debt once more, Centurion. Pope Gregory was quite truthful when he said you would be of great service to us. Thank you.”
That scene in the courtyard back in Acre seemed so long ago, like decades had passed since then, not a mere year and a half. A part of Rory still resented Visconti, but the rest of him was glad the Pope had sent him along on this wild expedition. “You owe me nothing.”
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