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locker_monsterTitle: The Boy Who Waited (35/49)
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.
At this time of year, the sun rose late in the day but that didn’t stop the Abenaki from rising early. Fires were lit to provide light to work by and soon the smell of cooking food joined the natural scents of the forest.
Rory and Augustin had conversed for another hour or so, with the priest informing Rory of all the current events that he was aware of. France had claim to this part of North America and clashes with Great Britain were all but inevitable. If Rory wanted to get home, he would probably have to go back to Boston or one of the other larger cities. It made him wonder if anyone was looking for him. He also had to wonder if Jamie made it back to Scotland safely.
After Augustin had returned to his own wigwam, Rory had plotted out the rest of his journey. He would help the Abenaki with their hunt and their mid-winter celebrations and that would be a week at most. After that, he would head back south, maybe find a job in one of the smaller cities. He didn’t have to worry about food or board so once he started saving it wouldn’t be long before he had enough to book passage home.
Wakichonze waved him over, inviting him to join breakfast with his family. Augustin was already in the chief’s wigwam when Rory arrived and the priest greeted him in French, looking rather refreshed for man with only a few hours’ sleep.
While Chanteyukan dished out the food, Wakichonze laid out his plans for the day. Rory would join him and his best hunters in search for a proper kill. If one was found in sufficient time then preparations for Wiikwandiwin could begin immediately. It was optimistic but not farfetched. In a large forest like this, there had to be some sizeable prey wandering around.
Thankful that the chief hadn’t sought his opinion, Rory asked, through Augustin, if he could borrow an animal skin coat. His cape was a dull red these days, but in the white of the forest it would have been far too noticeable. Wakichonze happily obliged and ten minutes later Rory was heading off into the forest with the chief and six of the tribe’s best hunters.
Augustin opted to stay behind. “I would get in the way,” he had insisted, “and you will not need a translator out in the forest.”
It didn’t take long for Rory to see that. The hunters were a taciturn bunch, not because they were anti-social but because they didn’t need words to communicate. Simple looks and hand gestures were enough to get the point across when they came upon a promising set of tracks. The less noise the better it seemed and Rory promptly followed their example.
His hunting skills were so minimal that they were practically non-existent. The Australian Aboriginals had tried to teach him while they gave lessons on boomerang throwing to the samurai, but he had never caught on. Rory suspected it was a mental thing. He had great hand-eye coordination and excellent vision, but he couldn’t get past the thought of killing an animal. Yes, it was for survival, but he didn’t want to watch the life leave the eyes of a creature that he had brought down with his own hands.
Fishing, though, was a different matter. He was a great fisher, as he had learned aboard the Hikaru Maru. All it really took was patience and he had lots of that.
It was around noon before the hunters caught a break. They didn’t start jumping for joy, but their body language certainly changed. The men picked up the pace and their hand signals came fast and furious. Two of the hunters broke off from the group and Rory watched them disappear up the rise of the valley. The rest of the party continued along the valley floor, headed towards, well, he didn’t really know. There were a lot of tracks in the snow, but they overlapped.
The wind suddenly shifted, blowing cold into their faces. Rory picked up the scent a second before the hunters did. Blood. They broke into a run, but the hunters remained cautious as they kept an eye on their surroundings. If this was a fresh kill, it might have meant that the killer was still nearby, human or animal.
The scene of the kill quickly came into view and to Rory’s untrained eye it didn’t look that fresh. Blood was splattered all around the body, turning the snow the colour of old rust, but had it been a fresh kill, the blood would have been brighter; that he did know. What remained of the carcass, which was just bones and torn pieces of flesh, looked dry, like it had been out in the sun for a long time. Rory supposed the meat had frozen in the low temperatures.
The hunters carefully stalked around the body, taking in all of the details, like they were crime scene investigators. They spoke softly to each other and they seemed to be discussing what sort of animal had brought down the beast. Rory could see a lot of tracks around the body. Curious scavengers? Or whole pack of killers? Of course, that led to another obvious and slightly worrisome question. If a pack of predators had brought down the animal, where were they and how come they hadn’t stripped it clean?
Wakichonze spoke, asking his men for a conclusion. One of the hunters raised his hand, drawing everyone’s attention. He was closest to the carcass and without even flinching he reached into the bloody flesh and pulled out something. He held it up for everyone to see. Rory was the last one to recognize it.
The hunter held the top half of an arrowhead; it looked like it had snapped in half. It was easy to imagine the tip getting caught on the ribcage of the animal and a frustrated hunter breaking his arrow while attempting to pull it free. At least it explained a few things. A human being had taken down this animal and took what they could carry. The rest was left for hungry predators looking for an easy meal.
A piercing bird call broke the silence of the forest. Rory was ready to dismiss it but then the hunters all looked up and one of them made the same sound. Not a bird call then; a signal. The other two hunters that had broken away from the group must have found something interesting.
The hunters took off in the direction of the call and Wakichonze motioned for Rory to come along. There was nothing here of use for them. He hung back for a moment to take a closer look at the body. It used to be a male deer, judging from the antlers. The lone eye that remained was glassy and empty of life. He hoped that it hadn’t suffered.
He started to rise to his feet when he became aware of a presence standing just within his field of view. Rory looked up and a small frisson of fear ran down his plastic spine.
A rust coloured wolf stared at him, its muzzle smeared with dried blood.
“Is this yours?” Rory slowly rose to his feet and the wolf’s gaze never left him. “You were probably gnawing on this before we got here.” He took a step back and stumbled on a tree root. The sudden motion caused the wolf to bear its teeth and snarl. “I’ll leave you to it then. It looks good. Never had deer before…”
Rory was aware that he was rambling, but he wasn’t sure what else he could do. Didn’t wolves hunt in packs? Did it mean that there were a handful of them nearby? He took another step back and the wolf snarled again. Could it smell that he wasn’t human? Every dog he encountered seemed to take offence.
“Nothing wrong with plas-tic!” The last syllable of the word turned into yelp as the wolf lunged at him.
Rory fell back under the weight of the animal and he smacked his unprotected head against the hard packed ground. That didn’t hurt as much as having a wolf sink its sharp teeth into your arm. It felt like his arm was trapped in a vice filled with spikes. He had gotten it up between him and the wolf in time, but instead of biting down on his wrist guard, as Rory had hoped, the wolf chomped down on his elbow instead. His plastic skin was pretty tough, but not tough enough.
The wolf seemed intent on biting its way through Rory’s arm and its fangs dug deeper into his flesh as it shook its head back and forth. His arm had become a plastic chew toy. Rory had no problems letting out a painful shout at that point. He couldn’t deny that it hurt, but also Wakichonze and the other hunters couldn’t have gone far. A shout like his, it wasn’t something you could ignore.
Not that Rory was just going to lie there and let a wolf devour his arm. He punched the animal in the head and his fist struck a thick skull cushioned by rough fur. The wolf’s eyes locked onto Rory’s face and he knew within an instant that he had just made a very bad choice.
The wolf spat out his arm and made a grab for his neck.
Rory had no other option. He deflected the blow the best he could with his uninjured right arm and with the other he pulled his dagger free. When the wolf pounced again, he drove the blade up into the animal’s side with every ounce of his strength. The wolf let out a heart-wrenching whimper and collapsed on top of Rory. He stabbed it one more time, but not without great reluctance. The wild canine went limp and it panted its last breath right in Rory’s face.
For the span of several seconds he just laid there with the wolf draped over him like a blanket. The wolf’s breath had stank like blood and raw meat, but that wasn’t what gave him pause. He had experienced a creature’s last moment of life, a life he had ended. Rory had seen plenty of people slip away at the hospital, but never had he been so up close when death took someone.
His left arm throbbed, but he had no troubles moving his fingers. A normal person probably would have had a broken arm after such an ordeal. The pain of the injury was already fading. In fact, aside from a few holes, in the coat sleeve and likely in his arm, too, you couldn’t tell that he had been attacked. Rory shoved the wolf’s body off of himself and he sat up.
In the frenzy of the attack he must have missed the shouts from the others. Wakichonze and one of the hunters burst forth from the trees seconds later with their weapons raised. The chief looked around and spotted the dead wolf. He then looked to Rory and the bloody dagger in his hand.
Wakichonze proclaimed something in his language and Rory thought he caught the words for Iron Hide. The chief helped him to his feet and proudly slapped him on the back. It was likely a motion he had seen Europeans use and was mimicking because he slapped Rory much too hard for just a casual gesture.
The hunter picked up the dead wolf and slung it over his shoulder, showing no discomfort over the weight of the animal. Wakichonze gestured for Rory to follow him and the three of them headed further along the valley. A short walk brought them back to the other hunters. They were grouped around a freshly slayed animal and when Rory got close enough he saw that it was a caribou.
It looked like they would be celebrating Wiikwandiwin after all.
Rory poked at the fresh holes in his tunic. They weren’t that noticeable and it was dark out now anyway. It was his arm that was the real horror show. The wolf’s bite had left ragged gouges in his skin. He’d have some interesting scars once he closed the wounds.
But that was for later. He rolled down his sleeve and slipped on his wrist guard over top. His cape went on next and then he placed his helmet on his head. Outside of Wakichonze’s tent the sounds of the celebration were getting livelier. They had arrived back at camp with plenty of fanfare and now the fresh caribou meat was being cooked up. What wasn’t eaten tonight would be dried and added to the winter provisions.
Rory stepped outside to the sounds of laughter and animated conversations. A huge bonfire raged in the middle of the camp while the women of the tribe cooked at smaller fires nearby. The hide of the caribou was laid out on a rack, though the head with its mighty antlers was nowhere to be seen. Rory’s own kill would be tackled tomorrow morning and Augustin had informed him that Wakichonze would be making something out of the wolf’s fur to honour Rory.
Furs were already laid out on the ground in a circle around the bonfire. A few people sat as they waited for the meal to be served. Rory found Augustin standing outside of the circle, taking in the scene. He turned and smiled at Rory when he came up next to the priest.
“This is wonderful. The tribe is so often concerned about making it through the winter. Feasts like these allows for some levity.”
“I am glad I could help.” Wolf bites notwithstanding, the hunt had been an interesting experience. Hunting in the forest was quite different from hunting on an open plain. There was a lot more to hide behind for starters.
It wasn’t long before the feast started. Rory was given a place of honour next to Wakichonze and Augustin could barely keep up with everything the chief said. In the end, the context didn’t matter. He was happy that Wakichonze was happy, as was everyone else in the tribe. With all in attendance in good spirits, no one seemed to notice that Rory didn’t eat or drink anything that was offered to him. He kept it up for the entire feast but once the meal had finished he was offered something that couldn’t be ignored.
As musical instruments were taken up and dancers began a chant and started dancing around the bonfire, Wakichonze lit a long pipe and took a deep mouthful of the smoke. He then handed the pipe to Rory. He didn’t need Augustin to tell him what was expected of him. Those seated near the chief and his family all watched Rory, waiting for him to partake in a lengthy puff of the smoke.
The smell of the tobacco was strong, far stronger than the usual cigarette smoke that Rory was used to. He had smoked one cigarette while in university, on a dare from some friends who joked that he never did anything fun. As a nurse, he knew better than anyone the hazards of smoking. The rhythm of the music increased as he contemplated taking a drag. He wasn’t sure how the smoke would affect him, but he didn’t want to offend Wakichonze either.
The music reached a fevered pitch when he brought the pipe to his lips and he inhaled a lungful of the potent tobacco.
The smoke tickled his throat as he sucked it down. It was musky and thick, like he could chew it instead of inhale it. Once it settled in his lungs, or whatever was inside of him that enabled him to breathe, he wondered if the smoke could stay there forever if he didn’t exhale. He didn’t get a chance to ponder the thought as the smoke immediately began to burn his insides. It wasn’t as if he was on fire, but it was similar to the first time he had smoked a cigarette. His body was rebelling, almost punishing him for letting something so vile enter his system.
Rory quickly exhaled the smoke, trying to cough as subtly as he could once he could breathe again. He passed the pipe along and conjured a big smile for Wakichonze. A grin cut across the chief’s face. It looked as though he was trying not to laugh.
“You did better than I the first time they offered me the pipe,” said Augustin, barely audible over the music.
“Why? What happened?”
“I passed out.”
A spasm suddenly racked Rory’s entire body and he coughed heartily into the crook of his sleeve. Keeping up appearances was one thing, but he wasn’t going to suffer in silence if he could help it. He continued to cough, hard enough that his sides actually ached. For the first time in over 1600 years, he was thirsty. His mouth felt as dry as the Gobi desert.
He looked up, about to ask for some water, when his vision blurred, like he had stood up too fast. The faces of everyone around him ran together, turning their features into indistinguishable blobs, and the dancers seemed to flicker pass him in slow motion. The bonfire stayed in focus, though, and the sway of the flames intensified, as if the fire had suddenly come to life. It beckoned to him, daring him to embrace the inferno.
Rory sat there, too confused to form proper thoughts. He blinked several times, to try to clear his vision, but it didn’t help. He tried to get up, but his legs felt like they were fused to the ground. The fire inched closer, slithering and writhing across the ground. The heat of the flames was already crawling over him like a thousand tiny insects.
Rory opened his mouth, begging for it to stop, but no words came.
A light flared to life beyond the living bonfire. It was minimal at first, but obvious. A bright green as opposed to the angry orange of the fire. The light grew brighter with every passing second until it engulfed the glow of the flames. Like a candle being blown out, the fire was gone in an instant, leaving only the green light.
Rory had only seen this once before, and it hadn’t been as spectacular then. The light was coming from the Pandorica. The complex lines within the circles rotated and moved, uncoiling like parts in a lock. The box was opening.
He shook his head. No, it wasn’t possible. The Pandorica couldn’t open, not now.
There was a deep, metallic clang as a crack formed down one edge of the box, revealing a bright white light from within. The crack grew bigger, allowing more of the white light to spill forth. The light was as bright as the sun, but Rory couldn’t look away.
A shape stood in the middle of the light, barely visible in the glare. It made its way towards Rory and, step by step, it came into focus. First, an outline of a body, then arms, legs, a head. A familiar shape, tall and willowy. Long hair ending in soft curls.
“No, no.” Rory shook his head even harder. This wasn’t happening. How was this happening? Why? Why? Too soon. He shut his eyes, trying to block it all out.
“Shush.” Her voice was soft, comforting, even slightly amused. “It’s okay.”
Rory opened his eyes. The light inside the Pandorica was fading. He could see his surroundings once again and he was surprised to see that he was alone. The entire Abenaki tribe was gone.
No, not alone…
She reached out, lifting his chin so he would look at her. If Rory had a heart, it would have skipped a beat in that moment.
“Amy.”
She looked exactly the same as when he had seen her last, oh so long ago. The leather jacket with the drape front, the red scarf and gloves, the cowboy boots. Her necklace, with the solitary letter A on the gold chain, hung from her neck, still swinging slightly from her movements.
A flood of emotions nearly drowned Rory, like a dam had given way inside of him. A joy he hadn’t felt in over a dozen centuries made his chest ache. He was afraid to look away from Amy, afraid to move, afraid to do anything that would shatter this moment.
“Is that the best you can do?” That familiar teasing smile lit up her face and she pulled him to his feet.
Free to move again, Rory grabbed Amy and pulled her into a tight embrace. She felt real, solid. His face ended up buried in her hair and he breathed in her scent, refreshing like spring flowers. Tears threatened to come, but, of course, he couldn’t cry.
When he pulled back, she was still smiling at him. In his mind’s eye, he could still her limp form, wrapped up in a blanket outside of Stonehenge. “I-”
Amy placed her hand over his mouth. “Not now.” She wasn’t scolding him or even trying to shut him up. She wanted him to listen. Rory nodded his head and she let her hand fall away. “Stay.”
“Stay?” He had thought about what Amy would say to him when they were reunited, but this hadn’t been on the list.
“You were going to leave. You need to stay. Stay here with Abenaki.”
“Amy, I don’t-”
“Rory.” A shiver ran down his spine. It felt like forever since he had heard Amy speak his name. “Trust me. We’ll get home, but when the time is right.” She leaned up and kissed him on the forehead.
Rory shut his eyes, wanting to hold on to this moment for as long as he could, but he felt Amy drift away, becoming intangible as smoke. His hands closed around empty air.
He became aware of the voices first. They spoke in that unfamiliar language, full of strange sounds and too many syllables. Even though he had no idea what they were saying, he could hear their concern.
He lay flat on his back. Furs cushioned the ground. A nearby fire filled the room with heat and a touch of smoke.
Rory’s eyes snapped up and in one fluid motion he sat up. Chanteyukan gasped and everyone else sat back by a fraction. He could understand their surprise. Just a second ago he had been dead as a corpse.
“Centurion?”
Rory glanced around. Sixsipita, Wakichonze, Chanteyukan, and Father Augustin were seated around him and they all stared at him with varying degrees of astonishment. The urge to say something was strong, but no one spoke.
Rory got to his feet and he left the wigwam. It felt too cramped with everyone hovering around him and he wasn’t in the right frame of mind to talk. His hurried strides took him across the camp and past the ring of tents. Everyone had packed up for the night. The bonfire was out and all that remained was a pile of burnt wood and charcoal. Some time had passed while he had been unconscious.
Rory’s ultimate destination didn’t require much thought. His hand went out to the Pandorica the moment he was close enough to touch it. The stone box was as he had left it. The sides weren’t glowing green nor was there any indication that it had opened. His forehead still tingled from where Amy had kissed him and absently his brought up his fingers to the spot.
He knew, deep down, that it had been a hallucination, but it had felt absolutely real. But even armed with that knowledge he still wished it hadn’t ended. An illusion of Amy was still better than no Amy at all.
He slumped against the Pandorica, still feeling a bit disoriented. Stay, Amy had said, like she knew what was to come.
Hesitant footsteps crunched in the snow. Rory didn’t need to turn to know who it was. After all, there was only one person in the entire tribe who knew how to talk to him. “You called me ‘Centurion’,” he said to Augustin.
The priest stepped into his field of view. “It is how you are dressed, is it not? Like a Roman centurion?”
Rory looked over at Augustin. “You know who I am.” It was a statement, not a question. He respected the man; there was no need for secrets or pretences.
Augustin shifted nervously, like a little boy caught in a lie. “Yes. I was uncertain if you wanted to keep that fact to yourself.” He chuckled softly. “The Latin text I used as a boy had a story about you and the Pandorica. My teacher insisted that you were just a legend. Imagine my surprise when I saw you enter camp.”
Rory nodded vaguely.
“Are you feeling all right? Wakichonze asked me to check on you. You were unconscious for hours. Even I only passed out for a few minutes.”
How could he explain it to Augustin? A spectre of his girlfriend, who wasn’t dead but in suspended animation inside a box shaped prison, came to visit him? “I… I thought I saw someone. Someone I have not seen in a very long time.”
The priest thought this over for a moment. His slid his hands up the sleeves of his coat to keep them warm. “Before you passed out, the dancers were performing a ritual. They were calling on the spirits to bless them with wisdom and to guide them through the new year. Did…” Augustin hesitated. “Did you see a spirit?”
Rory didn’t believe in magic or the supernatural, at least, not before he met the Doctor. Science was more tangible than sorcery, but after meeting fish vampires, human reptiles, and dying and being reborn as a Roman soldier, he was starting to believe that there was more to this world than could be perceived with numbers and hard facts. Could spirits be conjured by uttering a chant and dancing to a beat? Maybe. Had the ritual and the smoke of the tobacco conjured his vision of Amy? Rory wasn’t sure what to think.
He could have dismissed Augustin at this point, but he felt a compulsion to voice his experience, whether it made sense or not. “She told me to stay, here, with the Abenaki, until the time was right. I am not sure what it means.”
The short priest didn’t balk at the notion that Rory had been communing with unseen persons. If anything, he seemed sympathetic to his conundrum. “I cannot interpret words that were not meant for me, but I do believe there is a higher power guiding us. You received your message for a reason, Centurion.”
Trust me.
Rory trusted Amy with his life.
He would wait.
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
At this time of year, the sun rose late in the day but that didn’t stop the Abenaki from rising early. Fires were lit to provide light to work by and soon the smell of cooking food joined the natural scents of the forest.
Rory and Augustin had conversed for another hour or so, with the priest informing Rory of all the current events that he was aware of. France had claim to this part of North America and clashes with Great Britain were all but inevitable. If Rory wanted to get home, he would probably have to go back to Boston or one of the other larger cities. It made him wonder if anyone was looking for him. He also had to wonder if Jamie made it back to Scotland safely.
After Augustin had returned to his own wigwam, Rory had plotted out the rest of his journey. He would help the Abenaki with their hunt and their mid-winter celebrations and that would be a week at most. After that, he would head back south, maybe find a job in one of the smaller cities. He didn’t have to worry about food or board so once he started saving it wouldn’t be long before he had enough to book passage home.
Wakichonze waved him over, inviting him to join breakfast with his family. Augustin was already in the chief’s wigwam when Rory arrived and the priest greeted him in French, looking rather refreshed for man with only a few hours’ sleep.
While Chanteyukan dished out the food, Wakichonze laid out his plans for the day. Rory would join him and his best hunters in search for a proper kill. If one was found in sufficient time then preparations for Wiikwandiwin could begin immediately. It was optimistic but not farfetched. In a large forest like this, there had to be some sizeable prey wandering around.
Thankful that the chief hadn’t sought his opinion, Rory asked, through Augustin, if he could borrow an animal skin coat. His cape was a dull red these days, but in the white of the forest it would have been far too noticeable. Wakichonze happily obliged and ten minutes later Rory was heading off into the forest with the chief and six of the tribe’s best hunters.
Augustin opted to stay behind. “I would get in the way,” he had insisted, “and you will not need a translator out in the forest.”
It didn’t take long for Rory to see that. The hunters were a taciturn bunch, not because they were anti-social but because they didn’t need words to communicate. Simple looks and hand gestures were enough to get the point across when they came upon a promising set of tracks. The less noise the better it seemed and Rory promptly followed their example.
His hunting skills were so minimal that they were practically non-existent. The Australian Aboriginals had tried to teach him while they gave lessons on boomerang throwing to the samurai, but he had never caught on. Rory suspected it was a mental thing. He had great hand-eye coordination and excellent vision, but he couldn’t get past the thought of killing an animal. Yes, it was for survival, but he didn’t want to watch the life leave the eyes of a creature that he had brought down with his own hands.
Fishing, though, was a different matter. He was a great fisher, as he had learned aboard the Hikaru Maru. All it really took was patience and he had lots of that.
It was around noon before the hunters caught a break. They didn’t start jumping for joy, but their body language certainly changed. The men picked up the pace and their hand signals came fast and furious. Two of the hunters broke off from the group and Rory watched them disappear up the rise of the valley. The rest of the party continued along the valley floor, headed towards, well, he didn’t really know. There were a lot of tracks in the snow, but they overlapped.
The wind suddenly shifted, blowing cold into their faces. Rory picked up the scent a second before the hunters did. Blood. They broke into a run, but the hunters remained cautious as they kept an eye on their surroundings. If this was a fresh kill, it might have meant that the killer was still nearby, human or animal.
The scene of the kill quickly came into view and to Rory’s untrained eye it didn’t look that fresh. Blood was splattered all around the body, turning the snow the colour of old rust, but had it been a fresh kill, the blood would have been brighter; that he did know. What remained of the carcass, which was just bones and torn pieces of flesh, looked dry, like it had been out in the sun for a long time. Rory supposed the meat had frozen in the low temperatures.
The hunters carefully stalked around the body, taking in all of the details, like they were crime scene investigators. They spoke softly to each other and they seemed to be discussing what sort of animal had brought down the beast. Rory could see a lot of tracks around the body. Curious scavengers? Or whole pack of killers? Of course, that led to another obvious and slightly worrisome question. If a pack of predators had brought down the animal, where were they and how come they hadn’t stripped it clean?
Wakichonze spoke, asking his men for a conclusion. One of the hunters raised his hand, drawing everyone’s attention. He was closest to the carcass and without even flinching he reached into the bloody flesh and pulled out something. He held it up for everyone to see. Rory was the last one to recognize it.
The hunter held the top half of an arrowhead; it looked like it had snapped in half. It was easy to imagine the tip getting caught on the ribcage of the animal and a frustrated hunter breaking his arrow while attempting to pull it free. At least it explained a few things. A human being had taken down this animal and took what they could carry. The rest was left for hungry predators looking for an easy meal.
A piercing bird call broke the silence of the forest. Rory was ready to dismiss it but then the hunters all looked up and one of them made the same sound. Not a bird call then; a signal. The other two hunters that had broken away from the group must have found something interesting.
The hunters took off in the direction of the call and Wakichonze motioned for Rory to come along. There was nothing here of use for them. He hung back for a moment to take a closer look at the body. It used to be a male deer, judging from the antlers. The lone eye that remained was glassy and empty of life. He hoped that it hadn’t suffered.
He started to rise to his feet when he became aware of a presence standing just within his field of view. Rory looked up and a small frisson of fear ran down his plastic spine.
A rust coloured wolf stared at him, its muzzle smeared with dried blood.
“Is this yours?” Rory slowly rose to his feet and the wolf’s gaze never left him. “You were probably gnawing on this before we got here.” He took a step back and stumbled on a tree root. The sudden motion caused the wolf to bear its teeth and snarl. “I’ll leave you to it then. It looks good. Never had deer before…”
Rory was aware that he was rambling, but he wasn’t sure what else he could do. Didn’t wolves hunt in packs? Did it mean that there were a handful of them nearby? He took another step back and the wolf snarled again. Could it smell that he wasn’t human? Every dog he encountered seemed to take offence.
“Nothing wrong with plas-tic!” The last syllable of the word turned into yelp as the wolf lunged at him.
Rory fell back under the weight of the animal and he smacked his unprotected head against the hard packed ground. That didn’t hurt as much as having a wolf sink its sharp teeth into your arm. It felt like his arm was trapped in a vice filled with spikes. He had gotten it up between him and the wolf in time, but instead of biting down on his wrist guard, as Rory had hoped, the wolf chomped down on his elbow instead. His plastic skin was pretty tough, but not tough enough.
The wolf seemed intent on biting its way through Rory’s arm and its fangs dug deeper into his flesh as it shook its head back and forth. His arm had become a plastic chew toy. Rory had no problems letting out a painful shout at that point. He couldn’t deny that it hurt, but also Wakichonze and the other hunters couldn’t have gone far. A shout like his, it wasn’t something you could ignore.
Not that Rory was just going to lie there and let a wolf devour his arm. He punched the animal in the head and his fist struck a thick skull cushioned by rough fur. The wolf’s eyes locked onto Rory’s face and he knew within an instant that he had just made a very bad choice.
The wolf spat out his arm and made a grab for his neck.
Rory had no other option. He deflected the blow the best he could with his uninjured right arm and with the other he pulled his dagger free. When the wolf pounced again, he drove the blade up into the animal’s side with every ounce of his strength. The wolf let out a heart-wrenching whimper and collapsed on top of Rory. He stabbed it one more time, but not without great reluctance. The wild canine went limp and it panted its last breath right in Rory’s face.
For the span of several seconds he just laid there with the wolf draped over him like a blanket. The wolf’s breath had stank like blood and raw meat, but that wasn’t what gave him pause. He had experienced a creature’s last moment of life, a life he had ended. Rory had seen plenty of people slip away at the hospital, but never had he been so up close when death took someone.
His left arm throbbed, but he had no troubles moving his fingers. A normal person probably would have had a broken arm after such an ordeal. The pain of the injury was already fading. In fact, aside from a few holes, in the coat sleeve and likely in his arm, too, you couldn’t tell that he had been attacked. Rory shoved the wolf’s body off of himself and he sat up.
In the frenzy of the attack he must have missed the shouts from the others. Wakichonze and one of the hunters burst forth from the trees seconds later with their weapons raised. The chief looked around and spotted the dead wolf. He then looked to Rory and the bloody dagger in his hand.
Wakichonze proclaimed something in his language and Rory thought he caught the words for Iron Hide. The chief helped him to his feet and proudly slapped him on the back. It was likely a motion he had seen Europeans use and was mimicking because he slapped Rory much too hard for just a casual gesture.
The hunter picked up the dead wolf and slung it over his shoulder, showing no discomfort over the weight of the animal. Wakichonze gestured for Rory to follow him and the three of them headed further along the valley. A short walk brought them back to the other hunters. They were grouped around a freshly slayed animal and when Rory got close enough he saw that it was a caribou.
It looked like they would be celebrating Wiikwandiwin after all.
Rory poked at the fresh holes in his tunic. They weren’t that noticeable and it was dark out now anyway. It was his arm that was the real horror show. The wolf’s bite had left ragged gouges in his skin. He’d have some interesting scars once he closed the wounds.
But that was for later. He rolled down his sleeve and slipped on his wrist guard over top. His cape went on next and then he placed his helmet on his head. Outside of Wakichonze’s tent the sounds of the celebration were getting livelier. They had arrived back at camp with plenty of fanfare and now the fresh caribou meat was being cooked up. What wasn’t eaten tonight would be dried and added to the winter provisions.
Rory stepped outside to the sounds of laughter and animated conversations. A huge bonfire raged in the middle of the camp while the women of the tribe cooked at smaller fires nearby. The hide of the caribou was laid out on a rack, though the head with its mighty antlers was nowhere to be seen. Rory’s own kill would be tackled tomorrow morning and Augustin had informed him that Wakichonze would be making something out of the wolf’s fur to honour Rory.
Furs were already laid out on the ground in a circle around the bonfire. A few people sat as they waited for the meal to be served. Rory found Augustin standing outside of the circle, taking in the scene. He turned and smiled at Rory when he came up next to the priest.
“This is wonderful. The tribe is so often concerned about making it through the winter. Feasts like these allows for some levity.”
“I am glad I could help.” Wolf bites notwithstanding, the hunt had been an interesting experience. Hunting in the forest was quite different from hunting on an open plain. There was a lot more to hide behind for starters.
It wasn’t long before the feast started. Rory was given a place of honour next to Wakichonze and Augustin could barely keep up with everything the chief said. In the end, the context didn’t matter. He was happy that Wakichonze was happy, as was everyone else in the tribe. With all in attendance in good spirits, no one seemed to notice that Rory didn’t eat or drink anything that was offered to him. He kept it up for the entire feast but once the meal had finished he was offered something that couldn’t be ignored.
As musical instruments were taken up and dancers began a chant and started dancing around the bonfire, Wakichonze lit a long pipe and took a deep mouthful of the smoke. He then handed the pipe to Rory. He didn’t need Augustin to tell him what was expected of him. Those seated near the chief and his family all watched Rory, waiting for him to partake in a lengthy puff of the smoke.
The smell of the tobacco was strong, far stronger than the usual cigarette smoke that Rory was used to. He had smoked one cigarette while in university, on a dare from some friends who joked that he never did anything fun. As a nurse, he knew better than anyone the hazards of smoking. The rhythm of the music increased as he contemplated taking a drag. He wasn’t sure how the smoke would affect him, but he didn’t want to offend Wakichonze either.
The music reached a fevered pitch when he brought the pipe to his lips and he inhaled a lungful of the potent tobacco.
The smoke tickled his throat as he sucked it down. It was musky and thick, like he could chew it instead of inhale it. Once it settled in his lungs, or whatever was inside of him that enabled him to breathe, he wondered if the smoke could stay there forever if he didn’t exhale. He didn’t get a chance to ponder the thought as the smoke immediately began to burn his insides. It wasn’t as if he was on fire, but it was similar to the first time he had smoked a cigarette. His body was rebelling, almost punishing him for letting something so vile enter his system.
Rory quickly exhaled the smoke, trying to cough as subtly as he could once he could breathe again. He passed the pipe along and conjured a big smile for Wakichonze. A grin cut across the chief’s face. It looked as though he was trying not to laugh.
“You did better than I the first time they offered me the pipe,” said Augustin, barely audible over the music.
“Why? What happened?”
“I passed out.”
A spasm suddenly racked Rory’s entire body and he coughed heartily into the crook of his sleeve. Keeping up appearances was one thing, but he wasn’t going to suffer in silence if he could help it. He continued to cough, hard enough that his sides actually ached. For the first time in over 1600 years, he was thirsty. His mouth felt as dry as the Gobi desert.
He looked up, about to ask for some water, when his vision blurred, like he had stood up too fast. The faces of everyone around him ran together, turning their features into indistinguishable blobs, and the dancers seemed to flicker pass him in slow motion. The bonfire stayed in focus, though, and the sway of the flames intensified, as if the fire had suddenly come to life. It beckoned to him, daring him to embrace the inferno.
Rory sat there, too confused to form proper thoughts. He blinked several times, to try to clear his vision, but it didn’t help. He tried to get up, but his legs felt like they were fused to the ground. The fire inched closer, slithering and writhing across the ground. The heat of the flames was already crawling over him like a thousand tiny insects.
Rory opened his mouth, begging for it to stop, but no words came.
A light flared to life beyond the living bonfire. It was minimal at first, but obvious. A bright green as opposed to the angry orange of the fire. The light grew brighter with every passing second until it engulfed the glow of the flames. Like a candle being blown out, the fire was gone in an instant, leaving only the green light.
Rory had only seen this once before, and it hadn’t been as spectacular then. The light was coming from the Pandorica. The complex lines within the circles rotated and moved, uncoiling like parts in a lock. The box was opening.
He shook his head. No, it wasn’t possible. The Pandorica couldn’t open, not now.
There was a deep, metallic clang as a crack formed down one edge of the box, revealing a bright white light from within. The crack grew bigger, allowing more of the white light to spill forth. The light was as bright as the sun, but Rory couldn’t look away.
A shape stood in the middle of the light, barely visible in the glare. It made its way towards Rory and, step by step, it came into focus. First, an outline of a body, then arms, legs, a head. A familiar shape, tall and willowy. Long hair ending in soft curls.
“No, no.” Rory shook his head even harder. This wasn’t happening. How was this happening? Why? Why? Too soon. He shut his eyes, trying to block it all out.
“Shush.” Her voice was soft, comforting, even slightly amused. “It’s okay.”
Rory opened his eyes. The light inside the Pandorica was fading. He could see his surroundings once again and he was surprised to see that he was alone. The entire Abenaki tribe was gone.
No, not alone…
She reached out, lifting his chin so he would look at her. If Rory had a heart, it would have skipped a beat in that moment.
“Amy.”
She looked exactly the same as when he had seen her last, oh so long ago. The leather jacket with the drape front, the red scarf and gloves, the cowboy boots. Her necklace, with the solitary letter A on the gold chain, hung from her neck, still swinging slightly from her movements.
A flood of emotions nearly drowned Rory, like a dam had given way inside of him. A joy he hadn’t felt in over a dozen centuries made his chest ache. He was afraid to look away from Amy, afraid to move, afraid to do anything that would shatter this moment.
“Is that the best you can do?” That familiar teasing smile lit up her face and she pulled him to his feet.
Free to move again, Rory grabbed Amy and pulled her into a tight embrace. She felt real, solid. His face ended up buried in her hair and he breathed in her scent, refreshing like spring flowers. Tears threatened to come, but, of course, he couldn’t cry.
When he pulled back, she was still smiling at him. In his mind’s eye, he could still her limp form, wrapped up in a blanket outside of Stonehenge. “I-”
Amy placed her hand over his mouth. “Not now.” She wasn’t scolding him or even trying to shut him up. She wanted him to listen. Rory nodded his head and she let her hand fall away. “Stay.”
“Stay?” He had thought about what Amy would say to him when they were reunited, but this hadn’t been on the list.
“You were going to leave. You need to stay. Stay here with Abenaki.”
“Amy, I don’t-”
“Rory.” A shiver ran down his spine. It felt like forever since he had heard Amy speak his name. “Trust me. We’ll get home, but when the time is right.” She leaned up and kissed him on the forehead.
Rory shut his eyes, wanting to hold on to this moment for as long as he could, but he felt Amy drift away, becoming intangible as smoke. His hands closed around empty air.
He became aware of the voices first. They spoke in that unfamiliar language, full of strange sounds and too many syllables. Even though he had no idea what they were saying, he could hear their concern.
He lay flat on his back. Furs cushioned the ground. A nearby fire filled the room with heat and a touch of smoke.
Rory’s eyes snapped up and in one fluid motion he sat up. Chanteyukan gasped and everyone else sat back by a fraction. He could understand their surprise. Just a second ago he had been dead as a corpse.
“Centurion?”
Rory glanced around. Sixsipita, Wakichonze, Chanteyukan, and Father Augustin were seated around him and they all stared at him with varying degrees of astonishment. The urge to say something was strong, but no one spoke.
Rory got to his feet and he left the wigwam. It felt too cramped with everyone hovering around him and he wasn’t in the right frame of mind to talk. His hurried strides took him across the camp and past the ring of tents. Everyone had packed up for the night. The bonfire was out and all that remained was a pile of burnt wood and charcoal. Some time had passed while he had been unconscious.
Rory’s ultimate destination didn’t require much thought. His hand went out to the Pandorica the moment he was close enough to touch it. The stone box was as he had left it. The sides weren’t glowing green nor was there any indication that it had opened. His forehead still tingled from where Amy had kissed him and absently his brought up his fingers to the spot.
He knew, deep down, that it had been a hallucination, but it had felt absolutely real. But even armed with that knowledge he still wished it hadn’t ended. An illusion of Amy was still better than no Amy at all.
He slumped against the Pandorica, still feeling a bit disoriented. Stay, Amy had said, like she knew what was to come.
Hesitant footsteps crunched in the snow. Rory didn’t need to turn to know who it was. After all, there was only one person in the entire tribe who knew how to talk to him. “You called me ‘Centurion’,” he said to Augustin.
The priest stepped into his field of view. “It is how you are dressed, is it not? Like a Roman centurion?”
Rory looked over at Augustin. “You know who I am.” It was a statement, not a question. He respected the man; there was no need for secrets or pretences.
Augustin shifted nervously, like a little boy caught in a lie. “Yes. I was uncertain if you wanted to keep that fact to yourself.” He chuckled softly. “The Latin text I used as a boy had a story about you and the Pandorica. My teacher insisted that you were just a legend. Imagine my surprise when I saw you enter camp.”
Rory nodded vaguely.
“Are you feeling all right? Wakichonze asked me to check on you. You were unconscious for hours. Even I only passed out for a few minutes.”
How could he explain it to Augustin? A spectre of his girlfriend, who wasn’t dead but in suspended animation inside a box shaped prison, came to visit him? “I… I thought I saw someone. Someone I have not seen in a very long time.”
The priest thought this over for a moment. His slid his hands up the sleeves of his coat to keep them warm. “Before you passed out, the dancers were performing a ritual. They were calling on the spirits to bless them with wisdom and to guide them through the new year. Did…” Augustin hesitated. “Did you see a spirit?”
Rory didn’t believe in magic or the supernatural, at least, not before he met the Doctor. Science was more tangible than sorcery, but after meeting fish vampires, human reptiles, and dying and being reborn as a Roman soldier, he was starting to believe that there was more to this world than could be perceived with numbers and hard facts. Could spirits be conjured by uttering a chant and dancing to a beat? Maybe. Had the ritual and the smoke of the tobacco conjured his vision of Amy? Rory wasn’t sure what to think.
He could have dismissed Augustin at this point, but he felt a compulsion to voice his experience, whether it made sense or not. “She told me to stay, here, with the Abenaki, until the time was right. I am not sure what it means.”
The short priest didn’t balk at the notion that Rory had been communing with unseen persons. If anything, he seemed sympathetic to his conundrum. “I cannot interpret words that were not meant for me, but I do believe there is a higher power guiding us. You received your message for a reason, Centurion.”
Trust me.
Rory trusted Amy with his life.
He would wait.
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Date: 2013-08-15 05:01 pm (UTC)Either that, or it was just sheer magic. I can believe that. Rory has seen and done many strange things - seeing Amy (which was AWESOME) telling him to stay? I can totally get behind Divine Providence on this one!
Gorgeous, as always! Very much looking forward to the next part!
*HUGS*
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Date: 2013-08-17 01:56 am (UTC)