The Battle

Chapter 1-3

It was so peaceful and I wondered if we were the only ones there. I listened carefully and faintly heard people talking and moving throughout the place, but not close by. After walking about twenty feet, we took a left through double doors which led to a foyer with two doors. We chose the one straight ahead and entered one of the largest rooms I had ever seen.

His bedroom — a magnificent sea of turquoise, black and ivory. Standing by the door, I took in the extravagance that overwhelmed me.

“Connor,” Ronin's raspy voice called me as he struggled to his bed without my support. “There is a multicolored wooden chest hidden under the sink behind the fifth tile in the lavatory. Can you retrieve it, as well as some towels?”

After he pointed in the direction of the room, I hurried up. Of course, there were three sinks in the bathroom. I just picked one, then another—on my second attempt, I found the bag, grabbed plenty of towels behind a curtain, and headed back out.

I stopped short. A chill washed over me. Ronin lay on his dark oceanic blue covers awaiting my return. His blade lay at his side. It reminded me of a time when dead men were sent out to sea upon a bed of wood with their swords in arms.

“Connor,” Ronin called to me again and I gathered my thoughts. “I'm going to need you to clean the area, cut the wound open an inch with that blade.” He pointed to a small cutting device on his night stand next to his leather belt. “Dig in with your finger until you find the tip, then pull it out with pliers. Immediately throw it in the liquid jar with the plyers.” I noted a small jar with clear liquid on the chest and placed it on the nightstand. “Do not touch it after you pull it out. Remember to put it in the jar. Afterwards, stitch me up and inject my left arm with a dose of meds.” He explained my expected duties while he sluggishly rummaged through the chest I just handed him. He removed the scissors, then started to cut his own shirt upward.

“Ronin, I'm not afraid of blood or anything but you know I've never done…”

“No one has ever done anything until they do it for the first time.” He coughed and his scrunched-up face made it clear that staying conscious was unbearable. “You can do this, Connor.” His eyes pleaded with me. “Hurry before I pass out again.”

“Okay.” It was all I could say. The poison worked fast. He'd made a drastic change from the car to right now. Ronin was dying.

When I got everything ready and put on my gloves, Ronin took a tube-like canister and slammed it into his right thigh. An exhaust sound released. “Antibiotic,” he answered at my amazed expression. “Remember, use it again afterwards.” He placed his leather belt in his mouth and bit down like in the olden days. I didn't ask about pain reliever because I already knew Ronin would not take it. I could not help but watch him maneuver in agony. Sometimes, Ronin reminded me of an old soul.

I swallowed hard, took a nice long breath then did as he instructed. I took the blade to his already red and tender skin but, when he winced, I hesitated, like he'd done to me when a branch was sticking out of my leg. He nodded for me to continue. “I need you to hurry. Don't stop for anything.”

“Okay.” I stood from my seat next to him on the bed and sliced up, giving my right index finger room to fit in as he bit down on the belt and gripped the covers. I dove deeper inside him in search of the poisonous tip. Blood seeped out the cut the farther I went. I ventured slowly so as to not slice myself with the same poison.

At last, I felt an odd shaped object that did not feel like bone—round with a sharp edge. He winced when I moved it.

Why doesn't he pass out already? How much torture can a person take?

I just looked at the perspiration traveling down his face and his breathing was worsening, but I ignored him, needing to get this done. Picking up the small surgical pliers, I dug them downward, where I had left my index finger. I reached for the object and tugged on it, but it would not give. It was firmly planted in there. I twisted and turned the pliers and Ronin's eyes rolled up in his head. He finally passed out.

I had to use all my strength to pull it out and when I did, I immediately held it away from my face. Ronin said it was just a tip but it looked more like a bio-organic weapon. It had thin metallic legs and its slit for a mouth squealed in my grip. Its four thin extremities reached for me as its round belly swished around with black poisonous liquid. I was grateful Earth was not this far advanced yet. Remembering the jar, I placed the contraption in it and it screamed while it sizzled. I held up the jar to watch it fight to climb out but its extremities were melting.

Turning back to Ronin, I applied pressure but every so often turned back to the poisonous object that still had fight in it. The liquid was turning murky as the poison released into it. Refocusing on Ronin, I observed that there wasn't an overabundance of blood, so that meant the weapon hadn't nicked a major artery or vein.

Thank you, Mom, for being a practitioner. It helped.

After a few minutes, I stitched him up as neatly as possible, cleaned around the wound, and applied a bandage. The last step was to inject him with more medication in his right shoulder. He didn't even flinch.

I sat back down, bloody gloves and all, and watched him breathe. The little monster in the jar no longer moved. I took a long exhale, appreciating the fact that the weapon was dead.

After a minute of calming my shakes, I took his bloody shirt and towels from around him and hid them behind the curtain in case someone came in and saw them. After cleaning the bloody utensils in the bathroom, I laid them out to dry. That took about fifteen minutes; then, I headed out to the room to check on him. He was still asleep. His chest rose and fell more restfully now—a good sign.

I walked over to his huge, semi-frosted covered window and was able to see out. Lights lit up the nearby area and, from what I could see, the groundskeeper stayed busy. There was a heck of a lot more greenery than where we portal jumped.

In the middle of the estate, I spotted an enormous, glossy, metallic water fountain with the Ether military crest, the Vuszen, in the middle. The creature stood on its wolf hind legs as its eagle wings spread wide, its head held high. Water spewed from its open beak into the fountain below, surrounded by that same glossy material wall. Around the jet, a spread of grass covered the whole area. Each bush was cut in the shape of different animals. Different colored flowers decorated the garden with benches and steps leading down into where I could no longer see.

Guards stood at several key points holding unique weapons or at least ones I was not familiar with. Some looked over-sized, strapped over their backs, and others were small, gripped tightly in their hands.

The beautiful purple-red sky now had a hint of yellow in it. There seemed to be another gigantic planet hovering so close, you could touch it.

Will it one day fall on Ether?

“Connor.” The sound of my name brought me back down from the stars. Ronin blinked his eyes open. In only a matter of an hour or so, his coloring appeared healthier.

“Yes.” He reached his right arm out to me, and I walked over to him. “Are you in pain?”

He didn't answer me but instead grabbed my waist, lifted me over him, and positioned me next to him. It happened so fast. I didn't expect it or for him to be so strong. He rolled over and hugged me from behind, whispering, “Thank you.” Then, he drifted back to sleep.

I stiffened up, unsure of what to do—guilty. Never in a million years would I have imagined being here on Ether, let alone through Ronin's help. I thought about getting up once he was asleep but it felt so good being next to him. Before I knew it, my mind drifted off into slumber, knowing that, for this brief moment in time, we were safe.

* * *

“Finally. I thought you'd never wake up,” Ronin said when I stretched out on what had to be the comfiest bed I'd ever slept on. He stood by the window holding a mug of steaming liquid.

He sat down next to me, leaned over, and kissed me on the lips. Butterflies took flight. When he pulled back, I asked, “Why did you do that?” I blushed, feeling anxious, thinking of how dangerous he was, but that trait somehow made him more appealing. His heterochromia stare—one eye green and the other brown—mesmerized me.

“I don't… I don't know.” His voice cracked. It was the first time I'd ever seen him unsure of anything. “I just wanted to.” He got up and grabbed his shirt from a chair. “Anyway, thank you again for helping me last night. There is breakfast in the sitting area.” He pointed to the adjacent room, avoiding my gaze.

“Sitting area?” I sat up, pulling my knees in, and saw where he was referring to. Across from the bed and down three steps stood indeed a sitting area with three white couches, two orange lounge chairs, and a long metal table in the middle with a huge mirrored wall. All surrounded by windows and a sliding glass door.

As he donned his shirt, I could not help but stare. He was in great shape. He had a tattoo of a Vuszen, the Ethos military crest featuring the head of an eagle and the body of a wolf that covered his back. Crisscross daggers shielded his heart. His left upper arm was covered in a foreign language with tribal markings surrounding it. They stood out against his sun-kissed skin. His dark, shoulder length hair had carefree waves and it reminded me of the ocean.

He glanced over at me. I inhaled deeply and quickly faced away. I felt hot, the embarrassed kind.

He seemed so much more mature than the boys back home. Being royalty I'm sure played a part in that. He was probably used to mature females too, not girls who wore superhero shirts and baggy jeans like me. Then it dawned on me.

“Ronin, how old are you?” I asked, shifting over feeling a bit awkward just sitting there while he was up getting ready for the day.

“Why do you ask?” He walked into his closet.

“Just curious.” I began to blush. “I mean, you look young but I just wondered…”

“Eighteen. Why, I ask again?” He came out of the closet holding two black and gold daggers and looked between me and them.

“I don't' know.” I pushed a piece of hair behind my ear, now sitting on the edge of the bed. I watched him examine each weapon like I would a shirt. “It just seems like…”

“That I'm older?” He stared at me. “My speech and my demeanor are a product of my upbringing and title. In addition, going off world one needs to appear older than what they are. It's about survival. You're not the first to tell me that.” He went back in the closet and I heard him shut a cabinet, then walk back out with the bigger dagger. He sat on the window seat and applied black boots. “Let's eat. I need ten thousand calories a day. I can assume you do as well.”