Memento Mori: 17

Memento Mori: 17

The temple of Ilmater was cool and dim, a welcome contrast to the bright, sticky afternoon waxing outside its heavy doors. Awash in sweat and half-blind from the short walk from the circus, the Hunter sent Sheridan forward to dicker with the priest for the price of the healings, which should have been free as a courtesy between churches. With an ear turned toward the haggling, she sank to her heels in the shadows of the foyer, resting her head against the plaster wall and reveling in the dark peace.

Eyes closed, she removed Sheridan's leather gauntlets, which had given her hands a measure of protection against the sun, and rested them on her knee. Gloves, she thought, ticking off each priority by tapping a finger on her leg, then to find Minsc and Rakeh, and then to see to the dead. And then -- only then -- perhaps I may feed. The promise of coming sustenance dulled the razor edge of her unnatural hunger, making it easier to bear, but only a bit. Her insides felt twisted and hollow, and she had to bite down on her lip to keep from sighing again.

"Are you sick?" Rakeh's voice made the Hunter's eyes pop open. The giogoto boy stood in the arch separating the entry foyer from the temple's main hall. The bruises and cuts marring his skin were gone, and his newly scrubbed face and hands shone whitely in the dim light.

"Bie", the Hunter said softly. She braced her back against the wall and slid up it to stand, catching the gauntlets before they fell to the floor. "Not sick. Only tired. This day, it has been a long one for me, and it is not at an end yet." She nodded at him. "And you, you are better, yes?"

"They gave me a potion," Rakeh said, making a disgusted face. "It tasted like warm pee." When the Hunter frowned at the description, Rakeh insisted, "Well it did!"

"So you say. I have not tasted either a potion or that to which you compare it." She grinned a little at the boy to tease him. "I am told its taste is similar to ale, and that is a taste that does not please my tongue." At the far end of the temple's main hall, she spied Sheridan waving his arms energetically in the grey-robed Ilmatari's face as he repeated the priest's latest offer. She winced. Thirteen hundred still, when the price had originally been fifteen. The cost of the floating disc, she thought, staring hard at Sheridan's back as if to send him her instructions telepathically, It was not asked by me for him to create the disc, so such a thing should come to us for free. And Rakeh was given a potion, a thing we could purchase from any apothecary. Surely a concession can be made there.

"So, you know him?" Rakeh pointed across the hall at Sheridan.

The Hunter nodded absently. Twelve seventy-five. She would have to go over there and bargain for him. "He is a friend and a protege."

"What's that mean, protojay? Is he like your boyfriend or something?"

A slow blush crept up the Hunter's cheeks, and she was again glad of the darkness. "At one time--" she began, then stopped. The length of years since that brief affair had ended were nearly equal to Rakeh's age. He surely didn't need hear its details. "-- I taught to him all that is known to me," she frowned again when she thought of the money he was losing in the bargaining, "or perhaps not all known to me. But he is a fine hunter, and I do not doubt that together we will hunt while I am within the walls of this city."

"Oh." Rakeh rubbed one bare foot hard against the floor and stared at his toes. "So ... I guess you won't need me to guide you around then, since you'll have him and all."

In dim shadowy light, the Hunter could see as well as most humans could in morning sun. Rakeh wore a guarded expression that did little to hide his little hopes. Half of which she was certain were mercenary. No doubt she had formed something of a bond with the boy since her arrival. He recognized her as kin and was curious enough about his family to wish to explore it through her. But he was also a child of the street, who would not choose sentimentality over cold, hard coin. "That was not said by me," she said. "He has duties, as I have my own. He cannot be at my side at all times. It matters not, for you have agreed already, bar to be of help to me."

Rakeh perked up, his face lit by a relieved smile that quickly turned into a crafty grin. "So you'll keep paying me. Cause you gotta pay me for helping you."

"It was agreed to pay with food, shelter and clothing. And the agreement was accepted by you."

"Oh. Yeah. Um, ..." Rakeh's small brow wrinkled in consternation. "But you haven't paid me that yet."

"That is untrue. To you was given coin for food. Also coin to attend the circus show."

"Yeah," Rakeh snorted, "a circus of death where I got turned into a spider and nearly died a million times!"

"And from which you were rescued by me and mine. And by and by, we shall feed again, and at the church clothes and comfort will be found before you must set out to be a guide to me again. Our scales are equal, bitti bar. No more coin is owed to you by me."

Rakeh whined, "But I need it! I gotta go!" The Hunter arched a questioning eyebrow at him, and he blurted out, "I got other things I gotta do first. I gotta make sure I'm not missing out on anything else."

The Hunter nodded, wanting to chuckle but not daring to. The boy was Romany, no doubt, for he bargained well for a mere stripling. But the Hunter had years and experience upon him, so she shrugged and said, "It is not my wish to take you from such pressing matters, bar. It would be my preference for you to stay, but if it your wish to go, I would not hold you--."

"No! No, no," Rakeh said hastily. "I wanna stay with you, I just--" he stopped and took a breath, searching for his words carefully -- "it's a sure thing to get coin on the street. So I gotta know that I'll get the same from you. Cause, you know, what's to keep you from taking off?"

Now the Hunter did smile, though it was a sad one. He did not place his trust in her heart, but only in her purse. She would have to work to change that. "So you wish for me to pay to you a retainer, yes?"

"Yup," Rakeh replied promptly. After a moment, he asked, "What's that?"

"To you, I will give a sum of coin, which reminds you that to me you owe your services, above all others. Agree you to this?" The Hunter held out her arm for Rakeh to take.

The boy nodded and grabbed her hand in his, a gadje handshake. The Hunter shook off his grip and clasped his forearm instead, using her other hand to guide his fingers to grip her arm. "This is the way we seal bargains," she said. "And it is a dire thing for a Rom to break his word to another. There is much of our ways to be learned by you, but that I will teach to you for free."

"Yeah?" Rakeh grinned. He did not release the Hunter's arm until she did, but then he held out his hand palm upward. "So you gotta pay me." When the Hunter rolled her eyes, he said, "the re ... retainable. You said you would."

"Arvalie, I did," she sighed. "Bater. What amount is fair to you?"

"A hundred," Rakeh said without a hint of shame.

"Si nanti dinilio. Such an amount is not worth even a bodyguard. Five."

"Five!! I can beg that in an hour. All right ... um, sixty then." They sparred back and forth for a moment, with the Hunter raising her offer in tiny increments and Rakeh dropping his too much each time. Finally they settled on twenty pieces, in addition to food and whatever he could pick up on their adventures. She dug the coins from her depleted purse and spilled them into his waiting hands.

Sheridan lightly touched her elbow. "Good," he said, looking a trifle harried, "you're giving out cash. I need whatever you can give me."

The Hunter snorted and grumbled, "Do I look to you to be Waukeen?" But she handed him her remaining fifty gold pieces. "What price?"

"Nine-eighty-six. Aw, c'mon, Buffy, don't look at me like that. It's your fault for telling him you're with the church. If he thought you were just an adventurer, he'd have healed your bunch for a donation."

"And that is a thing you will tell to me the why of," she said as Sheridan hustled back to the priest with the meager down payment. She looked at Rakeh. "I have nothing more to give to you now, truly. Soske? Have horns grown upon my head to make you stare upon me so?"

"Is that your name? I mean, what you're called."

"Bie, it is not what I am called. It is what he calls me to annoy me."

"Can I call you Buffy?"

Bie, you may not."

Rakeh snickered and said, "Aw, c'mon, Bu--" The Hunter looked the boy the way she looked at prey. He gulped and said, "--ut I gotta go." He pocketed the coin and headed toward the door.

"A moment," the Hunter called after him, "how is it known to me that you will return to my side?"

"Because I promised," Rakeh replied matter-of-factly. "Really. I'll find you as soon as I get done with my stuff." Rakeh opened the door a crack and slipped his scrawny frame through the narrow opening. Hazy golden sunshine fell in a bar across the floor's stones, driving the Hunter back several paces. "Bye, Buffy!" he shouted, then sped out the door, leaving behind his voice to echo the aggravating name through the temple.

"Bitti beng," the Hunter muttered, rubbing the white after-image of the light from her vision. He would return to her, of that she was fairly certain. He knew there was food and coin to be had from her. With such comforts to entice him, she would lure him away from the streets and perhaps eventually back to the wagons of nearest caravan. It was not right that a Romany chiavala would live like a rat in the gutter.

"Where's he going?" Sheridan asked as he approached her.

The Hunter gave her eyes another rub and turned to meet the half-elven cleric. She handed him his gauntlets. "To clear his schedule." She quickly explained their agreement, then asked, "And how are the others, the elven maid and the ray chingare?"

"I'm guessing you're asking about the big tattooed guy with the hamster," he said with a grin. He always was smiling, for he found delight in nearly everything, an odd trait for a servant of the morose deathgod Jergal. "He's sleeping off the healing. He'll probably be out until tomorrow. So's the gnome. And the elf," he shook his head, "she's in the back pouring her heart out to one of the priests like she's never had an ear to bend before. Poor kid. She's pretty, though. Do you think I could get a shot with her?"

The Hunter shrugged one arm out of one packstrap and swung the pack around so she could open it and burrow through it for her spare gloves. "She has upon you a century in years, at the very least."

"You know how I like older women. Speaking of that," he took hold of the pack and tugged at it to lead the Hunter to a dark and secluded corner, "Guess what I got the Ilmatari to throw into the deal?" He held up a vial of a light blue healing potion. The Hunter quirked a questioning eyebrow at him, and he said, "It's for me, after you take some blood from me so I don't keel over."

The Hunter's eyes widened at his bold suggestion and she looked over his shoulder to make sure no one heard him. But the very mention of the opportunity for blood made her mouth suddenly water and her hunger slice at her senses. "Here? Now?" He nodded. "May dilimata, it is madness to suggest such a thing when we are in public!"

"Relax, Buff! There's no one here to see, and I meant for you to have a quick snack, not a meal. We'll be done before anyone notices." He nudged her further into the shadows, then leaned down next to her ear to whisper, "I don't think you know how bad you look, sweetheart. You look more like a vampire than your lovely self, and I'd rather you had your wits together when we go back to that massacre."

It had been three years since the Hunter had stood so close beside Sheridan, and she had forgotten how compatible they were in height. He stood a head above her, so that her chin could rest easily upon his shoulder. And her lips could easily kiss the side of his neck, where his blood pulsed warmly. Only by sheer will did she stop herself from throwing him to the floor and taking what he offered, what she wanted so badly. "You are ... you are certain?" she asked weakly.

"Certain as a beating," he said. He raised one arm and turned it so that his forearm faced her. "So real quick, why don't you go ahead--"

The Hunter sprang forward before he could finish his sentence, dropping her bag at their feet and locking her arms around him to pull him close. His scent was just as she remembered, of sweat and dusty tomes, and that delicious smell that was his own. The skin of his neck was soft and salty under her lips, and it gave way easily to her teeth. His sweet blood filled her mouth, and she drank deeply from him, letting the dusky, iron taste of him roll over her tongue before gulping it down to draw another mouthful.

"Yeeowtch!" Sheridan gasped, shuddering as she bit into him. He ran his hands down her arms, as if to push her away, but did not. Instead one hand came up to hold her head, while the other pressed upon her side. His blood spurted into her mouth as his pulse quickened. "I was going to ... going to give you my wrist, but all right ... Jergal's quills ..." he moaned softly.

The Hunter's arms twined around his head and shoulders, holding him as closely to her as she would a lover. Her breaths came in soft, ragged gasps as she drank deep of him, so taken by the ecstasy of a deep craving finally answered that she writhed sensuously against him. Sheridan groaned softly in pain and in pleasure. From the way his body quivered against hers, the way one hand helplessly stroked her back, the Hunter knew that her lethal kiss was arousing something dark and deep within him almost as much as within her. No better aphrodisiac existed than a flirtation with death. It was not mere propriety that kept the Hunter from feeding off strangers, but the reluctance to share such intimacy with anyone who did not love her.

The pop of a cork interrupted the Hunter's feed, and hazily she recalled its meaning. As Sheridan drank the potion, his throat bobbing against her cheek, the Hunter removed her teeth from his skin. But she kept her lips against the wound, lapping up the remaining blood as the potion sealed his skin into an smooth, unbroken whole. When she pulled away, she furtively licked her lips and rubbed the back of her hand across her mouth to cleanse them. Now that her hunger was partially sated, she felt a momentary shame at her weakness, and turned away from him so that she did not have to face him.

"Whooooo," Sheridan sighed shakily, rubbing lightly at his neck with his fingers. "Wow. Been a long time since we did that. I'd forgotten how ... intense ... that was. Why'd we break up again?" Without waiting for an answer, he touched the Hunter's chin, forcing her to look up at him. Instead of the condemnation and disgust she feared to see in those she took from, she saw only worried affection. He gently rubbed a spot of blood from the corner of her mouth. "All better now, sweetheart?"

"Is there something you forgot?" a voice echoed through the foyer, making them both jump. Sheridan turned, and the Hunter looked around him at the grey-robed priest with whom he had been haggling earlier. "Or do I even want to know what you're doing?"

"Sorry, sorry," Sheridan dropped one arm around the Hunter's shoulders. "We haven't seen each other in a while and we're just catching up. You know how it is, young lovers and all," he said cheerfully. He gasped when the Hunter elbowed him in the ribs. "What is it, honey bunny? Ready for more?"

"Ilmater give me strength," the priest muttered. "Just get out of here before I call the guard. This is a temple, Sheridan, not the Coronet."

The Hunter shoved Sheridan away from her and picked up her bag. He took it from her and started rooting through it for her. "When shall we return to fetch our warrior? And, of course, to pay to the temple what it is owed for its kindness?"

"He'll be up and around tomorrow sometime, if you want to come back." The priest put more emphasis than she thought was necessary on if.

"Then I will return at dusk on the morrow," the Hunter said firmly. Sheridan gave her the gloves he had found in her bag, and she pulled them on as she marched toward the door, passing near enough to the priest to hear him mutter that he would not hold his breath for her return. She adjusted her scarf so that it again shrouded her face in shadow, then pushed open the temple door and stepped into the sun.

The Hunter paused on the step and waited for her eyes to adjust to the punishing glare. Sheridan placed her bag in her hands, then held her arms to steady her while she shrugged it onto her shoulders. "Tell to me why he would say such a thing to you, and to me. Our gods and theirs, our purposes and theirs, they are allied to one another."

"Yeeeeah," Sheridan drawled, blowing out his breath and looking over the Promenade. "We're a long way from Waterdeep, Buffy. Things are different here, and not in a good way. That's why I was glad when you wrote and said you were coming. I was hoping you'd help me change it." He turned to face her, his grim expression making him seem strange to her.

"If I can, me morosa, you know that I will." She squeezed his hand.

"Yeah, I know, you're a sucker that way." He smiled, though it showed a ghost of his usual cheer. Over his shoulder the Hunter caught sight of a gang of workers leaving the circus tent, dragging covered wagons behind them.

Sheridan followed her gaze. "That was fast," he said. He pulled the Hunter off the step and they headed together toward the workers. "C'mon. I'll tell you all about it on the way to the church. And you can tell me what brings you to Athkatla."

Glossary, Romany:
giogoto -- half-Rom
Bie -- No
bar -- brother
bitti -- little
gadje -- non-Rom
Arvalie -- yes
Bater -- Such as it is
Si nanti dinilio -- Don't be crazy.
Soske -- What
Bitti beng -- little devil
chiavala -- boy
ray chingare -- great warrior
May dilimata -- it is madness