The Plight of Miyada
Posted: Wed Mar 06, 2019 8:19 am
Tomasu woke to the sounds of broken men. Only exhaustion, deep-set and damning, had allowed him any rest, but now the moans of the wounded and the sick returned, just barely audible over the ceaseless hammering of rain and claps of thunder overhead. Many of the people lay in the dirt, or sat huddled amid the pallets and debris around him in the shelter—a hastily-patched-up lean-to that had been expanded to cover half of the village square, protecting people from the torrential storm outside. For a while he had pitied those around him, even as he lay among them, but he just couldn’t summon the emotions to care anymore. What was the point? Every morning there would be one or two who failed to wake, and his grief had been spent weeks ago. He’d lost everything. His wife, his children, even his leg. Soon, the rest of him would follow. The leg festered, a blaze of pain that radiated through his whole body, a little worse with each passing day.
Groaning, he rolled to the side and fished in the mud to find his crutch—a scrap of wooden spar, tied with a filthy rag around one end for padding—and with some effort used it to push himself upwards and stand. Each step sent a fresh stab of pain shooting up through the stump of his missing leg, but he couldn’t bear to lie there any longer. He needed something, anything, to dull his senses. The docks, he decided quickly. The fishermen always have a bottle or two hidden away. The trick was convincing them to share it. Perhaps he could trade for one? But for what? Maybe they would take pity on him again. He put the problem out of his mind; it was enough to focus on one thing at a time. One step at a time.
He hobbled clumsily out of the shelter and into the pelting rain outside. It thrashed at him, finding the last parts of him that were somewhat dry and soaking them through in a moment. If only I had more elixir… That would solve everything. The day he’d found it he’d returned to the village a hero. The bearer of that wonderful ambrosia. It might not restore his leg or his family, but it’d kill the rot, numb the pain, and fill him with happiness. Maybe he could even sell it… He yearned for it, more and more each day since he’d found it. Just thinking about it seemed to give him energy; the memory of its warmth was like the feeling of having just embraced a lover. But the memory came with a deep-set yearning, a need for it that dominated all other desires.
A fork of lightning suddenly lit the street, illuminating a single figure running in his direction and snapping him back to reality. They were yelling, voice lost to the rumbling of the storm. That rumbling grew louder and louder; it wasn’t the clap of thunder, or even the terrible roar of splitting earth that had struck the village weeks earlier. Suddenly a wave of rushing, dirty water cascaded into view out of the storm ahead, surging towards him in the night. He stumbled in shock, dropping his crutch and grasping for a nearby building for support, but without his leg he was too slow. The body of the wave hit, slamming him into a wall with such force as to stun. It teared and pulled at him even as it surged around him, sucking him down and overwhelming him. He thrashed, helpless against the force of the water, until it took him under its surface. He couldn’t kick. He flailed, but was too weak to overcome the current and the raging, broiling waves. Slowly his spent body slowed its thrashing, his mind fuzzed, and everything faded to blissful, painless darkness…
Many miles away, the village of Kirigakure came alive to a warm spring morning. The kiss of mist-dampened sunlight reached through to many of the rooves and streets, and made the pale white skin of Aisu Naohiro glow where it touched. The teenager smiled faintly, enjoying the warmth as he waited near one of the villages’ many wharves along its coast. In his pocket was a small scroll of crisp white paper bearing the seal of the Mizukage that contained his orders; a briefing about the struggles of a distant Water Country village called Miyada. Though it detailed a number of concurrent disasters and a request for support, the whole situation wouldn’t be clear until he and his mission partner arrived to investigate and help personally.
Nearby, their ship waited to ferry them across the country to the village. All that remained was to meet his colleague for the trip…
Groaning, he rolled to the side and fished in the mud to find his crutch—a scrap of wooden spar, tied with a filthy rag around one end for padding—and with some effort used it to push himself upwards and stand. Each step sent a fresh stab of pain shooting up through the stump of his missing leg, but he couldn’t bear to lie there any longer. He needed something, anything, to dull his senses. The docks, he decided quickly. The fishermen always have a bottle or two hidden away. The trick was convincing them to share it. Perhaps he could trade for one? But for what? Maybe they would take pity on him again. He put the problem out of his mind; it was enough to focus on one thing at a time. One step at a time.
He hobbled clumsily out of the shelter and into the pelting rain outside. It thrashed at him, finding the last parts of him that were somewhat dry and soaking them through in a moment. If only I had more elixir… That would solve everything. The day he’d found it he’d returned to the village a hero. The bearer of that wonderful ambrosia. It might not restore his leg or his family, but it’d kill the rot, numb the pain, and fill him with happiness. Maybe he could even sell it… He yearned for it, more and more each day since he’d found it. Just thinking about it seemed to give him energy; the memory of its warmth was like the feeling of having just embraced a lover. But the memory came with a deep-set yearning, a need for it that dominated all other desires.
A fork of lightning suddenly lit the street, illuminating a single figure running in his direction and snapping him back to reality. They were yelling, voice lost to the rumbling of the storm. That rumbling grew louder and louder; it wasn’t the clap of thunder, or even the terrible roar of splitting earth that had struck the village weeks earlier. Suddenly a wave of rushing, dirty water cascaded into view out of the storm ahead, surging towards him in the night. He stumbled in shock, dropping his crutch and grasping for a nearby building for support, but without his leg he was too slow. The body of the wave hit, slamming him into a wall with such force as to stun. It teared and pulled at him even as it surged around him, sucking him down and overwhelming him. He thrashed, helpless against the force of the water, until it took him under its surface. He couldn’t kick. He flailed, but was too weak to overcome the current and the raging, broiling waves. Slowly his spent body slowed its thrashing, his mind fuzzed, and everything faded to blissful, painless darkness…
Many miles away, the village of Kirigakure came alive to a warm spring morning. The kiss of mist-dampened sunlight reached through to many of the rooves and streets, and made the pale white skin of Aisu Naohiro glow where it touched. The teenager smiled faintly, enjoying the warmth as he waited near one of the villages’ many wharves along its coast. In his pocket was a small scroll of crisp white paper bearing the seal of the Mizukage that contained his orders; a briefing about the struggles of a distant Water Country village called Miyada. Though it detailed a number of concurrent disasters and a request for support, the whole situation wouldn’t be clear until he and his mission partner arrived to investigate and help personally.
Nearby, their ship waited to ferry them across the country to the village. All that remained was to meet his colleague for the trip…