Almost the Same

Malik tried to sleep during the night. He had curled up, outside the tent, and tried to close his eyes. The creature’s fangs greeted him every time. The weather was not warm; it leaned towards cool, but Malik kept jerking awake in a sweat. He stopped giving it the effort. There was no use, and he would feel worse if he kept trying. 

Callie gave a loud braying as she saw Malik sit up and glance over the camp. Malik held up his finger over his lips. “Shut up,” he said to her. Callie listened about as well as he expected she would, giving another loud braying. Malik just shook his head. The mule was simple, no denying it. He ignored her. 

Malik thought for a minute about waking Abrie and making him talk. That thought passed when he doubted it was even midnight. He would just have to sit alone and wait out the sun. 

Malik stood and stretched his muscles, before walking over to the tree where he had slung the water canteens. He took a long drink to wash the taste of sleep from his mouth. 

“Can I have a drink of that?” 

Malik screeched and dropped the full canteen to his feet. He scrambled to turn and face whoever had spoken, only to find that the girl, he had carried to the camp, had woken up. Embarrassment and shame riled. He bent down, clumsily and fumbled with the half-full canteen. 

Walking it over to where the girl sat, he passed it to her. She gave a chuckle and took it from his hands. After a long drink, she put the stopper back into the neck and handed it back to Malik, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. 

“Thank you,” she said. 

Malik shrugged, still trying to gather his bearings. Had the monster messed with him that bad? He jumped at girls now? He corrected himself, a girl who could swing a sword. Malik sat down across from the girl and said nothing to her. She stared back for a few moments. 

“I am Mollie,” she said, extending her hand toward him. 

Malik knew the correct response. He should introduce himself and shake her extended hand. Instead, he fumbled out an incoherent sentence and then fell backward off the rock. Lying there, he tried to figure out just what in the world went on with him. 

Mollie did not wait for him to gather himself. She stood over him with an outstretched hand. “Customary to shake the offered hand,” she laughed. 

Malik closed his eyes, trying to push down the embarrassment. Opening his eyes, he extended his hand toward her and grasped her palm. With a quick jerk, she had him on his feet. His face was rather close to her face. He could feel her breath on his cheeks. She cracked a smile. 

“What is your name, friend?” she asked, turning away from him. 

Malik looked down to hide his reddening cheeks from her. “I am Malik. The man in the tent, over there, is Abrie. We are traveling bards.” 

Mollie returned to her seat next to the fire. Malik followed suit and sat down beside her, so she could not look him in the eyes. 

“Well, I am glad you guys were here today,” Mollie said as her way of thanks. 

“What were you doing out here anyhow?” Malik asked, daring to turn a slight bit to look at her. 

Mollie looked around the camp. She stood and walked around the fire to where she had been sleeping a moment before. 

“Did you get my sword?” 

Malik pointed to where her sword just jutted out above the grass. Mollie gave a small sigh of relief and bent to grab it. 

“Father’s sword, at least it used to be my father’s sword. Guess it technically is my sword now.” 

Mollie flipped the sword in her hands a few times and then moved back to the rock, sitting the sword down at her feet. 

“I was here on a mission of sorts.” Mollie looked over at him. Malik felt like she assessed him for something. Her eyes trailed him up and down. “Do you fight?” 

Malik shook his head. “I am a bard. Not much fighting in my line of work. Although, I do start several fights; mostly between drunks in the inns and taverns.” 

Mollie bit her lip and turned toward the fire. “My village was a village of warriors. Some people would have called us mercenary people. My parents had been with the band for twenty years. My father taught me the sword.” 

Malik could see that the words pained her. There was no telling why, but tears made it apparent she was sorrowful. Malik decided against asking her about it. He would let her sit in silence if that were what she needed. 

Mollie kept talking though. “He told me once that I would make a great swordsman. Now, I will never reach that potential.” Mollie bent forward and ran her hand over the blade. “That is what life gives us though. Not always what we want, but what it wants us to have.” She moved her hand. 

“Where is your father? Can we help you get back to him?” Malik asked. 

The look on her face made him regret having spoken. Her eyes turned away, and her hand wiped at the tears that pooled in them. “Not unless you can find the dead.” 

Malik doubted very much anyone had those powers, so he kept his mouth quiet. Staring at the flames, he felt more awkward than he ever had. Even more awkward than the first time he tried playing on his own in a crowded inn. That night had felt like the worst night in the world⎯aside from his parent’s death⎯but he felt even worse than that now. 

Malik wondered how Mollie felt, but she did not give him any hints. He thought of a way to spark a new conversation, but all the words he came up with sounded dumb and died on his lips. Instead, he just sat there, staring at the fire and wishing he had the nerve to get up and move away. 

“It was the Tempre Warriors,” Mollie said almost too low to hear. 

Malik’s ears listened for those words. He would have heard them even if she had been a mile away because to him, they rang like church bells. No longer was he embarrassed or uncomfortable. He no longer thought about anything else. Twirling on Mollie, he got right in front of her, no longer caring how red his face was. 

“Did you say the Tempre Warriors?” 

She looked at him with growing confusion. He realized how close and animated he was. He took only a small step back. 

“I thought I heard you say the Tempre Warriors.”

Mollie looked him over.

“Yes, do you know of them?” 

Malik nodded his head frantically. He knew them. He knew them well, better than anyone else in the world. He had read every book he could sneak on them. He had visited every library that had any information on them at all. Though there had been little. The Tempre Warriors made it a point not to be written about. Those who did, met untimely fates and their books were burned on principle. 

“They attacked my village when I was younger. Killed my entire family and everyone else I had ever known.” 

Mollie looked even more confused. Malik realized then that he smiled from ear to ear as he described his family’s death. On realization, the smile dropped. He backed away further, feeling foolish. 

“I don’t know what came over me,” he said. His heart had almost exploded from excitement. “I have just known no one else brave enough to speak of them.”

Mollie just stared at him. 

“How do you know of them?” 

Mollie cast her eyes toward her father’s sword again. Malik thought he had scared her into silence. He had ruined his only shot at ever talking to another living soul about the Warriors. He wanted to move forward and shake her, telling her she had to talk to him. 

“I was telling you that they attacked my village. The Tempre Warriors killed my parents as well. That is why I am here. They are moving east, and I plan to find them.” 

Malik heard the words for the first time out of someone else’s mouth and realized how foolish they sounded. 

“They came to my village two weeks ago. They came in the night and burned our buildings and crops. Then they killed the men, my father included. After, they gathered those who had not run or were too old to do so. They killed the elderly, and they took the young with them as slaves. They killed my mother when she tried sneaking up on the leader. They tied me down and threw me into the group.” Mollie massaged her wrists as she spoke. “I broke the bonds and ran back to the village, hoping to save whatever remained. I found my father’s sword, but the Tempre had burned the bodies and the rest of everything.” 

Mollie looked up with tears pooling in her eyes again. Malik turned away from her, feeling like he had invaded on something he should have never seen. 

Mollie lifted her hand and wiped away the streaming drops. “The worst part of all of this.” Malik looked back at her. “The worst of it all was that men and women in my village took up the sword with the Tempre. They slaughtered those they had called family. They took the children of those they had once called a friend.” Mollie took a deep breath. “It is for the dead, I move to find them. It is for the dead that I will kill every one of them.” 

Malik felt her hatred. He knew the pain of losing loved ones. He knew what she felt. Yet, for the first time, he realized how hopeless it would be. Was this what Abrie saw when he looked at him? Was this why Abrie preached his words of wisdom? If this girl went looking for the Tempre Warriors, she would only find death. There was no revenge waiting at the end of the road. 

“The night I woke up, and the Tempre stood over my bedroll was the scariest night of my life. I do not think I will ever forget the screams. I have forgotten so much about the night. I do not know how I survived it. I do not know who killed my parents. I cannot remember anything but those screams. They will never leave me, no matter how hard I aim to forget.” Malik felt his own warm tears leaking down his cheek. “I would love nothing more than to seek revenge on the men who did that to my people.” Malik tried to bring up passion. 

“But you do not fight,” Mollie said. 

Malik chuckled. It did not fit the moment, but she was right. He would never be the person to get revenge, but she would never find it either. Not just her and that sword; no matter what it was made of. 

Malik may have told her that. He may have tried to bring her back to reality, tried to save her from the thoughts in her own head. Abrie took that moment to clear his throat, however. 

“You two should get some sleep,” he said, sticking his head out of the tent flap. Abrie pretended he just now got around to waking, but Malik knew him better than that. Abrie had heard the entire conversation. He knew what had happened to them both; not that Malik ever hid his story before. Abrie would give them both the speech in the morning, about forgetting the past and moving forward, or about not letting the nets of yesterday pull away at today. He would come up with hundreds of sayings as they traveled into the next town. Malik would listen like he always did, having no choice but to do so. 

Abrie stuck his head back into the tent flap and disappeared. 

“Tomorrow, I will get him to tell me how he knows the workings of a bow,” Malik said. 

“What do you mean?” Mollie asked. 

Malik turned back around, forgetting she had been behind him. 

“Nothing. He is right, you should get some more rest. It has been a long day for everyone.”