Journey at Dawn ii "A gun came in handy"

Night loomed through skeletal trees as Jiro and Ruka trudged home with med loads weighing far less than dread clamped around their ribs. Past wary gate sentries,

.........

Jiro wordlessly rushed the cache straight toward Healer Kalia’s cabin by lantern light streaked with rain.

Questions would be kept; treatment must begin swiftly.

Kalia scanned each instrument and bottle against the needs of patients she could already match like family.

********

Jiro stared floorwards bracing as thunder shook shutters.

‘Relieve suffering first, doubts can wait’ he implored gruffly. Kalia hesitated only a heartbeat before selecting antibiotics with a physician’s discipline eclipsing wider qualms.

“Our needs outweigh abstraction now. I will treat the worst infections before we three discuss implications."

She eyed him directly as the rain roared louder.

"Go summon Speaker Han then return so we can align ethics evenly."

Ruka departed to retrieve Han from Assembly Hall while Jiro sat knotted by conflict. However obtained, these medicines flowed towards healing rather than harm by Kalia’s trusted hands.

Beyond that compass heading, he must trust Han’s wisdom to chart a course as night storms build.

Within the Hall,

Speaker Han listened intently to revelations then sat silently weighing lives soon prolonged by Jiro’s anguished trespass.

When she finally met his eyes, her voice held only compassion.

"Dire straits pare choice beyond ideal paths yet we walk together. Come, share supper. No judgments can pass until dawn."

Jiro exited gingerly into muted rain, his duties now expanded rather than lightened. But for this suspended moment, refuge still held against the chaos crowding night's borders.

.................Over subsequent days,

Jiro barely left Kalia’s infirmary cabin except to restock precious medicines from his hidden trove.

triage lines stretched continually as infections mysteriously surfaced requiring exotic antibiotics and antivirals to turn fatal crises towards recovery no local herb could catalyze alone.

Jiro monitored treatment queues anxiously, constantly struggling to calculate rationing rates against their finite bounty from the abandoned bunker.

Lives are surely balanced against supply caps by attrition's cold math. As the sickest refugees began astonishing turnarounds,

Jiro weighed steep costs obscured from celebrating survivors. Someone yet would birth a stillborn when augmenters ran dry or vigil wounds unexpectedly took mortal turns.

Those bloody ledgers demanded balancing beyond prayer’s reach.

Guilty relief turned pyrrhic faster than forest stirred by unexpected smoke.

When rare stability allowed respite, Jiro slumped numb barely registering Ruka gently cleaning his battered hands and pressing tea into calloused grip.

Her whispered praise for selfless duty echoed down well shafts long gone dry.

.....Each dose dispensed wore deeper emotional grooves no written oath had etched before fugitive trails converged here. Who prepared any healer to navigate rescue and harm twinned so tightly that human sight failed to parse one from the other?

In darker moments,

Jiro reconsidered concealing even a portion of the impossible inventory squandered remote and undiscovered.

***************

What council could calculate fair dividends from such an awful principal?

Were they not better severed entirely from the linked prospects and perils of a techno-past fertile with unintended fruits ready to fall?

Had those founders enacted sufficient restraints upon custody over life and death amplified ten thousandfold by instruments capable of benevolence and malevolence equally?

Jiro wrapping oozing stomach wounds suffered his doubts cauterizing perhaps too cruelly.

But Ruka’s gentle wisdom weathered his bitterness when exhaustion warped perspectives. Counterbalancing human traumas constantly skewed internal gyroscopes towards harsh refuge. First, restore equilibrium between the body and heart.

Deeper reckonings await sturdier souls. Through bitterest nights she repeated gentle counsel that he alone had steered them clear of greater evils waiting unchecked.

.......Hold fast to that star fixture. Dawn's new mercy would surely wash clean yesterday's blood stains.

Gradually the worst at Death’s door recovered, and Kalia’s healing gift granted fresh wings.

........Jiro watched Ruka embrace their healer, both women near fainting from fatigue. Priceless antibiotics had bought a season’s grace, however dearly. Now, perhaps, sanctuary breathed freer if not easier.

Among the mending,

Jiro noted an elder named Tobo demanding Ruka’s full attention retelling his youthful adventures ranging the upper peaks as licensed hunter and guide.

The old tracker still clutched a battered handcrafted case that never left his side during treatment.

Inside lay an ancient 12-gauge Benelli M3

****Length: 1200 mm (47 in); 1040 mm (41 in) (stock folded)

******Caliber: 12 or 20-gauge

****Cartridge: 12 or 20-gauge shells or slugs

tactical shotgun with custom scrollwork somehow preserved through bygone days when gunsmiths were revered almost as Medicine Men before ammo stores emptied. Jiro himself eyed the majestic firearm with awe. A disruptor blast capable of shattering mechanized horrors or barricaded gates.

And in Ruka's steady hands, hope was embodied.

When healed limbs allowed his discharge, Tobo clasped Jiro's forearm in thanks for services rendering far beyond barter's reach.

Then drawing Ruka near, Tobo offered solemn oatholder's bequest.

"In lonelier seasons this gun was company before higher roads called my feet. Now Sky Father entrusts it to stalwart daughter. May it shield your path ahead."

Ruka accepted with misting eyes,

the Benelli suddenly weighing her arms with a lifetime's marshalled grit against certain doom.

Jiro stood taller himself,

Tobo's conferred blessing and blade-sharp memory returned to cut new trails home towards courage over dread.

Whatever weaponry their next horizon demanded, Ruka would answer its roar. And Jiro reloaded each empty cartridge with silver grains honouring elders who aimed truer.

All debts lay squared, all stray paths converging now So they must trust unwaveringly that night breached toward dawn.

Before parting toward his remote valley shelter, Tobo etched a crude but accurate chart marking a concealed Cave Cache known from his far-ranging ventures.

If strength allowed a long trek before the deepest winter,

Jiro might secure additional provisions to buffer survival's knife blade margin. Belly full and shotgun blessed,

Tobo gripped Jiro's shoulder wordlessly until parting left only footsteps fading towards destiny and duty waiting impatiently. They each donned mantles in turn.. ........

********That night Jiro dreamed of stars burning righteous pathways home through the tallest pines until Lissa touched his brow, murmuring comforts from before Fate's thread tangled all known patterns........

....

He awoke oddly renewed. However twisted behind or ahead, Right Walking mattered most. There were no unsacred grounds.

And Ruka smiled knowingly from her watch post, shotgun cleaned lovingly across strong knees. All spirits shriven through the longest night.