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The yurt is warm, lit by the glowing embers of the slowly dying fire. It illuminates the wooden statues with their wide, gaping mouths and the bones strung from the rafters. It is not a welcoming space. Nothing aside from the furs in the corner looks particularly comfortable yet, in the few weeks that Quaritch has been with the Mangkwan, this place has become a home away from home.
He is dozing on the furs, gentle strands tickling his cheek, gazing into the fire, at the way the sparks dissipate in the air. He senses her a moment before she enters, the beads tinkling as she brushes past them.
Varang ignores him at first, crossing to her table covered in bowls of various crushed up herbs. She gathers a handful of something and throws it into the fire. It reignites, the flames blazing high again. She picks up a bowl, turns, and is gone again outside. A moment passes and she reappears, again ignoring him as she begins preparing something on the table, her body blocking what exactly it is.
“You’re gonna give me whiplash,” he comments. “Running around everywhere.” Varang glances over her shoulder, her tail flicking behind her. She gives him that look she does when he says something she doesn’t understand; something that doesn’t translate well. He flicks a hand at her. “Nevermind”
She turns away again and Quaritch takes that time to watch her. Her movements, always so graceful and eloquent. She has truly captivated him.
Varang rises and crosses the floor, a bowl in either hand, to stand over him. “Turn over,” she commands.
“Oh?” He raises an eyebrow at her and when her face doesn’t change, instead obliges and rolls onto his stomach. He feels her move and crouch over him and a moment later feels her weight on his lower back.
Quaritch looks over his shoulder, grinning up at her. “I can’t tell if I’m in trouble or not.”
“The opposite,” she answers. She bends down to smile into his face and goddamn there’s nothing he wouldn’t do to keep it there. “You are one of us now, Quaritch. It is time you look like us too.”
“That’s cryptic.”
Varang holds a hand to the nape of his neck and pushes him down. “Lie down.”
He obliges her again, resting his head down on his hands. He turns his head to the side to look at her, wondering what she’s doing, and she huffs, straightening it again so his chin rests on his hands and his spine is straight.
“Don’t move,” she commands. Her hands begin to run down his spine, pausing at each vertebrae. She dips a finger into the pot of paint next to her and marks the centre of each vertebrae. She is methodical, working her way down his spine, pausing each time he shifts to reposition him. She wants this to be perfect.
Quaritch is almost asleep by the time she’s done. As Varang’s weight lifts off him, he opens his eyes to follow her as she crosses back to the table. He’s just about to make a smart comment about that being the weirdest massage ever when she turns back to him holding the biggest needle he has ever seen.
“What is that?” he manages to ask, ashamed at how feeble and wobbly his voice sounds.
Varang crouches by his head, running her fingers through his short hair. “Usually, I let my warriors pierce themselves but I don’t want to risk you contracting some disease,” she says. He’s just about to tell her how that is not an answer when he properly comprehends what she’s just said.
“Hang on, piercing?” he says, rising onto his elbows. His tail flicks behind him, betraying his discomfort.
She barely glances at him as she moves to crouch by the fire. Placing the tip of the needle into the flames, she waits until the metal glows red before removing it and placing it into the bowl of water beside her. The hiss of cooling metal and the steam that rises from it sends a shiver down Quaritch’s spine.
Varang moves to once again settle herself on his lower back, pinning him. She pushes him down again. “Down. Be still.”
He thinks about arguing, about throwing her off, but by the time the thought has crossed his mind, her fingers are pinching his skin and the needle is pushed through. He grits his teeth but the pain is, surprisingly, not as bad as anticipated. Yeah, it hurts, but it’s not unbearable. The needle is pulled through and the metal rod inserted after it, secured by a ball end on either side.
“When it is healed, we can swap it for something else,” Varang tells him. She reaches over and places a bone in front of him, the two ends sharpened to points. He has seen the other warriors wear something similar and if it’s good enough for them…
She doesn’t wait for a response. She goes to sterilise the needle again and then pierces the skin over the next vertebrae. It suddenly clicks as to what she was doing earlier. Quaritch sighs, tensing as the needle goes through his skin again. This is going to be a long night.
After a long cycle of sterilise, pierce, repeat, Varang has finally reached the last vertebrae. She is sitting on his knees at this point in order to comfortably reach and the fire has died down again. He winces as the needle pierces him for the last time and sighs in relief as she finally stands up and moves back to the table. He’s never realised how heavy she is.
He begins to rise onto his forearms to follow her movements, and grunts as pain shoots down his back. Varang glances back at him and he thinks he sees concern in her eyes for a split second.
Quaritch closes his eyes as another wave of pain washes over him and when he opens them again, Varang is pushes a cup against his lips. “Drink. For the pain.”
He does and, after another long moment, the pain and discomfort fades enough for him to sit up. He reaches back and gingerly feels the piercings he can reach. No blood comes away on his fingers but he wasn’t expecting any. He looks at Varang’s back as she cleans up, sterilising the needle once again and laying it off to the side. Her gentility shouldn’t come as a surprise at this point, but it always does.
She comes to sit beside him when she’s done, gently turning him to look at her work. She grins at him. “Perfect. They will heal well.” She edges closer until she is sitting in his lap, curling her tail around his ankle. “You are one of us now. Mine. Always.”