I think this is a good thing that Bane has a soul-mate in Akar, a little boy who needs the kind of guidance and encouragement that Bane can give him. He certainly isn't acceptable LoS material except as a servant, but Bane knows he is better than the way he is perceived. I love how Bane references the mythology of the wolf. How Cormac McCarthy!Baniac wrote:Sandy, in case you haven't read it, there's a chapter before this one on the previous page.
Sixteen
The rest of the morning was spent in the dojo where Temujin painstakingly explained and demonstrated a variety of techniques. Bane expected to quickly master at least the most basic taijutsu, but his instructor proved him wrong. Though he indulged Bane’s attempts time and time again, Bane always found himself pinned, sometimes painfully, by the smaller man. And to make matters worse, Temujin seemed to be playfully enjoying his display of superiority, as were the other students.
“Humility, my friend,” the Mongol said into his ear while uncomfortably restraining Bane’s arms behind him, “is a part of seishinteki kyōyō—your spiritual refinement, the first of the eighteen disciplines of ninjutsu. We have much work to be done there…as well as here.” He tapped a finger against Bane’s head, chuckled then freed his sweating student.
“If you separate my shoulders, meditation is about all I’ll be able to do,” Bane complained drily, carefully flexing his arms. He had separated his right shoulder during his first escape attempt from the pit, an old injury that he had almost forgotten until Temujin’s efforts to turn him into a human pretzel had so rudely reminded him.
One of the doors to the dojo opened, and Akar—a thirteen-year-old Bhutanese boy—appeared. He stood upon the threshold, politely waiting to be noticed, fidgeting with his eye patch. Akar lacked not only his left eye but his left arm as well, having suffered the loss of both years earlier to a wolf attack that had also killed his father. The orphaned child had been found near death, and villagers had carried him to the monastery in search of healing. Akar had been here ever since, helping Jamyang with cooking and other domestic duties.
“Your salvation has arrived, Bane,” Temujin grinned when he saw Akar. “Time for our midday meal, it would appear.”
The scarring on Akar’s face made his smile of assent slightly lopsided. He gave a small bow and retreated to resume his duties.
Bane watched him go while retrieving his shirt. During the weeks of his recovery, Bane had come to know Akar little by little. The boy was notoriously shy, even around Talia, no doubt because of his deformities, but over time he had warmed to Bane, spending a few minutes talking when he would come to Bane’s room with fresh linens for his bed or, more recently, with his meals. Bane figured his own injuries made Akar feel more comfortable with him than with the physically sound men who otherwise surrounded him.
All in the dojo filed out, making their way with much talk and stress-relieving laughter to the common room in the dormitory. The welcoming scent of food—venison in particular—greeted them. Rations at the monastery were a combination of wild game, domestic animals, and foodstuffs carried in from various outside sources. Jamyang and Akar also tended a small greenhouse where herbs and other hardy produce grew with the help of artificial light. Talia took great joy in assisting them. As soon as Bane had been able to leave his bed, she had taken him by the hand to show him the greenhouse. After so many years of subsisting on very little in prison, seeing and tasting such fresh, organic wonders amazed them.
Bane heard Talia’s voice now from above as she left her tutor and descended to the common room. But as she drew closer, Bane did not hear her light tread; instead he heard the booted footfalls of a man, an unfamiliar step. Curious, Bane waited for her instead of directly heading up to his room.
Down the last flight of steps came Damien Chase, a grin on his face and Talia upon his shoulders, laughing at something, her face alight in the room’s dim atmosphere. As usual, her lyrical laughter drew smiles from all who settled around the large table. Bane’s smile, however, died a quick death at the foreign sight of Talia with Chase. Chase witnessed this swift transition, and his own grin broadened.
“Bane!” Talia cried. “What did Jin teach you today?”
The mask’s opiate was swiftly wearing off, and Bane blamed that for his instant irascibility. “I will tell you about it this evening,” he replied as he started past them toward the stairs.
“Bane?” Talia’s tone changed, and he knew that she sensed his mood. “If I come eat with you, you can tell me now. Bane…?”
“Eat with him?” Chase echoed. “You aren’t eating with us, Bane?”
The question halted Bane in the doorway, his shoulders suddenly tight with tension, the pain from his injuries surging. He hesitated an instant before turning, the discomfort making his eyes sting. Chase was setting Talia down upon a bench at the table. Her gaze reflected regret at broaching this subject in front of the others. Though the men at the table were busy filling their plates, talk had subsided, and several glanced his way, including Akar who was pouring water into the men’s glasses.
“I eat in my room,” Bane said plainly, fingers twitching as Chase sat beside Talia.
“Because of the mask?” The American gave a slight snort. “I’m sure many here have seen worse. Your face won’t cause any of us to lose our appetite. Will it, boys?”
An uncomfortable rumble of agreement came from those at table.
“It’s what I prefer,” Bane said coldly.
“Why, these are your brothers now, Bane,” Chase said with exaggerated indulgence as his hand swept in an arc of inclusion. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of. Join us.”
Talia’s worried eyes were large and filled with a mixture of hope and apology.
“Perhaps another day,” Bane said then turned for the stairs.
He stalked upward to his room, fingers still restless, facial injuries searing. A part of him wanted to run to get to the morphine vial so he could inject the drug. But he forced control, focused on his breathing, tried to calm it while drawing upon the last of the mask’s vapor. If he quickened his gait, he ran the risk of his swiftness being misinterpreted by those below.
He cursed himself for his reaction to Chase, especially in front of everyone; thankfully Ducard had not been present. Though Bane’s immediate impression of Chase’s inquisition was negative, he told himself that he did not know the man, that perhaps his invitation had been genuine. Yet Bane’s years of experience reading the subtle signs of other men in prison told him that Chase had been baiting him, expressing dominance like a wolf pissing on a tree to claim his territory.
Bane knew, however, that his blood had been stirred not so much by Chase’s posturing as by the sight of Talia with the American, smiling and laughing as she used to do in the pit when he would carry her upon his shoulders or back, her voice ringing in his ears, reminding him so much of Melisande. Such a reaction to the display was illogical to Bane; after all, since first coming to the monastery he had often witnessed other members of the League interacting with Talia in similar ways. Why had he immediately raised his hackles at the image of this particular man amusing Talia?
Then he remembered Temujin’s words about Chase never loving anyone besides himself. Why would such a man even bother to entertain a child if not for selfish reasons? Yet, Bane wondered, should he operate merely upon Temujin’s opinion? After all, the Mongol had been absent from the League for two years and had known Chase for only one prior to that. Perhaps Temujin’s view was understandably tainted.
Bane hurried into his room. By the time he reached for the bottle in the bathroom medicine cabinet, his hands were shaking so badly that he almost dropped it. He compelled himself to pause, shut his eyes, took a deep breath. Then, with a sterile syringe, he drew forth the dosage. As he extricated the needle, the bottle slipped from his trembling hand and shattered against the sink. Shards of glass and spatters of morphine scattered across the small room. Bane cursed, louder than he desired.
“Are you all right?” Aker’s voice caused Bane to jump and stifle another oath.
“I’m fine,” Bane nearly snapped.
Akar set down the food tray on the bedside table and came to the door of the bathroom. His gentle brown eye measured everything in an instant. “If you would like,” the boy offered, his English tinged with a Bhutanese accent, “I can administer the injection. I know how. Choden showed me…even with just my one hand.”
Bane brushed past him. “I can do it.” Sitting upon the bed, he hastily injected the drug into his vein and closed his eyes, waited those torturous seconds.
Akar set about cleaning the spill in the bathroom.
Bane opened his eyes as the morphine rode in upon him with its relief, taking away his anger as well as his pain. “I can do that, Akar. Go back downstairs.”
“It will only take a moment.”
Bane would have again rebuked him, but he did not want the boy to return downstairs with tales of his boorishness. So, as Akar made quick work of the spill, Bane changed his splattered clothes.
“Did you cut yourself?” Akar asked as he emerged from the bathroom.
“No.”
“Was that the last bottle?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“I will fetch more for you.”
“Akar,” Bane’s call halted the boy at the door. “There’s no need for it right now. This evening before supper will be sufficient.”
Akar nodded then lingered, his gaze cast downward, frowning.
Eager to be alone, Bane asked, “What is it?”
Shifting his weight self-consciously, Akar frowned deeper. “Do you think we’ll ever get used to it?”
“Used to what?”
Akar faltered, almost turned away then said, “The way they look at us.”
Bane sighed, pushed aside his own troubles. He gestured. “Come here…away from the door.”
For a moment he feared that the boy would flee, but at last Akar shuffled back to the foot of the bed. Bane almost invited him to sit down but knew the boy should return to his duties downstairs.
Quietly Bane asked, “When you were attacked by the wolf, it was because you were trying to save your father, wasn’t it?”
Akar’s narrow eye flashed at him in surprise, for he had never spoken to Bane about that day. “I—I don’t remember.”
“I think you do.” Bane paused but saw that the boy would not offer more, and he wondered if perhaps he should not have ventured upon this ground. “When you told others the story, you told them that your father died protecting you. Isn’t that right?”
Another disturbed dart of the eye, then Akar nodded shallowly.
“But it was the other way around, wasn’t it? The wolf attacked your father first, and you tried to save him.”
Akar shuffled one foot, murmured, “I was too small.”
“But you tried.”
The boy nodded, sniffed, swallowed hard. “How did you know?”
“Because you are here and your father is dead. I think the wolf allowed you to live because you were brave, because you were protecting your family.”
Akar looked fully at him now, his jaw loosening. Bane saw the survivor’s guilt—the same guilt that reflected in Talia’s eyes—before it slightly dissipated from the boy.
“So,” Bane said, “the next time one of the men looks at you that way, remind him that you once faced down a wolf. I’d hazard that none of them can say the same.”
Akar did not smile often, but his pleased expression now changed his entire appearance so much that the scarring seemed diminished. He stood straighter.
“Now go on back downstairs or Jamyang will scold you.”
Akar rose on the balls of his feet, as if Bane’s compliment somehow made him larger, more mature. For a moment he seemed at a loss for words then managed, “Thank you, Bane.” He hurried to the door but there halted once again, his hand on the frame. He appeared to struggle with what he wanted to say before asking, “You aren’t afraid of Damien, are you?”
“No.”
Akar smiled again. “Good.” Then he left, closing the door behind him.
(I've posted a pic on my Tumblr of a Bhutanese boy who reminds me of Akar: http://skkeogh.tumblr.com/post/60657420 ... n-the-next)
Oh... I can't wait until Bane beats up Damien Chase. Arrogant slimeball...
A part of me wants Talia to go away for five years and return post-puberty. And then maybe Bane can stop fixating on Melisande, the woman with whom he believed he was in love and move forward with a living woman. As much as I dislike Talia, I want Bane to fall in love with her because this fact could not be denied in the movie...
Also, I'm doing another edit pass through one of my manuscripts so that's biting into my Bane time, too. 
And I'm going away for the weekend (at a friend's who has HBO, so I must try to watch Season 3 of Game of Thrones while I'm there. 
