Ginger: Old Things and New People
Sadly, it didn't turn out how I'd expected at all. In the back of my mind I'd thought that, after picking out twelve chocobos for Hope and having watched him go off home to his floating world, I'd never see him again. Not now that he'd gotten what he wanted from us. From an early age I'd heard that said so often about people from Bhunivelze I'd just taken it for granted, but what actually happened was even stranger and a lot more hurtful.
Two days before the parade, my father announced casually at breakfast that I'd have no further part to play in the whole thing. That he did so with a complete and utter disregard for all of my protests just made it that extra bit worse. Lucan, Denny and my third brother Indrik were the ones to escort the chocobos up to Bhunivelze and spend two days up there, making sure everything went smoothly.
Lucan, as much as I love him, harped on for a full afternoon about what an amazing place Bhunivelze is when he got back. I could only take so much of that before I went off to sulk in the garden, taking all of my frustration out on the poor vegetable patch. The turnips came off worse, having felt the wrath of my pitchfork and all the rage I channelled through it. Serves them right.
Chocobos may not be able to offer comforting words or give you a bracing hug, but you can always rely on them to be true. With feathered hearts on their proverbial sleeves, they will listen to your every word and still remain your most faithful friends; that is only one reason I love them so very much.
So, after a hard morning's work cleaning out the hatchery barn, I'm sitting with my back against the building on a bale of hay outside. It's scorching hot and I can see the waves of heat rising from the metal roofs, warping the air around them. Bone-dry puffs of lazy dust waft up from the ground, nudged by a feeble and dehydrated breeze. It's nice and cool in the shade though.
I hold in my hand what's known as a book; an archaic collection of bound paper, a relic of centuries gone by. Most people just use digi-pads or portable computers, but I don't believe those things have any soul. At some point books became a waste of resources. "Why not just get rid of them and use the technology we have?" someone must have asked, likely sitting in an office of lifeless polycarbonate, green-tinted glass and brushed steel.
Each book is a journey. It's an adventure in words, paved across the pages like ink-black stepping stones, each one leading you onward towards the conclusion. There's nothing like the history-rich aroma of a book or the rough edges of its hardback cover. Some writers must think as I do, because they even now get their works printed on paper. They're rare though, especially on the wild, untamed expanse of terrain that is Gran Pulse.
"Hello." The sudden noise makes me jump and I bristle, poised to lash out at whoever dares interrupt my carefree musing. Quite unexpectedly, the source is silver-haired Hope dressed in his Academy uniform. How long has he been standing there, watching me? "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."
All I can do is stare as he smiles and asks if he can join me. I must nod or otherwise agree because he does, right beside me on the makeshift seat of cool dried-out hay. In what looks like a lost battle with the heat of our Pulsian summer, Hope looks hot and clammy. I'm not surprised because I bet he's used to air-conditioning and climate-control, but you'll have no such luxury down here on Gran Pulse. I think for a moment about asking him why he's here and if he needs something, but the officer beats me to it.
"I hope you'll excuse me for intruding, but I wanted to let you know that the parade was a huge success and that's in no small part due to the chocobos you picked out for us. Each and every one of them brought so much happiness to the people of Bhunivelze, the least I could do is come here and thank you personally for all of your help." Hope pauses and his smile widens into a grin. "I hear we even have an official Chocobo Fan Club now."
"You're welcome," I say and look out over the sun-baked yard, wanting to avoid a repeat of the last time I looked into those eyes of his.
The officer continues on. "I called yesterday and the day before, but your father said you were too busy to talk. It seems turning up in person did the trick though, since here you are. On behalf of Bhunivelze and the Academy itself, thank you."
Hope has no way of knowing, but the integrity of his words is poisoned by the vitriol of father's lies. This past week, I'd been about as busy as I am right now, so the untruth only leads me to wonder; how many times has this happened and what else don't I know? My silence prompts Hope to ask what I'm reading, his gaze falling to the open book in my hands. Lujo Kinkaid's "Future Paradise", I tell him. At once, all traces of formality disappear from the Academy officer's voice as he drops into a casual tone and his face lights up excitedly.
"Really, you're a fan too? I love his work. In over five hundred years, I've yet to find anyone that can write out their imagination the way Lujo Kinkaid did. Have you read the other books?"
"Others?" I ask, interested. All I know of this author is the one volume before me. It's one of my favourites.
"You haven't heard of them?" Hope's brow furrows into a frown as I shake my head softly. "The second is a little downbeat, but the other two, especially the final book, are incredible. Want to read them?"
"I really would," I concur eagerly, already excited at the possibility of something new to read.
We chat for a long time afterwards, about nothing in particular but whatever comes to mind. Just talking to him makes me feel lighter. True to his word, a package arrives for me the next day at breakfast. It's a stack of three books, securely wrapped in plasti-pack with a rectangle of white card placed on the top. Written in neat handwriting is:
Miss Cordova,
As promised, Lujo Kinkaid's sequels in original hardback format. I hope you enjoy them. First is the book you were reading and then it's "Wild Frenzy". Next is "Restless Soul" and finally "Skyward Heavens".
These are my own copies, so I'll come back to visit at some point and see how you're getting on with them.
Many thanks once again.
Hope
My father is speaking to me across the table. I know, because out of the corner of my eye, I can see his mouth moving in between bites of a steak and egg sandwich, but I can't hear him. My gaze is fixed outside of the window, on the storm clouds brewing over the plains. Roiling and twisting in the sky, darkness drowning out the daylight and taking over as ruler of the heavens. Something similar is happening inside of me and I'm not sure where it's leading.
