Three days out from Luca, they were approaching the turnoff to Mushroom Ridge as the last bars of sunset faded from the sky. The Highroad had once been a beaten shelf of dirt exposed to the elements and scoured by the wind, but now berms or seawalls shielded it on the seaward side. Out of sight, leaden waves sighed and grumbled against the rocks. Ahead, a finger from the cliffs above arced down over the road to form a flying buttress. Beyond it, the land was transformed.

It was difficult to make out individual shapes in the dusk, but swaying dark fronds draped over the arch in a lush curtain, with nodding white flowers as wide as a woman's hand winking between tendrils and broad leaves. A profusion of plants carpeted the path below, crushed or snapped by the passing prints of travellers, despite which they seemed to thrive: blue blossoms from Besaid and the coral-pink orchids of Kilika, ivy and hibiscus, lilies and irises, even the glassy trunk of a Macalania sapling with glowing seed-pods in the forks of slender stems.

"Yevon," Isaaru breathed, reining his chocobo to a halt and gazing up at the floral tapestry in wonder. "What enchantment is this?"

"Nobody knows," Elma said. "Good thing it's so remote. Even so, we have to rescue a few tourists from fiends every month. They forget the danger. Speaking of which, be on your guard. Those vines can hide a full-sized iguion. Nasty buggers— their bite can paralyze. We try to keep the path clear up to the lodge, but the plants grow back fast."

She turned into a narrow cleft in the cliff-face which widened into a ravine. Sentries drew back spears and saluted as they passed.

As promised, the path was mostly cleared, but creeping vegetation spilled over the lumps and crags of the cliffs on either side. Sea-fog had collected on rocky shelves and dimples along the edges of the winding track. The larger basins had mats of dark-green pads with pale flowers illuminating the shadowy ravine. Glowing wisps of pyreflies spiraled up from their fragrant blossoms.

"I don't believe it," Isaaru said. "Moon-lilies! I thought they were unique to the Moonflow."

"Well, it rains here fairly often now." Elma spoke in a hushed voice. "Folks say it's Sin's doing. Who knows?"

"They're so pretty," Pacce said, turning to gawk as they passed a ledge overflowing with white blossoms.

"Keep your eyes open, Pacce," Maroda said. "Remember what the commander told you. Macalania's pretty too, and it's got chimeras."

They jogged along in silence, going at a slower pace now so that those riders who did not know the way wouldn't steer their mounts over a precipitous drop by accident. Rustlings in the undergrowth kept them wary. Fortunately, the group was large enough to give the fiends pause, or else the Crusader patrols had been through recently to clear a way for their VIP guests.

As they penetrated deeper into the canyon, they began to pass cleared patches on the walls where registers of names had been carved into the cliffs. Here the vegetation was sparser, but delicate ferns and stonecrop tumbled down over the inscriptions. Isaaru bent in his saddle and cupped his hands in Yevon's prayer. Maroda and Pacce, unusually solemn, followed his example.

Auron bowed his head, although he did not pray. He noticed a white vein of quartz cutting through a pair of glyphs that might read Gatta.

Mushroom Rock's iguions were a personal pet peeve. The lizards' speed had always given him trouble. However, they were not the only menace in these parts. Auron felt his hair ruffled by a gust of wind from above, bellowed "Down!" before he remembered why, and rolled from the saddle as two huge claws came down out of the gloom to rake his mount's shoulders. The chocobo shrieked, thrashed in a flurry of feathers and blood, and bolted. To his annoyance, Auron found his left foot caught in the stirrup.

His sword was out of reach, its sheath lashed to the saddlebags. He was dragged a dozen yards before his flailing fingers closed over the hilt. A black crevasse yawned under him. Cries and shouts were erupting behind him. He felt the air pulse with the forceful beat of a garuda's wings.

Bumping and bashing against the chocobo's flank, Auron's patience had run out. He swung the sword around for an awkward blow, striking the neck and a vital artery. It wasn't a clean kill, but it sufficed. Auron leapt free as the wretched bird, jerking in its death-throes, tumbled over the edge.

He would have to apologize to Elma later. These Djose Knights took their birds seriously. Staggering on legs stiffened by a day's ride, Auron turned and charged back towards the fray.

Overkill, really. Four fighters — three of Elma's knights were herding a protesting Isaaru out of harm's way — were more than enough to handle a garuda. They would probably have made short work of it. Auron, however, was tired, stiff, and eager to press on. He barreled in from one side, raised the sword high, and threw all his momentum behind a scything blow to the neck. The blade was nearly wrenched out of of his hands. Standard Crusader issue could not shear through bone and spine like his old sword. Nevertheless, it was enough to bring the garuda crashing down. As reward for his impatience, he was smothered under a heavy, leathery wing.

The fiend wasn't quite dead, but now it was an easy target. Maroda, Pacce, Elma and the other knight waded in to finish it off. Auron lay under the suffocating weight and hoped that no one passed a spear through him. A few moments later, the fiend dissolved into pyreflies.

Pacce crouched at his side. "You okay, Sir Auron?"

"Fine," he said, standing and wiping bloody feathers off his coat. Forestalling an awkward conversation, he added, "My chocobo didn't fare as well. I think it fell." He gestured towards the edge of the crevasse.

"Damn," Elma said. "That's one of Clasko's chicks. Lord Isaaru, are you all right?"

"Perfectly, Commander," Isaaru called, voice echoing around the last bend. "But one of your knights is not. I will tend her." There was a blue shimmer off the walls as they trooped back to find a circle of chocobos and knights fencing the summoner and prone rider. The unconscious soldier groaned, stirred, and sat up groggily.

"All right, let's move before anything else pops out looking for dinner," Elma said. "Sir Auron, if you'd care to—"

"I'll walk," he said. "I remember the way."

"Hm." Elma gave him a skeptical look. "Suit yourself."

He might not have been so eager to have ditched the bird, Auron reflected a short time later, had he realized the Al Bhed lift had been replaced with switchbacks.


After a steep climb, they emerged onto a wide shelf sweeping around to the promontory overlooking the bay. A fierce wind off the ocean scoured their cheeks with salt. Blue lightning wavered in the distance, outlining the temple's cliffs on the opposite side of the bay. Somewhere out there in the dark, where breakers crashed on a lonely beach below the bluff, a generation of Crusaders had met their deaths in a hopeless campaign against Sin.

Elma turned away from the ocean towards lanterns planted on pillars around the sprawling Crusader camp on Mushroom Ridge. A clamor of voices and smith's hammers spoke of preparations for the coming battle. As they dismounted, a tall red-haired man emerged from the camp's gates and marched towards them. More Crusaders hurried to keep up with his long stride, fanning out to take the chocobos' reins and lead them away.

"Lord Isaaru." Luzzu drew his fist to his chest. "Commander Elma. Captain Maroda. Welcome. We have quarters prepared and supper waiting for you in the main lodge."

"You'd better. A garuda tried to make dinner of us back there," Elma said.

"I'm very sorry, ma'am. Orders said we were to pull in patrols for this operation. Does anyone require a healer?"

"It's taken care of, Captain," Isaaru said. "Don't worry. My guardians needed the exercise." He gestured towards Auron, who had just trudged into view. "Some more than others," he added with a chuckle.

"Is that…Sir Auron?" Luzzu stared hard at the white-haired guardian, then straightened and beckoned to the party. "Please, follow me. If you wish, Commander, we can review plans for the operation over your meal."

"Food first," Elma said. "Young Pacce here isn't used to a long day's march. He's only had warrior monk's training."

Auron paused outside the entrance to the camp and glanced down. There in the shadows was a delicate, ground-hugging variety of rose pounded into the dirt by foot traffic. Stooping, he found one intact blossom. Its color was impossible to guess; a patina of salt had painted it a ghostly white. Auron plucked it, tucked it into the blue beads dangling from his belt, and followed the others into camp.