Interlude 2; Hohenheim of Light

The murky water swirled around him as he waded through the quiet river. Chunks of gooey red matter collected at his hips, and the miasma reeked, even through his carefully constructed breathing mask. It was acrid, the pungent odor assailing his nostrils, reminding him of melted sulfur and half-cooked corpses.

The boy's words still rang in his ears, his tearful accusations burning at his being. He had only helped the boy in the hopes of filling the void William had left, and even then he had managed to screw things up. The boy instead reminded him of his responsibilities, of his self-imposed requirement to at the very least try and make the world a better place.

The valley was suffering. He had seen it himself, seen the fauna decay and the animals fall from disease. He had heard the birds in the morning less and less, no longer the rhythmic chirp of the crickets in the evening.

Even the flow of the river seemed to be dying. What was once a strong current filled with only the healthiest of fish, now babbled weakly. Now, dead fish floated by him, bodies bloated and eyes bleeding. They were like the ones he had studied earlier, their small teeth rotted away, their gills caked with the red plasma.

He had almost been hungry enough to still eat them. The pangs of hunger were thankfully sated with some careful alchemy, but he imagined the villagers who lived off the river could not afford the same luxury.

Again he felt the guilt cloud his heart. Since the boy had stormed from his hut, he could hardly take a step without thinking of his caustic words, his claims' pinpoint accuracy.

The water grew thicker, cloudier, as he traveled upstream. The mouth of a small cave loomed before him, and he did not hesitate as he strode against the current and into its dark entrance.

He paused instead within the cave's maw, letting his eyes grow accustomed to the darkness. Though he carried a flint in his satchel with the means to fashion a torch or lantern, he feared the chemical elements in the cave could include dangerous explosive gases. And so he strode on without light, into the deepening darkness.

--

The rocky terrain beneath the water began to ease, stones smoothed by countless years of water flow polishing their surface. Though the cave's mouth had been pitch black, as he continued his path up the river, the water seemed to almost glow with a faint luminescence. Shimmering water inched towards his chest, and he worried the cave's roof would soon dip beneath the water. No matter how well he had constructed his protective gear, there was no way he could survive a complete submersion without being tainted by the malignant liquid.

The waters grew rough as he felt the ground begin to gradually incline before him. The noise of the flowing water was nearly deafening in such close quarters, the rumbling sound echoing off cavern walls and in his skull. Confronted with the first hardship of his perilous journey, he pushed forward with a weary sigh.

The glow became brighter as he ascended. Soon the entire cavern was bathed in a dim bloodish hue. While the light was indeed a useful guide, he could not deny its sinister quality, foreboding against the settling gloom.

Faint wisps of red danced against the craggy walls, the water's dull glow intensifying as he climbed higher and higher. The air grew thinner but the thick musk persisted, the rank odor assailing his senses.

Little by little he could feel his mask giving way, the noxious fumes beginning to penetrate its defenses. Small tears dotted the suit, the gaping holes stretching with the waters' current. He was not sure how much longer the armor would hold out. It was too late to turn back now, he thought, pressing onward.

--

It was three hours later that he met the dead end. The churning rapids seemed to burst from below, the chalky white foam impenetrable to his eyes. It was unimportant what he could and could not see, however, since the cavern's roof dipped under the deadly water. He contemplated using alchemy to reshape the cavern, but feared altering its natural course, which might cause the structure to collapse.

The darkness settled about him, muffling all sights and sounds. He felt cold for the first time since beginning his exploration of the water source, despite the warmth of the waters. His probing hands soon felt rocky crags jutting from the cavern's walls, above the current. Digging his fingers into the jagged crevices, he pulled himself upwards, towards the stone shelf nestled above the rapids.

Soaking wet clothing hampered his climb; what few handgrips he could find were more often than not jagged and sharp. His fingers oozed blood, trickling down his elbows and dripping into the rumbling water below. He collapsed on the stone cropping hours later, exhausted by his efforts, longing for clean air to breath.

It was only after discarding the suit entirely that he saw the sliver of light. A hundred feet above him, he was certain he saw sunlight peeking through a narrow crack in the cavern's ceiling.

An idea occurred to him then, the first thought of hope since the ordeal began.

His ascension to the top of the cavern was speeded by this newfound hope. Ignoring the sulfur taste in his mouth, the bloody stumps of his fingers, and the ache of his exhausted muscles, he climbed onwards and upwards.

Night had fallen by the time he breached the crack, wiggling his thick frame through the opening. Darkness hung over the mountain like a veil, its murky shroud masking even the moon and stars from the people below.

He could not allow this to happen. Preparations complete, he began.

Red mist seeped from beneath him, pouring out of the opening and disappearing into the night breeze. The ground shook as pressure built, air thinning as he slowly created a vacuum. The marks he had drawn into each of the walls below began to shine, the light buried by the building steam.

The water churned as if it was boiling, violent and turbulent like a raging sea. Little by little he could feel the water changing, bending to his will. He wavered ever so slightly at the thought, a million gallons of gushing water responding to his every whim. It was a rush he had not felt in many years, not since he and Dante had created a water source for her people.

Columns of water formed, cyclones of twisting red water shuddering as they clung loosely together. Perspiration dripped down his face in muddy streaks, trembling from the vast energies pouring through him.

In the middle of the cave's chamber the water began to collect, the immense pressure in the room forcing every drop of the red water towards the center. The globe of water spun wildly, drops of water spraying from the force but turning to mist before touching anything else.

Higher and higher rose the water, nearing the mountains' roof. The crack widened, bending before shattering outwards in an explosion loud enough to shake the ground throughout the region. But few would remember the earth moving compared to what happened next.

Grasping the massive red energy in shaking hands, the hermit pushed the shape high above his head, bending it with his hands as much with his mind. The energies invigorating him, he held the light aloft as it grew brighter and brighter. The intensity of the light was more than he could bear, seeing the brilliant red light through clenched eyes. Creatures of the night shrank in fear before the growing light, expanding to the furthest reaches of the mountain range. Soon the entire valley was bathed in the light, brighter than a cloudless summer day's noon, washing away the darkness.

And where the light touched, life came. Plant stalks trampled and broken bent back into shape to face the sky unflinchingly. Leaves sprouted from bare tree limbs, mushrooms from the damp earth. Even the people who stumbled from the safety of their homes felt it, though fearful at first. They felt the sickness fade, their lungs clean as the new air around them. Sick children basked in the light, injuries and worries vanishing as they always should for a child.

And above them all, high in the mountains, stood the hermit who brought the light.

--

His journey back down the mountain proved nearly as difficult as the ascent, hounded by the gathering crowds who swarmed in the hopes of witnessing another miracle. He kept to the forgotten paths, amidst the thick underbrush to avoid detection.

But there was one person he could not escape. He sat in the hermit's hut, poking the fire with a heavy stick.

"You have done well, hermit," said the boy over his shoulder. "Few can make me look so foolish."

"You do not know enough people then," said the hermit grumpily, setting down his bag.

"I probably deserve that," grinned the boy. "I am sorry for what I said to you…about your son. Any boy would be proud to call you father."

"And what have I done to deserve this," asked the man, sitting down heavily in his chair.

"Why, you saved the valley," replied the boy. "I saw you; we all did."

"Oh," said the hermit tiredly.

"Indeed," said the boy, surprised by the hermit's modesty. "Your magic is as powerful as you said."

"So have you come to beg me to teach you?"

The boy shook his head. "Nay, hermit. It is as you said; such things are forbidden by my people. Better to live a simple life, wouldn't you say?"

The man grunted. "We should all be so lucky…why then are you here?"

"I came here to give you my—our thanks. And…I also came to ask you why you are here, in hiding; that is all I have come for."

"That is everything to a humble hermit," said the man. "The reason we are what we are is not to be shared, nor told."

"You are no hermit, to save the lives of people you do not know. A true hermit would have done nothing to interfere in the lives of others."

"And only bad shall come of this, you shall see," said the hermit. "Things done for the good of the many become tainted, boy…polluted by the selfishness of the few."

"But good can come from bad as well, no?"

"It depends on how hard one looks to justify the bad."

"You have lived a hard life, hermit, I can tell," noted the boy, staring back into the fire. "But remember that you are not the only one who has."

The hermit opened his mouth to retort, but something in the boys' eyes as they looked into the fire made him reconsider. Perhaps he saw something familiar in them, something sad that he understood far better than he could ever say. And so he said nothing.

"At the very least, tell me your name," asked the boy as he stood at the door. "Tell me, and I shall never trouble you again."

"It is…my name, is Hohenheim," said the man slowly.

"Hohenheim," smiled the boy. "I am Petri Kale, of the northern valley."

"Farewell then, Petri Kale of the northern valley," said Hohenheim.

"Farewell," returned the boy with a slight bow. "Farewell…Hohenheim of Light."

And so began anew the legend of Hohenheim of Light, spread by the excited word of a young boy from the mountain valley. Far and wide did his legend spread, the story of hope and rebirth brought by a name once associated with only death and destruction.

Note: This chapter was a big time chore to write. Little dialogue at the beginning, and the whole idea of walking through a dark cave was just uninteresting to me from the start. The only thing that kept me going was the image of Hohenheim standing on the mountain, holding the red water sphere and healing the valley. I liked that one a lot. Reminds me of that scene from Lloyd Alexander's finale for The Prydain series, when the princess has to light up the valley to alert her friends. Those were my favorite books as a kid; check it out if you're interested at all in fantasy stories. They're all very short, quick, and fun.

This was originally intended as the main interlude, but I got caught up with Dante's update that it took on a life of its own. The next chapter bridges the 'modern era' of the FMA universe, at least in theory. More importantly, it should connect the FMA manga and anime; you'll have to tune in to see what I mean.