Chapter 17: Gathering Storm
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"Accept the things to which fate binds you, and love the people with whom fate brings you together, but do so with all of your heart." Marcus Aurelius
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Waking up in a strange place wasn't exactly new to me. I had dealt with it quite a bit when in Columbia. Of course, what I woke up in there were either tents or little straw huts that had about as much value as the dirt on the ground as far as sheltering one from the elements went. New to me, though, was the idea of waking up in pain. And that's exactly what I did.
I didn't particularly remember much from the bar brawl. I did recall my ass getting kicked, but other than that, not much. What little else I did remember was as fuzzy and distorted as images from a dream. I didn't want to rule any of them fact or fiction just quite yet. My head had to stop spinning before that process could be properly executed.
Despite the pain, my body managed to inch its way upward, at least the top half anyway. My vision, albeit still hindered with the aftereffects of a long sleep, could make out some details of my new and mysterious environs. Across from the rather stiff bed I was lying on was a three-foot- tall dresser with a very small but effective vanity mirror attached to its top. Left of the dresser was a window, complete with drab-tan sheets nailed over it. That certainly didn't do much for insulation. To the right of the dresser was...a stark white wall and I guess was marble or sandstone. Needless to say, I was in a place that was either very old, or was made by a time traveling Roman architect. Something clicked in my brain and I registered the thought that I was possibly still in Luca, since most of Luca's buildings were sandstone or concrete or whatever that white stone like crap was. I was a carpenter, not a mason, damn it.
I turned my head, heard my neck pop like a line of firecrackers, and a snaking shot of pain ran down my spine. I yelped, mainly due to me willingly clenching my teeth to keep my self from outright screaming.
As I quickly reeled my head back to its original position something rather heavy jumped onto my legs. What I first thought was a dog turned out to be the kid from the pub. Although he was the last thing I expected to see and I really didn't feel like dealing with him thanks to my painful state, I spread my arms out as he crawled up to my chest.
"Well what are you doing here?" I asked him.
In his squeaky little voice, he answered. "Seeing how you are, Daddy."
I looked to the dog tags coldly resting against my bare chest and quirked an eyebrow, my mind sifting through my memory banks as I eyed him oddly. Just as I thought, my mind came up with the same answer I had conjectured earlier. I wasn't married and I didn't have a kid. Not really knowing what to say to him besides the blunt truth, I simply blurted. "I'm not your daddy kid."
"Yes you are. You have nametags. Mommy says you're a soldier! And Daddy was a soldier and was lost long ago. Now you're back!"
With that, he hugged my chest like a teddy bear. I grunted in pain as I felt the bruises on my chest screaming at me to throw the little tyke out the window. I suppressed that urge by gripping the bed sheet under me.
Again, nothing but the blunt truth could come from me. "I'm not your daddy, kid. Where's...your mom?"
"Mommy's at the store!"
"Ok."
The kid curled up and nuzzled into my chest, his eyes already closed. I had to admit, he was cute. The only problem I had at the moment, besides the pain of course, was the fact that I had no idea where I was, who this mommy person was, and how the hell I was going to get back to Besaid. I heaved a sigh and watched the kid's head move up and down with my chest. It surprised me how quickly he fell asleep, but what amazed me still was how drowsy I was getting in the process. Soon, I found myself falling asleep.
The funny thing about sleep is that for that first few moments after you wake up, you have no clue what time of day it is and your eyes feel as if they've been stabbed. And you never know what exactly woke you up, right? Well, I knew what woke me up. It was the searing voice of an angry mother. It had just enough anger and coldness in it to jar even me, who hadn't been around a mother since the age of nine.
"Gary! What are you doing on him? Get off of him right this instant!"
I shot up in bed, eyes wide open and chest pounding. I felt the kid slide off my chest and in to my lap. He had the same dumbfounded and scared look as I did. The smile creeping to my lips was instantly curtailed by another searing reprimand.
"I told you not to mess with him, Gary."
"But it's Daddy!"
"It is not Daddy! It's only a soldier. Now get off that bed!" Hearing this made me a tad bit angry, seeing as no one likes to be referred to as "it." Meekly, Gary nodded and slowly slid off the bed and onto the floor. He ran off to some unknown corner of the room and left me with his angry mother, who, as I turned my head, recognized as the waitress from the pub. Again, my brain clicked and I knew what had happened. This waitress had taken me to her home, probably in thanks for saving her son. I saw a few crude bandages covering wounds on my stomach and legs and I was honestly thankful.
She stood there staring at me for a moment while I tried to maintain an innocent look. Why I was trying to portray innocence was out of my mental capacity. Her red-hot stare seemed to cool down a bit as she recognized that I wasn't the guilty party here. Softly, but monotonically, she asked, "How are you feeling?"
I offered a smile and said, trying to curtail the rasp in my voice, "A lot better, thank you."
With that, she followed Gary into the kitchen area across from the left side of the bed. My brow quirked once more thanks to my now piqued curiosity. I slowly but painfully spread my legs and swung them over the side of the bed. It took my back a moment to actually straighten. Apparently I had been there a while.
With quite a bit of caution, I stood and wobbled my way to the window. I pulled the sheet out of the way and looked down onto the street. The sun was slowly dying behind the rows and rows of buildings. I squinted and searched the street below. No Yevonites in sight. Whether this was good or bad thing didn't really register in my brain. I was more concerned at the moment as to the how and when of my escape from Luca. Still, I did need to gather -some- intelligence to come back with, so letting my wounds heal seemed like the best idea. I just hoped Gatta and the others weren't counting on my information any time soon.
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Gatta sighed as he looked into the eyes of the Al Bhed convoy's leader, Rikku. She was standing, rather brazenly, in front of Gatta's operations desk. The mood hovering in the room was thick with condescension. Why it was so, Gatta hadn't learned yet, but the shifting of Rikku's hips marked that she was either about to speak, or about to lunge over the desk.
"I'm here early, I know."
Gatta nodded and responded with, "Yeah, I noticed. Mind telling me why?"
Rikku shrugged, her eyes slowly shifting to the floor, as if admitting some great defeat. "They snuck in and stole a couple of airships, two mech-walkers, and a beam cannon."
Gatta nodded, his reaction a bit too subdued for the severity of the news. He looked to her and simply asked, "When?"
"Yesterday. We couldn't catch them in time." At this, Rikku sighed and slammed a fist into a clear spot on Gatta's desk. While her move didn't startle Gatta to the point of jumping in surprise, it did cause his eyes to widen. After a moment of composing herself, Rikku sighed and continued, a slight growl of anger stinging her normally chipper voice. "I ordered the troops and all volunteers to move out. I want to plan a liberation attack -now-."
"I understand. But without the information Weston's gathering, we wouldn't stand much of chance. He -should- be back, at least according to the loose plan, in four days."
"Then he's got four days. Meanwhile, I want the Crusader's leader, that's you, and the Al Bhed's leader, that's my dad, and the Al Bhed's military leader, that's me, to form up a strategy to get Luca its freedom. If Weston doesn't come four days from now, I'm going to deploy troops, with or without a plan and with or without the Crusaders."
While Gatta didn't like his command stepped on, the deeply hidden timid soldier from three years ago sympathized with Rikku's harsh means. She was angry, scared, and confused. Her outgoing nature made her more of a showy leader than a strategic one. She was brazen and usually went against odds, and Gatta knew this from her conversations. Rikku was quick to the point, confident, and, usually, ready to take plenty of risks. While Gatta still saw all of this in her, the nervous twitching of her index and middle fingers denoted that the girl had had to make some rather quick and hasty decisions in the past few days and that those decisions were weighing heavily on her mind. No doubt, Gatta thought, Rikku's former personality would take a back seat as she settled into her command, much like his had.
Gatta sighed and nodded, crossing his arms. "You'll have the Crusaders' support in either case, but isn't rushing in..."
"The perfect course of action given the circumstances."
At this, Gatta cleared his throat and raised a brow. "What circumstances?"
"If we surprise them, and hit 'em hard and fast, we'd have the upper hand, right?"
A smirk crept to Gatta's face. Still the same Rikku, but this time, she wasn't talking about Blitzball. She was talking about lives at stake.
Solemnly, but respectively, Gatta corrected her thoughts. "And what of the civilians? The location of strategic troop placements? We could very well storm Luca, but we'd be blind. Rushing into a battle blind is like putting rocks in your sandals. It hurts and the only thing accomplished by it is a decrease in speed and efficiency. We -have- to have a plan, even without information present. We have to coordinate and -then- attack in waves. Coordination is the first thing taught to Crusader recruits."
Rikku nodded and mumbled an "Oh..." After a little bit of mental fishing, she came up with, "Well, Crusaders don't have very high rank structures, do they?"
Gatta shook his head. "Captain is the highest, save Commander." He then added, implying her own army, "It's better than no structure at all."
He saw Rikku frown but her trademark anger didn't rear its head. Gatta leaned back and took a glance outside and saw that a squad of recruits was in evasive maneuver training. Most of the recruits the Crusaders were getting were coming in from Kilika. Grown men and teenagers alike were joining up because of what happened during the battle. Gatta knew what these men were thinking. They saw the Crusaders win, and their confidence had skyrocketed. Sadly, Gatta thought, most of them didn't realize that what had happened at Kilika was nothing compared to what was coming in the next few months. Any one involved enough with the war could feel the icy chill of oncoming slaughter. The tension, the climate, and the anger were all there to create a battle far greater in size, scope, and casualties than previously seen. The battle for Kilika was a cakewalk compared to what Gatta felt was coming.
After letting the silence drone on for a little while, Gatta softly asked, "Where's Cid?"
Rikku seemed to jump out of deep thought and looked to Gatta as if she hadn't understood the question. Shortly, though, she blinked and answered his question. "He told me he was going to go talk to Yuna. She's at the temple, right?"
Gatta blinked a few times and then nodded, coming around his desk to stand in front of her. "Well, I think he's in for a surprise."
Rikku raise a brow, "How so?"
With a shake of his head, Gatta grabbed Rikku's arm and exited the office, dragging her with him. "No time to explain. You'll see for yourself."
Rikku shrugged and followed the slightly shorter Crusader commander to the Temple.
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"Are you hungry?"
I blinked a few times, turning around from the window. The waitress' cold eyes met my own and I had to shudder. I'd seen those cold eyes before on the battlefield, except this time, I didn't have a weapon or the support of a few troops to ease my nerves. I yelped out a "No, thank you." For some reason, my throat had gone dry and my heart's pace gained a few steps in speed. Not the most warranted reaction, I assure you. She walked away with a curt turn on her heel and I did the same, the setting sun coming into my view.
I wondered if I had just offended her, saying no to food like that. Why I wondered this was beyond me, even then. Here I was, a nervous, timid, and uncertain Weston. I shook my head and rubbed my temples with my index fingers. My heart was still going a mile a minute and I could feel every joint shaking. This wasn't me. I was the guy who was always calm, collected, even with bullets flying by my head. Hell, sometimes, I was downright cocky in battle. But with Ms. Ice herself in the room, I wasn't me. I was someone completely different, and I really didn't like that.
Standing the pain in my chest, I managed to lie down again. I didn't bother covering up and just lay there, bare-chested and scratching at my ever-growing stubble. While I didn't mind it per se, I tended to keep my cheeks and jaw clean while keeping a goatee. Beards made me look older, as if the weathering effects of battle weren't enough. Soon, the little tyke, Gary, was back at my bedside.
"Hey, Daddy?"
I sighed but didn't bother correcting him. He was at the point of childhood where if he wanted to call me that, he would, regardless of what anyone told him.
"Yeah?" I replied.
"How many battles have you been in?"
A stifled laugh came to me and I rolled my eyes. "Too many to count, little man."
Gary laughed at my nickname for him. "Really?"
"Really," I confirmed.
"Daddy must be old!"
Again, I stifled a laugh. "Not really."
Just then, Gary's mother called for him and the young child leapt off of me. I watched as he bounded off towards the left side of the room and through an empty doorjamb. The aroma of cooking food filled my nostrils, and in all honesty, I was -very- hungry. I just didn't want to trouble Gary's mother.
I rolled over in bed, my back facing the entrance to the kitchen and soon found myself falling back to sleep. In the final moments between consciousness and sleep, I faintly heard the rapping of knuckles on the wooden front door.
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As Fagan reached the bottom of the stairs, he felt a strong grip in his shoulder.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you."
Fagan turned around quickly to face the voice. Instead, he came witness to the cave and stairs before him vanishing into thin air, a pure white aura replacing his environs. He turned about a few times, trying to understand what just happened. The disembodied voice helped answer his worries.
"Welcome to the -real- Farplane."
"Huh?" was all Fagan could manage.
"This is the true Farplane. A plane of existence in the clouds where freed souls go."
"Freed souls?" asked Fagan.
"You see," said the voice, "the Farplane known to Spira's inhabitants is just a gathering place for Pyreflies."
Fagan could only scratch his head.
"Pyreflies are invisible beings of light that can only gain a visible body by feeding on souls. Usually, one human soul does the trick."
"Is that...what...happens when people die?"
The voice laughed. "You should know. You were in one until I heard your song."
"The hymn..."
"Correct. I heard your hymn and released you from your Pyrefly prison. Mind you, that's normally impossible to do."
"Then how did..."
"It has something to do with being unsent. Sending a spirit forever locks it into a Pyrefly, apparently. I want to explain to you, though, how important you are at the moment, Fagan."
"You know my name?"
"Yes, and I know how you died and what you want to do to a certain someone if given the chance to return to Spira. While I don't commend it, it will have to be allowed because you are the only one who can pull it off."
"Pull what off?"
"Bringing down Nyka."
"You mean..."
"Ah, you know, then?"
"In...my last moments...I saw his true form between his teleports."
"Do you know his story?"
"Only that he has a grandson..."
"Wrong. It is not -his- grandson, but the -real- Nyka's grandson."
Fagan uttered a sound of confusion.
"I suppose I'll have to tell you. Three years ago, Yuna and her now famed guardians defeated Sin and destroyed Yu Yevon."
"So there was never a Yevon?"
"Oh, there was one alright. Yu Yevon was a maniacal tyrant running Spira's 'Loop of Death' from the safe confines of Sin. But Yu Yevon was no deity. He wasn't of flesh and blood, certainly, but he wasn't a god either. I'd tell you Yevon's history, but we really don't have time for that and I'd rather you learn it alongside the others."
"Others? What others? You mean you've brought other people here...or back to life?"
"You could say that. -I- didn't bring them back, per se, but I know of a certain someone who can and he has brought -one- back to life. The other...we've got no clue why he's here."
"Who are these 'others'?"
With a raspy but booming laugh, the voice replied, "You've met one and heard of the other. But enough with that. Names aren't important. I'm going to give you the information you need to know."
Fagan sighed and nodded to the empty white plane.
"The original Nyka was a little known land owner in Bevelle. After the defeat of Sin and the subsequent collapse of the Yevon religion, an old friend of ours decided that instead of finding his way here, he'd live out another life as another person. The -real- Nyka lost his life while trying to tack up a Youth Alliance banner on his home. Our 'old friend' then took Nyka's body and voice."
Fagan could figure out the rest for himself. "And so began the spiral..."
"Into chaos," the voice finished. "You are going to put our 'old friend' into his rightful place."
"The prison of a Pyrefly."
"Correct."
"And I shall do this how?"
"I suppose he'll have to be sent."
Fagan hmmed. "Couldn't...Yuna do that?"
The voice hmmed as well. "There's a problem with that, you see. He could just as easily teleport far away, so that he couldn't be sent."
"Do you think I could possibly...trap him...you know, since he's unsent too?"
"Possibly. I'm not guaranteeing anything. Just remember that if you can manage to do that, you yourself will be forever trapped in that Pyrefly."
"A small price to pay, in my opinion."
"Commendable."
Fagan wondered to himself just how he was going to get Yuna to do such a thing, after such a long time.
Another laugh came and the voice said, as if in reply to Fagan's thoughts, "That shall be up to you, Fagan."
"Hmm?"
"On the Farplane, thoughts are just as loud as spoken word."
"Then how do you get privacy?"
"Privacy is a matter for the living, Fagan. There are no secrets among the dead."
Fagan only nodded to the white space in front of him.
"Now, where shall I drop you off?"
Fagan thought a moment, and before he could give his verbal answer, the voice said, "Besaid, it is."
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I have to admit that I was taken by surprise. Admitting that, especially when you're a soldier, isn't easy. Soldiers always want to be on the defensive. Nothing's worse than a soldier losing his life with a bullet to the back. But, there I was, barebacked and just offering the Yevonite a juicy kill. Too bad for him that he decided to antagonize Gary's mother instead of me.
After silently crawling my way off the other side of the bed, lodging myself between the wall and bed frame, he surmised the reason for his intrusion into the apartment with a rather simple phrase.
"Do you, or do you not, support and believe in the Yevon religion?"
I rolled my eyes as my knees and hands worked together to slowly and silently move along the foot of the bed. From this vantage point, I could see the entire situation. Gary and his mother were pinned against the wall next to the entrance to the kitchen. The soldier was brandishing a rifle and his finger was itching ever closer to the trigger. I gathered he was nervous when I saw his shoulder and forearm muscles twitching like wildfire. He also had this tick to his right eye, which I really didn't like. The soldier was obviously green and was probably stuck with building sweeps or some bullshit job of that same nature to keep him out of the more experienced soldiers' hair. I should know, I went through that same bullshit in Columbia.
He asked his question again, and then stated that Gary and his mother had five seconds to answer him before they were shot dead. By now, I was directly behind the somewhat shorter soldier. I looked to Gary and then his mother, my finger to my mouth. Gary's mother's eyes locked to mine as my left forearm wrapped around the soldier's neck, just under the jaw, left hand gripping the right side of his jaw. My right forearm wrapped around his forehead and its hand closed over and gripped the soldier's ear. Surprised, the soldier tried to gasp, but I wasn't giving him enough air to allow a sound to emanate. He raised his rifle as my shoulders locked, bringing all of my upper body strength into my forearms. I nodded to Gary's mother. Seeming to understand my gesture, she grabbed Gary and jumped off to the side just as my right arm pulled back eastward, my left pulling back in the opposite direction. The rifle dropped faster than the body, surprisingly. I expected the soldier to at least keep the rifle. Oh well.
Gary seemed rather interested in the weapon and ran for it, but his mother caught his shoulder and dragged him back to the corner where she had nested. I looked to her with my brow cocked, and this only made her plant Gary in her lap and bring her knees to the boy's chest, as if she were hiding him in some sort of pouch. With a sigh, I bent over and picked up the rifle, and again, my eyes went back to the couple huddled in the corner. I made eye contact with the mother and she immediately shuddered and turned her back to me.
"What, you don't trust me?" I said aloud, the bite in my voice huskier and angrier than intended. Of course, she didn't answer and just sat there, trembling. I guessed it was only natural. She had just witnessed me murder someone. And while it was in self-defense, it was still murder. Damn kid should've never entered the building. I tried to imagine what kind of notification Yevonite soldiers' parents got when their pride and joy was torn a new on one the battlefield, or, as in this young soldier's case, killed on some pissant job on his first week or two of duty. Oh well. Enemies are enemies, old and young alike, and my compassion for the people trying to kill me had long since been abandoned. A firefight with Columbian Rebels will do that to you. So ferocious yet so unorganized, you get so used to killing them, it becomes more or less like washing laundry. You may hate doing it at first, but it's gotta be done and it soon just becomes a common part of your psyche.
A laugh escaped me when I worked the gun's breech. The poor kid hadn't even chambered a round. But, thanks to him, I was now able to see a Yevonite rifle up and close. I closed the breech and looked for a safety. As I expected, there wasn't one. It was a good thing it hadn't gone off when it dropped. Gary was too cute of a kid to be shot.
The rifle itself was primitive, as I had observed earlier in battle, but it was still formidable. I had studied the American Civil War rabidly as a teenager and had grown accustomed to respecting a primitive rifle's power. The late 18th century muskets and prototype repeaters used in that war were so effective in crushing flesh and bone, most wounded soldiers didn't come back home in one piece. I opened the breech checked the action. It was an autoloader, which, as far as I could tell, was loaded like a Remington .22. The user had a small tube that extended to a little bit shorter than the barrel's length and held the cartridges. Upon cocking the breech, a shell would be automatically loaded into the breech and the firing pin would lock, allowing for the trigger to be pulled and fire the weapon. The used shell would be ejected and the spring-dowel that closed the cartridge-tube pushed the next round closer to the breech where it would slide up into position and subsequently chambered.
I worked the breech again and again, the gun ejecting cartridges this way and that. After the gun was empty, I set it down on the body. I picked up a cartridge and it matched the one I had seen in Kilika. A large caliber bullet with a small firing primer on the bottom. Primitive, but deadly.
Quickly, I picked up the bullets and threw them, save one, out the curtained window facing the -hopefully- empty street. Just to make sure, I looked down to the small road and to my relief, found no one. I picked up the soldier, his gun cradled on his back, and walked to the window. I looked one last time, checking for any onlookers, saw none, and tossed the body to the ground. I turned and heard the thud I was expecting. I knew the body couldn't stay there forever and not be discovered, so that led me to realizing that getting out of the apartment in the next few days might just be a good idea.
My eyes caught Gary's mother stand, her son cradled in her arms. "That's a start," I commented. I was met with a cold stare. With a shrug, I asked, "Do you have anywhere to go, say your parents' house or husband..."
"No," came her strangely biting reply. She curtly turned around and headed for the kitchen. Apparently, the kitchen and its sans-door entryway was impassible to anyone but her and Gary. Right.
So soon, I was in the kitchen's entrance, which was surprising narrow. I easily took it up, blocking the only exit from the area. I noticed Gary's mother frantically slicing some sort of vegetable. "Look, lady, I'm not going to hurt you and I'm not here to mooch off of you. I appreciate you tending my wounds, but I've really got to get out of this apartment and this town, ASAP."
Gary, who was sitting at the small table in the center of the nook- turned-kitchen laughed. "Daddy, what does ASAP mean?"
I looked to him and started to reply, but his mother's biting voice tore into my sentence. "Gary, what have I told you? He's -not- Daddy!"
My brow cocked and I looked to her once more. "Hey, calm down. First of all, it's not like he's going to listen to you, and second of all, he can call me whatever he wants to."
She huffed and I was then able to answer Gary. "As Soon As Possible, bud."
"Oh! I wanna do something ASAP!"
I laughed. "And what's that?"
"Eat!" screamed Gary.
I heard his mother growl and she turned to me with a look that combined enough anger and bitterness to chill even Hitler's bones. Meekly, I turned around and found the bed again. The sounds of a mother-son quarrel were soon heard and I decided not to interfere with that.
A few minutes later, a defeated, but obviously still jovial Gary found his way onto the bed. I sat up and met him with a tap on his nose. "You oughta keep that mouth in check. Your mom seems easily agitated."
The child shook his head. "I dunno why she's like this...Mommy's always so nice and caring."
"Well, maybe the stress of what happened with that bad man made her mad," I suggested.
"I dun think so," Gary replied. "Mommy's been that way ever since you came here."
I raised a brow and nodded. "I noticed."
"Do you think you can fix Mommy?" he asked me.
Despite my hard exterior, I was a sucker for cute kids and their cute sayings. All one of my enemies had to do was place a cute kid out on the battlefield and it'd be like Lex Luther giving Superman an injection of Kryptonite. But I'm no superman, just to keep you from thinking I'm an egomaniac or something. I'm an Aquaman, tops. Ok, forget that superhero stuff.
Anyway, I shrugged my shoulders and ruffled his hair. "I don't know."
Gary half-pouted and his eyebrows rose in unison, his face resembling that of a puppy's. "Can you try, Daddy?"
I sighed and gritted my teeth. "I'll try if you wipe that look off your face."
Gary gladly obliged and pointed to the kitchen.
I got up, popped my neck and headed for the kitchen. The only thought running through my mind when I entered and was met with yet another cold stare was, "This should be fun!" Fun indeed.
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Eimour tried to emit the coldest stare possible. She wanted him to know that she wasn't going to let her guard down around him, especially after seeing how..."skilled" he was at his tradecraft. He leisurely came in and sat down at the small table. She noticed the small wooden chair straining under his bulk and this did nothing to help her worries. Not only had she taken on a trained killer, her furniture would be crushed by his muscular girth.
As she wiped down a dish, she could feel his eyes on him. It made her eerily uncomfortable in a multitude of ways. One was the fact that she felt she had no control over the situation and that she was the stranger, and he was the owner of the apartment. This feeling was amplified by Gary's newfound attachment to the soldier. Calling him 'Daddy' certainly wasn't helping either. Another way she was bothered by his presence was how intimidating he seemed, but could still joke around with Gary in an almost childish way. It was as if he had two faces, much like a man she once knew...
She growled and shook her head. Slowly, she turned and saw him, still sitting there. He smiled at her and while she was somewhat comforted by it, she kept her cold exterior.
Trying her best to keep any emotion from her voice, Eimour asked him, "Would you like something to eat?"
He shook his head and answered her, "No. Just need to get out of bed."
She nodded and turned back to her dishes. After a few minutes of silence, his raspy voice cut into the air and her ears. "I want to...uhh...thank you for what you did for me."
Eimour sighed and simply nodded. Unfortunately, he continued.
"Gary's a great kid...but if I may, can I have -your- name?"
Despite her jaw muscles and fist tightening as she leaned back against the counter, she answered his question. "Eimour."
"Pardon me?"
"Ee-Ah-Mor," she slowly pronounced.
"Ah. Well, thank you, again, Eimour."
She knew what he was doing. Despite every cold stare and bitter or monotonic response, he was going to keep on being warm, sincere, and downright annoying. Tired and in no mood for a mental war, she let loose her muscles and her angry façade. In all truth, she had some thanking to do of her own.
"And I thank you, Mr...?"
"It's just Weston."
"Thank you...Weston...for protecting us back there."
He seemed not at all surprised that her barrier had fallen. "It's the least I could do. Besides, Gary was in trouble, and he's my buddy now. Buddies have to stick together."
His voice at that last sentence had lightened to almost that of a little boy's and she couldn't help but crack the smallest of smiles.
Weston laughed and nodded to the other end of the table. "Have a seat, get comfortable. I'm tired of sleeping. Mind if you keep my company for a little while?"
She blinked a few times and then sat down across from him, wondering why she was nodding and smiling at him. It was as if she wasn't really in control of her body. Yet again, she was uncomfortable because Weston, a stranger, seemed to have this control over her that she couldn't explain.
Weston leaned back a bit in his chair and sighed. "So I suppose I should tell you about myself."
"It'd be appreciated, yes," Eimour managed, trying not to sound sarcastic or mean spirited.
He leaned forward and hmmed. "I don't exactly know what to tell you..."
"The truth, maybe," Eimour replied with a slight grin.
Weston nodded. "Yeah, but the truth is...rather hard to believe...and it's also chock full of...interesting tidbits."
"What, you're a lost Crusader on a mission to help save Luca, or something?" she spouted, her mild laugh ending in with a sarcastic smirk.
"Well, actually..." he said, his mouth turning up to one corner.
Eimour blinked a few times and cocked her head to one side. "So you're telling me that I have a Crusader in my apartment and that you're on a mission to liberate my city?"
"Ok, so that's not exactly the truth."
She sighed and calmed down a bit. "I -am- a soldier and I'm working -for- the Crusaders, but I'm not actually...of their ranks."
"So...you're...fighting the Nyka's forces?"
"I was at Kilika when they tried to invade and I was recently involved in a skirmish at Bikanel. Yes, I've seen lots of combat and, as you're probably aware of by now, I'm not afraid of using force."
"So what are you doing in my apartment? Shouldn't a soldier's mission take first priority?"
Weston blinked. "You've got me there. I saw your pub and decided to stop in. I didn't really expect to be...-here-."
Eimour nodded. "I take it you're planning on returning to that mission soon."
Weston simply nodded in response.
"So you're a soldier working for the Crusaders...is that all you are?"
"Pretty much. If I were anything else, I wouldn't be here."
"I'd imagine not. When do you plan on returning to your mission?"
Weston scratched his stubbly chin in thought a moment and the replied, "As soon as my chest stops feeling like a knife is lodged in it. So, I'm guessing three to four days from now."
Eimour nodded and looked about the kitchen, trying not to look directly at him.
Of course, being a soldier, he noticed, and jarred her with saying, "It's not a welcoming sign to a guest when you don't make eye contact."
Eimour didn't really know how to react, so she simply shrugged and continued looking about.
"One thing I was taught in my training as a soldier was that keeping eye contact with an enemy was a deadly mistake. That moment of eye contact usually spells defeat, because if you take the time to lock your gaze with the man trying to kill you, you could also try to take the time to feel compassion for him."
Weston's words sunk deep into Eimour and she physically trembled. Her eyes couldn't help but to come into contact with his after hearing that. In a few sentences, he had broken all resistance she had to him and upon their gazes meeting, all doubt of his intentions was dropped. Eimour knew what he was doing. He was trying to tell her that he was not an enemy. Weston was conveying to her through his cryptic words that he wasn't someone to be feared, but someone to be trusted. But long held convictions about men had kept Eimour from seeing that. And she still didn't trust him. But he seemed to want to genuinely keep Gary safe, so she would, at the least, trust his skills as a soldier.
"See? Nothing to be afraid of. I'm not like the bastards in control of this town. I'm not going to hurt you or Gary. I'll be here for a short time and then I'm gone, ok? I'll do everything I can to stay out of your way."
She nodded and stood. "Would you like some coffee?"
Weston nodded. "Coffee. Such a trivial thing to me only a few months ago..."
"Excuse me?" she asked, her back turned to him as she filled a pot with water.
"Oh, nothing. It's just been awhile since I've had coffee. It's not served on Besaid."
"Well, I wouldn't have it on Besaid anyway," Eimour said. "Who'd want coffee made with salt water?"
At this, Weston shuddered. "Yech, the thought alone makes me sick."
Eimour stifled a laugh. "What do they serve on Besaid as a wake me up?"
"Ale. And I'm not the ale type."
"You certainly look it, though," she remarked, not able to stop herself.
He didn't seem to take it as an insult and simply said, "Eh."
A few minutes passed and the coffee was ready. Eimour set a cup down in front of Weston, who nodded his thanks, while she kept her own in her two hands, sipping lightly at it.
"Have you always been in that shape?" she asked, nodding to him.
Weston shrugged. "Ever since I joined the Army."
"-The- Army? Didn't know there was just one."
He laughed. "Well, where I come from, we just call it -the- Army."
"Where do you come from?" she asked. She pretty much knew he knew she was going to ask, and she wondered if he'd tell her the honest truth, or babble on about how he can't 'divulge' the information.
"Well...America. The United States of America, to be exact."
"And where is that?"
Weston lifted an arm and too a sip, his shoulders shrugging. "Oh, a couple of millennia ago."
Eimour stopped in mid-sip, her eyes coming to him as if he'd just told her he was a magical creature from some far off land, which wasn't very far from the truth.
With a smile, he simply scratched at the back of his neck and added, "Hard to believe, I know, but it's the truth. I've got witnesses."
"Interesting," she said half-heartedly. Eimour sat back down and sat her cup of coffee in front of her. "Either that was the joke, or the truth. I don't feel as if I should question the soldier who, just a few minutes ago, saved my life. At least, not until I save yours."
Weston smiled as he took another rather large sip of his coffee. "Eh, the way I see it, I've repaid the debt I owed to -you-."
"Whatever way you see it, I'll see it differently. You owe me nothing."
"And neither do you. So let's call it even."
Eimour shrugged. "I imagine it won't matter soon. You said you'd be leaving soon."
"That's the plan. Oh, and I'd like to ask you something."
Eimour eyed him strangely, wondering what he was about to ask. "Yes?"
"The soldiers come in your pub regularly, right?"
"They practically live there. So?"
"Could you...just listen to their conversations a little and see if anything important pops out?"
"Well, I've already been doing that. All they talk about is what their orders are."
"What are their orders?"
Eimour shrugged. "Something to do with thinning out their presence here. One of them even offered me a trip to the Calm Lands, as long as I'd...you know."
Weston nodded. "The Calm Lands?"
"Apparently, they're massing just to the south of the area. They don't know why, though."
Weston blinked. "I've really, really got to get back to Besaid." He sat up rather quickly, but fell to the floor clutching his chest.
"Argh, damn it."
Eimour shot up and leapt to his side. "What happened?"
"Guess I'm not that better after all."
"You strained yourself. Here, let me take you to the bed."
She took on of his arms and helped him up. He leaned on her while they shuffled to the bed. He slowly laid down and Eimour pulled the covers over him.
"Thanks."
She nodded and headed back to the kitchen. A worried Gary came to the side of the bed. "You ok, Daddy?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. Just worked myself too hard."
Gary hopped up onto the bed and laid down next to Weston. "I'll keep the bad guys from getting ya, Daddy."
"You do that little man," Weston said, laughing despite the pain souring through his body.
--------------------
As Gatta and Rikku jogged along Besaid's main path, the sun was slowly setting off in the distance, the water already swallowing half of the large star. The small village of Besaid was drenched in a reddish- orange glow and every surface seemed to be glowing. Even Rikku, whose mind was working overtime to try to figure out where Gatta was taking her, could admire the beauty of a Besaid sunset.
A wooden dwelling came up on the right side of the path and Gatta nodded towards it as they jogged along. "Weston built that."
Not really paying attention, Rikku offered a monotonic, "Oh, really? Nice," in response.
Soon, they were both double-stepping the stairs leading to the Temple's long entry alcove, its blue marble columns and tiles still as beautiful as they were the first time Rikku had seen them.
Gatta stopped at the door and turned to a heaving Rikku.
"Why did we have to run all the way here?" she asked between breaths.
To this, Gatta only laughed and put his hands to his hips. "Out of shape, are we? That was nothing."
She stuck her tongue out and straightened up from her bent over position. "Are we going in or what?"
"I have to make sure he's here, first. Stay out here for just a moment, okay?"
"Ok...wait a minute!" But Gatta didn't wait. Rikku called out, "Who's 'he?'" but Gatta was already where he couldn't hear her. Rikku sighed and squatted down to the right of the door, grumbling to herself.
It wasn't long before Gatta returned and stuck his head out of the door. "You can come in now," he said with an official tone.
Rikku grunted at him and got up. Gatta opened the door for her and she punched his shoulder jokingly as she entered.
"Hey Rikku, long time no see."
Rikku nearly hit the ceiling, her reactionary jump was so high.
"Tidus!" After yelling his name multiple times, she ran and wrapped her arms around his waist. His arms came around her shoulders.
"Nice to see you too," he said, laughing afterwards.
After pulling back from the embrace, Rikku noticed Yuna and Lulu standing off to the side of him. She put her hands to her hips and scolded, "Why wasn't I told?! And where have -you- been?! Jeez, Tidus. Took ya long enough to get back, didn't it?"
They all laughed, including Gatta, who had posted himself guard at the door.
Tidus shrugged once the chuckles had left his system. He said with a beaming smile, "What can I say? I'm the fashionably late kinda guy."
Laughter erupted again.
Gatta looked on and smiled, glad to see everyone in such high spirits. But he was also hoping that meeting Tidus again would help Rikku forget her deadline for Weston. Gatta had the odd feeling that something was wrong, and when he usually got that feeling, he was right. Somehow, Weston's mission had become compromised and it'd be a while before anyone heard from him. Going into Luca without that intelligence was not what Gatta wanted, but if Rikku had her way, they'd go in now. With a sigh, he walked out of the temple and looked up at the slowly darkening sky.
"I hope, wherever you are, Weston, that you get back here soon. Otherwise, there'll be quite a bit to pay when it's all said and done."
With that said, Gatta started on his walk back to the camp. 'One thing is for certain,' he thought, 'is that death is coming. It's hanging above our heads. I have the sickening feeling that this war is going to make us wish we only had Sin to worry about...'
--------------------
A/N: Short, yes. Plot mover, yes. Well, at least it's not coming to ya three months later :P Can't say much about this chappie except that it's setting up for some really fun stuff that's going to be even more fun writing. A BATTLE! Whee. Oops, just gave away what you probably already know is coming. Oh well. I'm off to work on Chapter 18, and my upcoming college career! ~No One
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"Accept the things to which fate binds you, and love the people with whom fate brings you together, but do so with all of your heart." Marcus Aurelius
--------------------
Waking up in a strange place wasn't exactly new to me. I had dealt with it quite a bit when in Columbia. Of course, what I woke up in there were either tents or little straw huts that had about as much value as the dirt on the ground as far as sheltering one from the elements went. New to me, though, was the idea of waking up in pain. And that's exactly what I did.
I didn't particularly remember much from the bar brawl. I did recall my ass getting kicked, but other than that, not much. What little else I did remember was as fuzzy and distorted as images from a dream. I didn't want to rule any of them fact or fiction just quite yet. My head had to stop spinning before that process could be properly executed.
Despite the pain, my body managed to inch its way upward, at least the top half anyway. My vision, albeit still hindered with the aftereffects of a long sleep, could make out some details of my new and mysterious environs. Across from the rather stiff bed I was lying on was a three-foot- tall dresser with a very small but effective vanity mirror attached to its top. Left of the dresser was a window, complete with drab-tan sheets nailed over it. That certainly didn't do much for insulation. To the right of the dresser was...a stark white wall and I guess was marble or sandstone. Needless to say, I was in a place that was either very old, or was made by a time traveling Roman architect. Something clicked in my brain and I registered the thought that I was possibly still in Luca, since most of Luca's buildings were sandstone or concrete or whatever that white stone like crap was. I was a carpenter, not a mason, damn it.
I turned my head, heard my neck pop like a line of firecrackers, and a snaking shot of pain ran down my spine. I yelped, mainly due to me willingly clenching my teeth to keep my self from outright screaming.
As I quickly reeled my head back to its original position something rather heavy jumped onto my legs. What I first thought was a dog turned out to be the kid from the pub. Although he was the last thing I expected to see and I really didn't feel like dealing with him thanks to my painful state, I spread my arms out as he crawled up to my chest.
"Well what are you doing here?" I asked him.
In his squeaky little voice, he answered. "Seeing how you are, Daddy."
I looked to the dog tags coldly resting against my bare chest and quirked an eyebrow, my mind sifting through my memory banks as I eyed him oddly. Just as I thought, my mind came up with the same answer I had conjectured earlier. I wasn't married and I didn't have a kid. Not really knowing what to say to him besides the blunt truth, I simply blurted. "I'm not your daddy kid."
"Yes you are. You have nametags. Mommy says you're a soldier! And Daddy was a soldier and was lost long ago. Now you're back!"
With that, he hugged my chest like a teddy bear. I grunted in pain as I felt the bruises on my chest screaming at me to throw the little tyke out the window. I suppressed that urge by gripping the bed sheet under me.
Again, nothing but the blunt truth could come from me. "I'm not your daddy, kid. Where's...your mom?"
"Mommy's at the store!"
"Ok."
The kid curled up and nuzzled into my chest, his eyes already closed. I had to admit, he was cute. The only problem I had at the moment, besides the pain of course, was the fact that I had no idea where I was, who this mommy person was, and how the hell I was going to get back to Besaid. I heaved a sigh and watched the kid's head move up and down with my chest. It surprised me how quickly he fell asleep, but what amazed me still was how drowsy I was getting in the process. Soon, I found myself falling asleep.
The funny thing about sleep is that for that first few moments after you wake up, you have no clue what time of day it is and your eyes feel as if they've been stabbed. And you never know what exactly woke you up, right? Well, I knew what woke me up. It was the searing voice of an angry mother. It had just enough anger and coldness in it to jar even me, who hadn't been around a mother since the age of nine.
"Gary! What are you doing on him? Get off of him right this instant!"
I shot up in bed, eyes wide open and chest pounding. I felt the kid slide off my chest and in to my lap. He had the same dumbfounded and scared look as I did. The smile creeping to my lips was instantly curtailed by another searing reprimand.
"I told you not to mess with him, Gary."
"But it's Daddy!"
"It is not Daddy! It's only a soldier. Now get off that bed!" Hearing this made me a tad bit angry, seeing as no one likes to be referred to as "it." Meekly, Gary nodded and slowly slid off the bed and onto the floor. He ran off to some unknown corner of the room and left me with his angry mother, who, as I turned my head, recognized as the waitress from the pub. Again, my brain clicked and I knew what had happened. This waitress had taken me to her home, probably in thanks for saving her son. I saw a few crude bandages covering wounds on my stomach and legs and I was honestly thankful.
She stood there staring at me for a moment while I tried to maintain an innocent look. Why I was trying to portray innocence was out of my mental capacity. Her red-hot stare seemed to cool down a bit as she recognized that I wasn't the guilty party here. Softly, but monotonically, she asked, "How are you feeling?"
I offered a smile and said, trying to curtail the rasp in my voice, "A lot better, thank you."
With that, she followed Gary into the kitchen area across from the left side of the bed. My brow quirked once more thanks to my now piqued curiosity. I slowly but painfully spread my legs and swung them over the side of the bed. It took my back a moment to actually straighten. Apparently I had been there a while.
With quite a bit of caution, I stood and wobbled my way to the window. I pulled the sheet out of the way and looked down onto the street. The sun was slowly dying behind the rows and rows of buildings. I squinted and searched the street below. No Yevonites in sight. Whether this was good or bad thing didn't really register in my brain. I was more concerned at the moment as to the how and when of my escape from Luca. Still, I did need to gather -some- intelligence to come back with, so letting my wounds heal seemed like the best idea. I just hoped Gatta and the others weren't counting on my information any time soon.
--------------------
Gatta sighed as he looked into the eyes of the Al Bhed convoy's leader, Rikku. She was standing, rather brazenly, in front of Gatta's operations desk. The mood hovering in the room was thick with condescension. Why it was so, Gatta hadn't learned yet, but the shifting of Rikku's hips marked that she was either about to speak, or about to lunge over the desk.
"I'm here early, I know."
Gatta nodded and responded with, "Yeah, I noticed. Mind telling me why?"
Rikku shrugged, her eyes slowly shifting to the floor, as if admitting some great defeat. "They snuck in and stole a couple of airships, two mech-walkers, and a beam cannon."
Gatta nodded, his reaction a bit too subdued for the severity of the news. He looked to her and simply asked, "When?"
"Yesterday. We couldn't catch them in time." At this, Rikku sighed and slammed a fist into a clear spot on Gatta's desk. While her move didn't startle Gatta to the point of jumping in surprise, it did cause his eyes to widen. After a moment of composing herself, Rikku sighed and continued, a slight growl of anger stinging her normally chipper voice. "I ordered the troops and all volunteers to move out. I want to plan a liberation attack -now-."
"I understand. But without the information Weston's gathering, we wouldn't stand much of chance. He -should- be back, at least according to the loose plan, in four days."
"Then he's got four days. Meanwhile, I want the Crusader's leader, that's you, and the Al Bhed's leader, that's my dad, and the Al Bhed's military leader, that's me, to form up a strategy to get Luca its freedom. If Weston doesn't come four days from now, I'm going to deploy troops, with or without a plan and with or without the Crusaders."
While Gatta didn't like his command stepped on, the deeply hidden timid soldier from three years ago sympathized with Rikku's harsh means. She was angry, scared, and confused. Her outgoing nature made her more of a showy leader than a strategic one. She was brazen and usually went against odds, and Gatta knew this from her conversations. Rikku was quick to the point, confident, and, usually, ready to take plenty of risks. While Gatta still saw all of this in her, the nervous twitching of her index and middle fingers denoted that the girl had had to make some rather quick and hasty decisions in the past few days and that those decisions were weighing heavily on her mind. No doubt, Gatta thought, Rikku's former personality would take a back seat as she settled into her command, much like his had.
Gatta sighed and nodded, crossing his arms. "You'll have the Crusaders' support in either case, but isn't rushing in..."
"The perfect course of action given the circumstances."
At this, Gatta cleared his throat and raised a brow. "What circumstances?"
"If we surprise them, and hit 'em hard and fast, we'd have the upper hand, right?"
A smirk crept to Gatta's face. Still the same Rikku, but this time, she wasn't talking about Blitzball. She was talking about lives at stake.
Solemnly, but respectively, Gatta corrected her thoughts. "And what of the civilians? The location of strategic troop placements? We could very well storm Luca, but we'd be blind. Rushing into a battle blind is like putting rocks in your sandals. It hurts and the only thing accomplished by it is a decrease in speed and efficiency. We -have- to have a plan, even without information present. We have to coordinate and -then- attack in waves. Coordination is the first thing taught to Crusader recruits."
Rikku nodded and mumbled an "Oh..." After a little bit of mental fishing, she came up with, "Well, Crusaders don't have very high rank structures, do they?"
Gatta shook his head. "Captain is the highest, save Commander." He then added, implying her own army, "It's better than no structure at all."
He saw Rikku frown but her trademark anger didn't rear its head. Gatta leaned back and took a glance outside and saw that a squad of recruits was in evasive maneuver training. Most of the recruits the Crusaders were getting were coming in from Kilika. Grown men and teenagers alike were joining up because of what happened during the battle. Gatta knew what these men were thinking. They saw the Crusaders win, and their confidence had skyrocketed. Sadly, Gatta thought, most of them didn't realize that what had happened at Kilika was nothing compared to what was coming in the next few months. Any one involved enough with the war could feel the icy chill of oncoming slaughter. The tension, the climate, and the anger were all there to create a battle far greater in size, scope, and casualties than previously seen. The battle for Kilika was a cakewalk compared to what Gatta felt was coming.
After letting the silence drone on for a little while, Gatta softly asked, "Where's Cid?"
Rikku seemed to jump out of deep thought and looked to Gatta as if she hadn't understood the question. Shortly, though, she blinked and answered his question. "He told me he was going to go talk to Yuna. She's at the temple, right?"
Gatta blinked a few times and then nodded, coming around his desk to stand in front of her. "Well, I think he's in for a surprise."
Rikku raise a brow, "How so?"
With a shake of his head, Gatta grabbed Rikku's arm and exited the office, dragging her with him. "No time to explain. You'll see for yourself."
Rikku shrugged and followed the slightly shorter Crusader commander to the Temple.
--------------------
"Are you hungry?"
I blinked a few times, turning around from the window. The waitress' cold eyes met my own and I had to shudder. I'd seen those cold eyes before on the battlefield, except this time, I didn't have a weapon or the support of a few troops to ease my nerves. I yelped out a "No, thank you." For some reason, my throat had gone dry and my heart's pace gained a few steps in speed. Not the most warranted reaction, I assure you. She walked away with a curt turn on her heel and I did the same, the setting sun coming into my view.
I wondered if I had just offended her, saying no to food like that. Why I wondered this was beyond me, even then. Here I was, a nervous, timid, and uncertain Weston. I shook my head and rubbed my temples with my index fingers. My heart was still going a mile a minute and I could feel every joint shaking. This wasn't me. I was the guy who was always calm, collected, even with bullets flying by my head. Hell, sometimes, I was downright cocky in battle. But with Ms. Ice herself in the room, I wasn't me. I was someone completely different, and I really didn't like that.
Standing the pain in my chest, I managed to lie down again. I didn't bother covering up and just lay there, bare-chested and scratching at my ever-growing stubble. While I didn't mind it per se, I tended to keep my cheeks and jaw clean while keeping a goatee. Beards made me look older, as if the weathering effects of battle weren't enough. Soon, the little tyke, Gary, was back at my bedside.
"Hey, Daddy?"
I sighed but didn't bother correcting him. He was at the point of childhood where if he wanted to call me that, he would, regardless of what anyone told him.
"Yeah?" I replied.
"How many battles have you been in?"
A stifled laugh came to me and I rolled my eyes. "Too many to count, little man."
Gary laughed at my nickname for him. "Really?"
"Really," I confirmed.
"Daddy must be old!"
Again, I stifled a laugh. "Not really."
Just then, Gary's mother called for him and the young child leapt off of me. I watched as he bounded off towards the left side of the room and through an empty doorjamb. The aroma of cooking food filled my nostrils, and in all honesty, I was -very- hungry. I just didn't want to trouble Gary's mother.
I rolled over in bed, my back facing the entrance to the kitchen and soon found myself falling back to sleep. In the final moments between consciousness and sleep, I faintly heard the rapping of knuckles on the wooden front door.
--------------------
As Fagan reached the bottom of the stairs, he felt a strong grip in his shoulder.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you."
Fagan turned around quickly to face the voice. Instead, he came witness to the cave and stairs before him vanishing into thin air, a pure white aura replacing his environs. He turned about a few times, trying to understand what just happened. The disembodied voice helped answer his worries.
"Welcome to the -real- Farplane."
"Huh?" was all Fagan could manage.
"This is the true Farplane. A plane of existence in the clouds where freed souls go."
"Freed souls?" asked Fagan.
"You see," said the voice, "the Farplane known to Spira's inhabitants is just a gathering place for Pyreflies."
Fagan could only scratch his head.
"Pyreflies are invisible beings of light that can only gain a visible body by feeding on souls. Usually, one human soul does the trick."
"Is that...what...happens when people die?"
The voice laughed. "You should know. You were in one until I heard your song."
"The hymn..."
"Correct. I heard your hymn and released you from your Pyrefly prison. Mind you, that's normally impossible to do."
"Then how did..."
"It has something to do with being unsent. Sending a spirit forever locks it into a Pyrefly, apparently. I want to explain to you, though, how important you are at the moment, Fagan."
"You know my name?"
"Yes, and I know how you died and what you want to do to a certain someone if given the chance to return to Spira. While I don't commend it, it will have to be allowed because you are the only one who can pull it off."
"Pull what off?"
"Bringing down Nyka."
"You mean..."
"Ah, you know, then?"
"In...my last moments...I saw his true form between his teleports."
"Do you know his story?"
"Only that he has a grandson..."
"Wrong. It is not -his- grandson, but the -real- Nyka's grandson."
Fagan uttered a sound of confusion.
"I suppose I'll have to tell you. Three years ago, Yuna and her now famed guardians defeated Sin and destroyed Yu Yevon."
"So there was never a Yevon?"
"Oh, there was one alright. Yu Yevon was a maniacal tyrant running Spira's 'Loop of Death' from the safe confines of Sin. But Yu Yevon was no deity. He wasn't of flesh and blood, certainly, but he wasn't a god either. I'd tell you Yevon's history, but we really don't have time for that and I'd rather you learn it alongside the others."
"Others? What others? You mean you've brought other people here...or back to life?"
"You could say that. -I- didn't bring them back, per se, but I know of a certain someone who can and he has brought -one- back to life. The other...we've got no clue why he's here."
"Who are these 'others'?"
With a raspy but booming laugh, the voice replied, "You've met one and heard of the other. But enough with that. Names aren't important. I'm going to give you the information you need to know."
Fagan sighed and nodded to the empty white plane.
"The original Nyka was a little known land owner in Bevelle. After the defeat of Sin and the subsequent collapse of the Yevon religion, an old friend of ours decided that instead of finding his way here, he'd live out another life as another person. The -real- Nyka lost his life while trying to tack up a Youth Alliance banner on his home. Our 'old friend' then took Nyka's body and voice."
Fagan could figure out the rest for himself. "And so began the spiral..."
"Into chaos," the voice finished. "You are going to put our 'old friend' into his rightful place."
"The prison of a Pyrefly."
"Correct."
"And I shall do this how?"
"I suppose he'll have to be sent."
Fagan hmmed. "Couldn't...Yuna do that?"
The voice hmmed as well. "There's a problem with that, you see. He could just as easily teleport far away, so that he couldn't be sent."
"Do you think I could possibly...trap him...you know, since he's unsent too?"
"Possibly. I'm not guaranteeing anything. Just remember that if you can manage to do that, you yourself will be forever trapped in that Pyrefly."
"A small price to pay, in my opinion."
"Commendable."
Fagan wondered to himself just how he was going to get Yuna to do such a thing, after such a long time.
Another laugh came and the voice said, as if in reply to Fagan's thoughts, "That shall be up to you, Fagan."
"Hmm?"
"On the Farplane, thoughts are just as loud as spoken word."
"Then how do you get privacy?"
"Privacy is a matter for the living, Fagan. There are no secrets among the dead."
Fagan only nodded to the white space in front of him.
"Now, where shall I drop you off?"
Fagan thought a moment, and before he could give his verbal answer, the voice said, "Besaid, it is."
--------------------
I have to admit that I was taken by surprise. Admitting that, especially when you're a soldier, isn't easy. Soldiers always want to be on the defensive. Nothing's worse than a soldier losing his life with a bullet to the back. But, there I was, barebacked and just offering the Yevonite a juicy kill. Too bad for him that he decided to antagonize Gary's mother instead of me.
After silently crawling my way off the other side of the bed, lodging myself between the wall and bed frame, he surmised the reason for his intrusion into the apartment with a rather simple phrase.
"Do you, or do you not, support and believe in the Yevon religion?"
I rolled my eyes as my knees and hands worked together to slowly and silently move along the foot of the bed. From this vantage point, I could see the entire situation. Gary and his mother were pinned against the wall next to the entrance to the kitchen. The soldier was brandishing a rifle and his finger was itching ever closer to the trigger. I gathered he was nervous when I saw his shoulder and forearm muscles twitching like wildfire. He also had this tick to his right eye, which I really didn't like. The soldier was obviously green and was probably stuck with building sweeps or some bullshit job of that same nature to keep him out of the more experienced soldiers' hair. I should know, I went through that same bullshit in Columbia.
He asked his question again, and then stated that Gary and his mother had five seconds to answer him before they were shot dead. By now, I was directly behind the somewhat shorter soldier. I looked to Gary and then his mother, my finger to my mouth. Gary's mother's eyes locked to mine as my left forearm wrapped around the soldier's neck, just under the jaw, left hand gripping the right side of his jaw. My right forearm wrapped around his forehead and its hand closed over and gripped the soldier's ear. Surprised, the soldier tried to gasp, but I wasn't giving him enough air to allow a sound to emanate. He raised his rifle as my shoulders locked, bringing all of my upper body strength into my forearms. I nodded to Gary's mother. Seeming to understand my gesture, she grabbed Gary and jumped off to the side just as my right arm pulled back eastward, my left pulling back in the opposite direction. The rifle dropped faster than the body, surprisingly. I expected the soldier to at least keep the rifle. Oh well.
Gary seemed rather interested in the weapon and ran for it, but his mother caught his shoulder and dragged him back to the corner where she had nested. I looked to her with my brow cocked, and this only made her plant Gary in her lap and bring her knees to the boy's chest, as if she were hiding him in some sort of pouch. With a sigh, I bent over and picked up the rifle, and again, my eyes went back to the couple huddled in the corner. I made eye contact with the mother and she immediately shuddered and turned her back to me.
"What, you don't trust me?" I said aloud, the bite in my voice huskier and angrier than intended. Of course, she didn't answer and just sat there, trembling. I guessed it was only natural. She had just witnessed me murder someone. And while it was in self-defense, it was still murder. Damn kid should've never entered the building. I tried to imagine what kind of notification Yevonite soldiers' parents got when their pride and joy was torn a new on one the battlefield, or, as in this young soldier's case, killed on some pissant job on his first week or two of duty. Oh well. Enemies are enemies, old and young alike, and my compassion for the people trying to kill me had long since been abandoned. A firefight with Columbian Rebels will do that to you. So ferocious yet so unorganized, you get so used to killing them, it becomes more or less like washing laundry. You may hate doing it at first, but it's gotta be done and it soon just becomes a common part of your psyche.
A laugh escaped me when I worked the gun's breech. The poor kid hadn't even chambered a round. But, thanks to him, I was now able to see a Yevonite rifle up and close. I closed the breech and looked for a safety. As I expected, there wasn't one. It was a good thing it hadn't gone off when it dropped. Gary was too cute of a kid to be shot.
The rifle itself was primitive, as I had observed earlier in battle, but it was still formidable. I had studied the American Civil War rabidly as a teenager and had grown accustomed to respecting a primitive rifle's power. The late 18th century muskets and prototype repeaters used in that war were so effective in crushing flesh and bone, most wounded soldiers didn't come back home in one piece. I opened the breech checked the action. It was an autoloader, which, as far as I could tell, was loaded like a Remington .22. The user had a small tube that extended to a little bit shorter than the barrel's length and held the cartridges. Upon cocking the breech, a shell would be automatically loaded into the breech and the firing pin would lock, allowing for the trigger to be pulled and fire the weapon. The used shell would be ejected and the spring-dowel that closed the cartridge-tube pushed the next round closer to the breech where it would slide up into position and subsequently chambered.
I worked the breech again and again, the gun ejecting cartridges this way and that. After the gun was empty, I set it down on the body. I picked up a cartridge and it matched the one I had seen in Kilika. A large caliber bullet with a small firing primer on the bottom. Primitive, but deadly.
Quickly, I picked up the bullets and threw them, save one, out the curtained window facing the -hopefully- empty street. Just to make sure, I looked down to the small road and to my relief, found no one. I picked up the soldier, his gun cradled on his back, and walked to the window. I looked one last time, checking for any onlookers, saw none, and tossed the body to the ground. I turned and heard the thud I was expecting. I knew the body couldn't stay there forever and not be discovered, so that led me to realizing that getting out of the apartment in the next few days might just be a good idea.
My eyes caught Gary's mother stand, her son cradled in her arms. "That's a start," I commented. I was met with a cold stare. With a shrug, I asked, "Do you have anywhere to go, say your parents' house or husband..."
"No," came her strangely biting reply. She curtly turned around and headed for the kitchen. Apparently, the kitchen and its sans-door entryway was impassible to anyone but her and Gary. Right.
So soon, I was in the kitchen's entrance, which was surprising narrow. I easily took it up, blocking the only exit from the area. I noticed Gary's mother frantically slicing some sort of vegetable. "Look, lady, I'm not going to hurt you and I'm not here to mooch off of you. I appreciate you tending my wounds, but I've really got to get out of this apartment and this town, ASAP."
Gary, who was sitting at the small table in the center of the nook- turned-kitchen laughed. "Daddy, what does ASAP mean?"
I looked to him and started to reply, but his mother's biting voice tore into my sentence. "Gary, what have I told you? He's -not- Daddy!"
My brow cocked and I looked to her once more. "Hey, calm down. First of all, it's not like he's going to listen to you, and second of all, he can call me whatever he wants to."
She huffed and I was then able to answer Gary. "As Soon As Possible, bud."
"Oh! I wanna do something ASAP!"
I laughed. "And what's that?"
"Eat!" screamed Gary.
I heard his mother growl and she turned to me with a look that combined enough anger and bitterness to chill even Hitler's bones. Meekly, I turned around and found the bed again. The sounds of a mother-son quarrel were soon heard and I decided not to interfere with that.
A few minutes later, a defeated, but obviously still jovial Gary found his way onto the bed. I sat up and met him with a tap on his nose. "You oughta keep that mouth in check. Your mom seems easily agitated."
The child shook his head. "I dunno why she's like this...Mommy's always so nice and caring."
"Well, maybe the stress of what happened with that bad man made her mad," I suggested.
"I dun think so," Gary replied. "Mommy's been that way ever since you came here."
I raised a brow and nodded. "I noticed."
"Do you think you can fix Mommy?" he asked me.
Despite my hard exterior, I was a sucker for cute kids and their cute sayings. All one of my enemies had to do was place a cute kid out on the battlefield and it'd be like Lex Luther giving Superman an injection of Kryptonite. But I'm no superman, just to keep you from thinking I'm an egomaniac or something. I'm an Aquaman, tops. Ok, forget that superhero stuff.
Anyway, I shrugged my shoulders and ruffled his hair. "I don't know."
Gary half-pouted and his eyebrows rose in unison, his face resembling that of a puppy's. "Can you try, Daddy?"
I sighed and gritted my teeth. "I'll try if you wipe that look off your face."
Gary gladly obliged and pointed to the kitchen.
I got up, popped my neck and headed for the kitchen. The only thought running through my mind when I entered and was met with yet another cold stare was, "This should be fun!" Fun indeed.
--------------------
Eimour tried to emit the coldest stare possible. She wanted him to know that she wasn't going to let her guard down around him, especially after seeing how..."skilled" he was at his tradecraft. He leisurely came in and sat down at the small table. She noticed the small wooden chair straining under his bulk and this did nothing to help her worries. Not only had she taken on a trained killer, her furniture would be crushed by his muscular girth.
As she wiped down a dish, she could feel his eyes on him. It made her eerily uncomfortable in a multitude of ways. One was the fact that she felt she had no control over the situation and that she was the stranger, and he was the owner of the apartment. This feeling was amplified by Gary's newfound attachment to the soldier. Calling him 'Daddy' certainly wasn't helping either. Another way she was bothered by his presence was how intimidating he seemed, but could still joke around with Gary in an almost childish way. It was as if he had two faces, much like a man she once knew...
She growled and shook her head. Slowly, she turned and saw him, still sitting there. He smiled at her and while she was somewhat comforted by it, she kept her cold exterior.
Trying her best to keep any emotion from her voice, Eimour asked him, "Would you like something to eat?"
He shook his head and answered her, "No. Just need to get out of bed."
She nodded and turned back to her dishes. After a few minutes of silence, his raspy voice cut into the air and her ears. "I want to...uhh...thank you for what you did for me."
Eimour sighed and simply nodded. Unfortunately, he continued.
"Gary's a great kid...but if I may, can I have -your- name?"
Despite her jaw muscles and fist tightening as she leaned back against the counter, she answered his question. "Eimour."
"Pardon me?"
"Ee-Ah-Mor," she slowly pronounced.
"Ah. Well, thank you, again, Eimour."
She knew what he was doing. Despite every cold stare and bitter or monotonic response, he was going to keep on being warm, sincere, and downright annoying. Tired and in no mood for a mental war, she let loose her muscles and her angry façade. In all truth, she had some thanking to do of her own.
"And I thank you, Mr...?"
"It's just Weston."
"Thank you...Weston...for protecting us back there."
He seemed not at all surprised that her barrier had fallen. "It's the least I could do. Besides, Gary was in trouble, and he's my buddy now. Buddies have to stick together."
His voice at that last sentence had lightened to almost that of a little boy's and she couldn't help but crack the smallest of smiles.
Weston laughed and nodded to the other end of the table. "Have a seat, get comfortable. I'm tired of sleeping. Mind if you keep my company for a little while?"
She blinked a few times and then sat down across from him, wondering why she was nodding and smiling at him. It was as if she wasn't really in control of her body. Yet again, she was uncomfortable because Weston, a stranger, seemed to have this control over her that she couldn't explain.
Weston leaned back a bit in his chair and sighed. "So I suppose I should tell you about myself."
"It'd be appreciated, yes," Eimour managed, trying not to sound sarcastic or mean spirited.
He leaned forward and hmmed. "I don't exactly know what to tell you..."
"The truth, maybe," Eimour replied with a slight grin.
Weston nodded. "Yeah, but the truth is...rather hard to believe...and it's also chock full of...interesting tidbits."
"What, you're a lost Crusader on a mission to help save Luca, or something?" she spouted, her mild laugh ending in with a sarcastic smirk.
"Well, actually..." he said, his mouth turning up to one corner.
Eimour blinked a few times and cocked her head to one side. "So you're telling me that I have a Crusader in my apartment and that you're on a mission to liberate my city?"
"Ok, so that's not exactly the truth."
She sighed and calmed down a bit. "I -am- a soldier and I'm working -for- the Crusaders, but I'm not actually...of their ranks."
"So...you're...fighting the Nyka's forces?"
"I was at Kilika when they tried to invade and I was recently involved in a skirmish at Bikanel. Yes, I've seen lots of combat and, as you're probably aware of by now, I'm not afraid of using force."
"So what are you doing in my apartment? Shouldn't a soldier's mission take first priority?"
Weston blinked. "You've got me there. I saw your pub and decided to stop in. I didn't really expect to be...-here-."
Eimour nodded. "I take it you're planning on returning to that mission soon."
Weston simply nodded in response.
"So you're a soldier working for the Crusaders...is that all you are?"
"Pretty much. If I were anything else, I wouldn't be here."
"I'd imagine not. When do you plan on returning to your mission?"
Weston scratched his stubbly chin in thought a moment and the replied, "As soon as my chest stops feeling like a knife is lodged in it. So, I'm guessing three to four days from now."
Eimour nodded and looked about the kitchen, trying not to look directly at him.
Of course, being a soldier, he noticed, and jarred her with saying, "It's not a welcoming sign to a guest when you don't make eye contact."
Eimour didn't really know how to react, so she simply shrugged and continued looking about.
"One thing I was taught in my training as a soldier was that keeping eye contact with an enemy was a deadly mistake. That moment of eye contact usually spells defeat, because if you take the time to lock your gaze with the man trying to kill you, you could also try to take the time to feel compassion for him."
Weston's words sunk deep into Eimour and she physically trembled. Her eyes couldn't help but to come into contact with his after hearing that. In a few sentences, he had broken all resistance she had to him and upon their gazes meeting, all doubt of his intentions was dropped. Eimour knew what he was doing. He was trying to tell her that he was not an enemy. Weston was conveying to her through his cryptic words that he wasn't someone to be feared, but someone to be trusted. But long held convictions about men had kept Eimour from seeing that. And she still didn't trust him. But he seemed to want to genuinely keep Gary safe, so she would, at the least, trust his skills as a soldier.
"See? Nothing to be afraid of. I'm not like the bastards in control of this town. I'm not going to hurt you or Gary. I'll be here for a short time and then I'm gone, ok? I'll do everything I can to stay out of your way."
She nodded and stood. "Would you like some coffee?"
Weston nodded. "Coffee. Such a trivial thing to me only a few months ago..."
"Excuse me?" she asked, her back turned to him as she filled a pot with water.
"Oh, nothing. It's just been awhile since I've had coffee. It's not served on Besaid."
"Well, I wouldn't have it on Besaid anyway," Eimour said. "Who'd want coffee made with salt water?"
At this, Weston shuddered. "Yech, the thought alone makes me sick."
Eimour stifled a laugh. "What do they serve on Besaid as a wake me up?"
"Ale. And I'm not the ale type."
"You certainly look it, though," she remarked, not able to stop herself.
He didn't seem to take it as an insult and simply said, "Eh."
A few minutes passed and the coffee was ready. Eimour set a cup down in front of Weston, who nodded his thanks, while she kept her own in her two hands, sipping lightly at it.
"Have you always been in that shape?" she asked, nodding to him.
Weston shrugged. "Ever since I joined the Army."
"-The- Army? Didn't know there was just one."
He laughed. "Well, where I come from, we just call it -the- Army."
"Where do you come from?" she asked. She pretty much knew he knew she was going to ask, and she wondered if he'd tell her the honest truth, or babble on about how he can't 'divulge' the information.
"Well...America. The United States of America, to be exact."
"And where is that?"
Weston lifted an arm and too a sip, his shoulders shrugging. "Oh, a couple of millennia ago."
Eimour stopped in mid-sip, her eyes coming to him as if he'd just told her he was a magical creature from some far off land, which wasn't very far from the truth.
With a smile, he simply scratched at the back of his neck and added, "Hard to believe, I know, but it's the truth. I've got witnesses."
"Interesting," she said half-heartedly. Eimour sat back down and sat her cup of coffee in front of her. "Either that was the joke, or the truth. I don't feel as if I should question the soldier who, just a few minutes ago, saved my life. At least, not until I save yours."
Weston smiled as he took another rather large sip of his coffee. "Eh, the way I see it, I've repaid the debt I owed to -you-."
"Whatever way you see it, I'll see it differently. You owe me nothing."
"And neither do you. So let's call it even."
Eimour shrugged. "I imagine it won't matter soon. You said you'd be leaving soon."
"That's the plan. Oh, and I'd like to ask you something."
Eimour eyed him strangely, wondering what he was about to ask. "Yes?"
"The soldiers come in your pub regularly, right?"
"They practically live there. So?"
"Could you...just listen to their conversations a little and see if anything important pops out?"
"Well, I've already been doing that. All they talk about is what their orders are."
"What are their orders?"
Eimour shrugged. "Something to do with thinning out their presence here. One of them even offered me a trip to the Calm Lands, as long as I'd...you know."
Weston nodded. "The Calm Lands?"
"Apparently, they're massing just to the south of the area. They don't know why, though."
Weston blinked. "I've really, really got to get back to Besaid." He sat up rather quickly, but fell to the floor clutching his chest.
"Argh, damn it."
Eimour shot up and leapt to his side. "What happened?"
"Guess I'm not that better after all."
"You strained yourself. Here, let me take you to the bed."
She took on of his arms and helped him up. He leaned on her while they shuffled to the bed. He slowly laid down and Eimour pulled the covers over him.
"Thanks."
She nodded and headed back to the kitchen. A worried Gary came to the side of the bed. "You ok, Daddy?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. Just worked myself too hard."
Gary hopped up onto the bed and laid down next to Weston. "I'll keep the bad guys from getting ya, Daddy."
"You do that little man," Weston said, laughing despite the pain souring through his body.
--------------------
As Gatta and Rikku jogged along Besaid's main path, the sun was slowly setting off in the distance, the water already swallowing half of the large star. The small village of Besaid was drenched in a reddish- orange glow and every surface seemed to be glowing. Even Rikku, whose mind was working overtime to try to figure out where Gatta was taking her, could admire the beauty of a Besaid sunset.
A wooden dwelling came up on the right side of the path and Gatta nodded towards it as they jogged along. "Weston built that."
Not really paying attention, Rikku offered a monotonic, "Oh, really? Nice," in response.
Soon, they were both double-stepping the stairs leading to the Temple's long entry alcove, its blue marble columns and tiles still as beautiful as they were the first time Rikku had seen them.
Gatta stopped at the door and turned to a heaving Rikku.
"Why did we have to run all the way here?" she asked between breaths.
To this, Gatta only laughed and put his hands to his hips. "Out of shape, are we? That was nothing."
She stuck her tongue out and straightened up from her bent over position. "Are we going in or what?"
"I have to make sure he's here, first. Stay out here for just a moment, okay?"
"Ok...wait a minute!" But Gatta didn't wait. Rikku called out, "Who's 'he?'" but Gatta was already where he couldn't hear her. Rikku sighed and squatted down to the right of the door, grumbling to herself.
It wasn't long before Gatta returned and stuck his head out of the door. "You can come in now," he said with an official tone.
Rikku grunted at him and got up. Gatta opened the door for her and she punched his shoulder jokingly as she entered.
"Hey Rikku, long time no see."
Rikku nearly hit the ceiling, her reactionary jump was so high.
"Tidus!" After yelling his name multiple times, she ran and wrapped her arms around his waist. His arms came around her shoulders.
"Nice to see you too," he said, laughing afterwards.
After pulling back from the embrace, Rikku noticed Yuna and Lulu standing off to the side of him. She put her hands to her hips and scolded, "Why wasn't I told?! And where have -you- been?! Jeez, Tidus. Took ya long enough to get back, didn't it?"
They all laughed, including Gatta, who had posted himself guard at the door.
Tidus shrugged once the chuckles had left his system. He said with a beaming smile, "What can I say? I'm the fashionably late kinda guy."
Laughter erupted again.
Gatta looked on and smiled, glad to see everyone in such high spirits. But he was also hoping that meeting Tidus again would help Rikku forget her deadline for Weston. Gatta had the odd feeling that something was wrong, and when he usually got that feeling, he was right. Somehow, Weston's mission had become compromised and it'd be a while before anyone heard from him. Going into Luca without that intelligence was not what Gatta wanted, but if Rikku had her way, they'd go in now. With a sigh, he walked out of the temple and looked up at the slowly darkening sky.
"I hope, wherever you are, Weston, that you get back here soon. Otherwise, there'll be quite a bit to pay when it's all said and done."
With that said, Gatta started on his walk back to the camp. 'One thing is for certain,' he thought, 'is that death is coming. It's hanging above our heads. I have the sickening feeling that this war is going to make us wish we only had Sin to worry about...'
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A/N: Short, yes. Plot mover, yes. Well, at least it's not coming to ya three months later :P Can't say much about this chappie except that it's setting up for some really fun stuff that's going to be even more fun writing. A BATTLE! Whee. Oops, just gave away what you probably already know is coming. Oh well. I'm off to work on Chapter 18, and my upcoming college career! ~No One