Pilgrim, how you journey
on the road you chose
to find out why the winds die
and where the stories go.
All days come from one day
that much you must know,
you cannot change what's over
but only where you go.

One way leads to diamonds,
one way leads to gold,
another leads you only
to everything you're told.
In your heart you wonder
which of these is true;
the road that leads to nowhere,
the road that leads to you.

Will you find the answer
in all you say and do?
Will you find the answer
In you?

Each heart is a pilgrim,
each one wants to know
the reason why the winds die
and where the stories go.
Pilgrim, in your journey
you may travel far,
for pilgrim it's a long way
to find out who you are...

Pilgrim, it's a long way
to find out who you are...

Pilgrim, it's a long way
to find out who you are...

--- Pilgrim Lyrics: Roma Ryan







Otherworld Year Seven: Chapter 1




"Like this?" The ruddy-faced man asked, as he brought the barrel of the rifle up... pointing it directly at Auron's chest.

Auron's arm flashed forward and roughly swept the weapon from the man's grasp, as he advanced a step toward him.

"Never bring a weapon to bear on someone, unless you mean to use it." Auron said, his voice a steely monotone.

"Hey! You don't have the right to treat me this way, I paid for that rifle... give it back!" The man whined, turning to the counter to look at Gabe.

"Don't get your pants in a wad, he was merely trying to make an important point. Auron, give the gentleman his weapon, so he can leave." Gabe said calmly, leaning his back against the counter, as he crossed his arms over his chest.

Auron extended his arm, and the man took the rifle, then turned and stiffly walked out of the shop... mumbling to himself as he went.

"The man's a fool, he's going to seriously injure himself or someone else with that weapon." Auron said, a deep frown creasing his brow.

"You're probably right about that, but you over-reacted... you're wound way too tight man." Gabe said, rubbing his chin... "You, my uptight friend, could seriously use a break. As of right now, you're on vacation. Take a few days, take a week, take a month, whatever you need."

"I don't require a vacation." Auron replied stiffly, obviously angered by Gabe's statement.

Gabe knew he would lose in a prolonged argument, so he decided to just play his power card. Maybe it was unfair, but he was doing it for Auron's own good.

"I think you do, and as your employer, I'm telling you to take some time off. It's not open for debate."

Auron glared at him for several moments, then without uttering a word, strode to the shop entrance and went through, a brief flood of sunlight washing across the threshold as he left.

Gabe leaned heavily on the counter, shaking his head. He hoped Auron wasn't too angry with him for this, but he didn't know what else to do. The man was like a wire, being pulled tauter with the passage of time, and eventually, he was going to snap. If he knew what the source of the tension was, he might be able to do more than just force Auron to get some rest.

Rest. Right. Who's kidding who, he thought grimly. The stubborn man would probably use the time off to train himself into exhaustion down at the beach. Sahna and he had tried everything they could think of to get Auron to loosen up, but he wouldn't budge.

There was more to it than just being uptight too. Auron didn't really seem to be fully present anymore. It was like he was just going through the motions of living. He sometimes got the feeling that Auron was in a holding pattern, waiting for something. Just what, he hadn't a clue.

************

Auron was halfway down the breezeway, when he realized he didn't have his robe on. He thought for a moment about going back for it, then decided against it. He was too angry at the moment to care. Gabe had dismissed him like a misbehaved child, and he had thought it better to leave than lose his temper. He would just walk it off.

************

"Over here! I'm open!" The tall one yelled, as he waved his arms in the air. The boy holding the ball saw him, and grinned as he passed the ball over the heads of the others... the throng of youngsters shouting and running after the receiver, as he dodged and ran in front of them, holding the ball tight to his chest.

He looked back over his shoulder, to see how close the others were getting, then snapped his head back the other way, just in time to see the woman in front of him, before he ran her over.

Like a herd of stampeding chocobo, the others followed suit, unable to slow their momentum fast enough. The reflexes of youth spared the woman serious injury, as the boys zig-zagged around her, several of them actually leaping over her, their feet missing her head by inches.

"Jeez lady, you okay?" The ball carrier asked, as he skidded to a stop, and turned back to look at her. She silently waved a hand at him, and he took that for a yes, turning to sprint after the others, who had continued to boil down the roadway.

************

Great. Just great. A perfect ending to the day, she thought miserably, bending at the waist to reach for her packages... raking them toward her with one arm, her legs sprawled out in front of her against the roadway. Someone should pass a law against teenaged boys traveling in packs like that. They should all be incarcerated until the age of twenty. Well now, that's certainly a charitable thought, she scolded herself... shaking her head and smiling ruefully.

Then her eyes widened in alarm, as she suddenly felt herself being lifted like a rag doll to her feet from behind... two hands clamped around her waist like a vice. Wonderful. She was probably going to be mugged now, adding just that perfect touch of insult to her injury. Maybe if she turned fast enough, she could knee him in his privates, and run.

Spinning around, she thought for a moment that she had suddenly gone blind... everything in front of her eyes was black. Then she realized she was looking at someone's chest, a very large chest, clad in strange armor of some kind. It smelled like leather.

Oh boy. She was really in trouble now. This must be some black-leather-clad-tattooed-multi-pierced-crazy-serial-killer, who would snap her neck like a take-out chopstick.

Honestly, she really must learn to curb her over-active imagination.

Feeling totally insane, she reached up, poking two fingers against the chestplate... testing to see whether or not it was a costume, or if there was something really filling the thing out. She got her answer, as she felt the armor giving way a fraction of an inch, then stopping, as it met a hard surface, accompanied by the sound of a low grunt.

That's it, she thought. I'm dead meat.

Then a voice like rough velvet rumbled through the chestplate... "Are you alright?"

She lifted her gaze past the armor, to a large attached collar, then finally coming to rest, on a face that was both intriguing and intimidating at the same time. Blue sunglasses atop a strong nose, dark eyebrows and the permanent crease between them, barely visible over the top of the glasses, the right eyebrow cut short by a large scar. And topping the whole dramatic effect, was a shock of ebon hair... spread out in a spiky fan, streaked with white at the temples and forelock.

She suddenly became aware that her mouth was hanging open, and clamped it shut. Then her next thought was that he had asked her a question. What was it? Oh, right. Perfect, now she appeared to be a moron, as well as insane.

"I'm not entirely sure. But I think so. You don't intend to rob me then, I take it."

"You assume correctly." The man replied, a note of dark amusement in his voice.

"Good. Because it would be a shame, to ruin a voice as nice as yours with my knee." She replied dryly, then turned to gather her packages up from the ground.

************

Auron forgot to breathe, when she raised her face to his. She was a stunningly beautiful woman.

Her face was a perfect balance of bone and soft line, with full lips and large hazel eyes... the color of the sea just after a storm, the irises shot through with gold. Her skin was fair and clear, so finely delicate, it seemed to glow from within.

He was vaguely aware of her voice, speaking to him, then heard himself answer, unsure of just what he had said... grateful for the collar and glasses that hid his face, positive his unabashed appreciation must be clearly written all over it. Even more disconcerting, was the fact that he had been affected by her appearance at all. He had thought himself beyond such things. Apparently, he was mistaken.

Then she said something about her knee, and turned, wobbling slightly, obviously unsteady from the trampling she had just received. Are you going to help the woman, or merely stand here, ogling her like a lech, he chided himself, the thought effectively breaking his paralysis.

************

"Allow me." Auron said, moving in front of her and bending to retrieve the bundles strewn across the road.

She started to protest, then stopped, staring at the definition of muscle in his arms. She had been right about one thing, this man could easily snap her neck if he wanted to.

The packages cradled in his arms, Auron turned to look at her... "May I escort you to your destination?"

She returned his shrouded gaze for a moment in silence. What possible business did she have trusting this man? She must really have slipped a cog to be even considering this. But there was something about him. The way he talked and moved, the way he carried himself. He was, what was the right word... noble. Yes, that was it, he was noble. Although that was probably just her imagination at work again. Oh well, there was always her knee, she thought, then actually laughed out loud at herself.

"I'm sorry, I seem to be unbalanced in more ways than one at the moment. It's been a long day. Thank you, I live just down there, in that complex." She said, pointing to a large cluster of buildings on the left side of the road, that looked like every other structure in this place.

Auron nodded, then waited for her to start out, stepping in beside her.

They had gone a short distance, when she broke the silence with a question... "Are you an enforcer?"

"No, just a working stiff." He replied, smiling beneath his collar at the double-edged meaning. Pity she couldn't appreciate his devastatingly charming wit, he thought wryly.

"Nothing wrong with that." She offered, a smile lighting up her impossible eyes. "My name's Isabo by the way."

"Auron."

"A pleasure."

"The pleasure's mine."

If this conversation became any more scintillating, she was going to pass-out, she thought, trying to think of something interesting to say, and failing. Her mind always became a blank, at times like this. No wonder she lived alone.

"Here we are." Isabo said, turning down a narrow walkway, that wound around the left side of the building, then continuing to a single doorway, flanked by sidelights, at the end of the path.

"Just throw the packages in the back room." She instructed, keying in a security combo at the door, and going through.

Auron hesitated for a moment, then followed... "There?" He asked, nodding toward a set of double-doors at the end of the short vestibule.

"Yes, thanks. Just push, their not locked." She replied, stopping at a small entry table, with a large mirror mounted on the wall above it.

"Oh for crud's sake." Isabo said, with a laugh, as she gazed at herself in the mirror. "You might have mentioned the debris in my hair."

"It seemed the least of your problems." Auron responded, with a dry chuckle, as he watched her plucking several scraps of road-litter, from her waist-length hair.

"I see your point." She said, beginning to blush, as she turned, and looked back over her shoulder, at the wide swath of road-grime, smeared across the seat of her pants.

"Are you sure you're not injured?" Auron asked, his voice a mixture of concern and amusement.

"Not a scratch, as far as I can tell. Amazing, when you consider it." Isabo replied, looking down at herself in chagrin.

"You are fortunate." Auron observed, turning, and pushing through the double-doors, to the room beyond. Then he felt the small-hairs at the back of his neck rising to attention, as he took in the details and contents of the space before him.

North light flooded in from a bank of roof-windows at the far end of the room, washing over the cluttered profusion of objects below. A large worktable sat centered in the room, its surface covered with various jars, well-used rags, tubes of pigment, palettes, painting knives, and several containers of paint-brushes... their upright, slender shapes, fanned out in ferruled-bouquets.

Surrounding the table, and encircling the room, were dozens of canvases... some hanging, some propped against the wall on display lips, still others stacked two and three deep along the floor. All of them reflecting similar subject matter.

Isabo heard Auron release a short burst of laughter, and turned from the mirror, thinking he was reacting to some additional misfortune, in her disheveled appearance. Then realized he was looking at her paintings, his back to her.

"Everybody's a critic." Isabo said with a crooked smile, walking to stand beside him in the studio.

"Not at all. In fact, I purchased one of your paintings a couple of years ago." Auron explained, as he looked around the room.

"You're kidding. Really? It must have been one of my first, I haven't been doing this much longer than that."

"May I ask what inspires you, to paint these particular subjects?" Auron enquired, rotating his head, to train his good eye on her face.

Isabo shook her head, a fresh blush rising in her cheeks. "I'm sorry, but... I'd rather not say, you'll think me quite mad."

"Don't be sorry, it was presumptuous of me to ask." Auron said, setting the packages on the end of the worktable and turning, walking back through the doors into the vestibule.

Way to go, she thought, following after him. You've just insulted one of the few people in this whole city, who actually bought one of your bizarre creations.

"Thank you for your help. And thank you most especially, for buying my work... it is because of kind people like you, that I am able to sleep indoors, and eat regularly." Isabo offered, with a lilted smile.

"Nothing kind about it. Your work had a profound affect on me, as I recall. That is why I chose to own it." Auron said, his voice carefully modulated, so as not to betray the emotions beneath his words.

Isabo found herself unexpectedly moved, by his expression of honest truth. And she suddenly felt ashamed, by her stream of oh-so-cute comments.

"There will be an opening reception, for my first solo exhibit, at the Blackfish Gallery next week. I would like it very much, if you would attend." Isabo said softly, extending a hand toward Auron's arm.

Auron took a step backwards, into the still-open front doorway, avoiding her touch.

"Thanks. Perhaps I will." He replied simply, the outside wind catching at his hair, wafting it back from his temples, as he turned, and disappeared from view.

Isabo stood staring at the open doorway for awhile, her large eyes unfocused in thought.

"Haunted." She finally whispered, reaching up, to close the door.