Nobuo Uematsu - Anxious Heart
Meanwhile...
At the Jugend, where the spirit of old warriors travel across generations, a young Dragoon Knight lays her body against a cherry tree's trunk. It doesn't bring any comfort, Freya and her back knows, but it's better than staring at those hands.
Numb and senseless, if not for the warm blood dripping out her wounds, covered as well by the ooze spurting out the trunk; it ain't like honey, which's useful for wound care or whenever you want to bring a taste other than beans to your mouth. The stomach groins, claims for food, but all it gets is to distract its owner from the pain in hands. Freya doesn't want to look at the exposed injuries. Sure, she can support taking sight of a deep wound, but a bone... better let it stay inside you, unlike tears. Anyone who wouldn't cry right now would be a monster, or someone who trained enough.
It's only my first day, the Dragoon thinks. No, the one inside the outfit thought. If it was indeed the Dragoon, it would say 'keep going'. Right now, I hear it saying. If it was mom's voice, maybe I could follow what it says, but instead, Freya closes her eyes, and...
— ...Taking a nap? – so another voice echoed in her mind. No, it came from outside.
A blurred shadow amidst drowsy eyes stood upon Freya. That voice... – Edea? Where you had been?...
— In reality, which ain't your case – she said, in a cold tone – are you done yet, Crescent? It ain't safe to stand near a tree during a storm.
— You tell me – there was no storm nearby, as Freya watched the clouds. She thinks it would be interesting to see the sky crack down, or if a thunder hit her body right now, only for she to be able to redirect that powerful source of electricity away from that body. Can a Dragoon do it? Yes, it can – Edea... teach me how to redirect the lightning out my body, or whatever is the name you call it by.
— 'Misfortune redirection'?
— Yes. Anything but this tree – said Freya, letting a tiny yawn out. Edea stared at her with that same apathy on face, or whatever is the word that suits a face drained of any emotion better.
— You're the one who should finish with the tree, not the other way round – yet, something in her voice revealed life.
— Trees aren't overwhelmed by sorrow – the young Dragoon said, feeling a twitch of fingers. Tried to stand up, but her arms didn't responded – they don't care if one of their twigs are cut. Maybe they do, but who are we to listen?
— We are people. Living together of each other, occupying space, growing in numbers... That's why it's easy to chop a tree down whenever we want – Edea said, soon as she proceeded to pull Freya out the 'comfort zone' by arms. That brief sensation reminded the young Knight of the way her brother Jack used to pull his finger out a hand. Magic tricks, for a world where the real magic is unsealed by pain. Edea's eyes are sealed of any compassion, which ain't the case of the gauze she's wrapping upon Freya's hands – the why we do not take all trees down is because nothing is infinity, all beings need a space on their own, and because some of us care for plants as much as we do for one another.
— You are sounding like Sir Fratley – same who made my hands bleed this way, thought Freya. She already expected a harsh training, but to begin with this?...
— He taught me a lot. A good man, don't you think? – Edea asked, tightening the gauze once white in palms, both covered by a brown smudge below.
— Barely I know him. And if he's that good, my hands-
— Only your hands? He's good. Nice bracelet. Lapis-lazuli... from Fratley?
— Yes. He gave it to me. Just his way of saying 'have a good mood', 'be confident', because if it shedded of any luck...
— You are lucky to train with the best, Crescent.
— The best? I can't feel my fingers.
— Good, because had you felt the needle...
— The needle? – Freya looked at her fingers, their surface covered by sutures. If she couldn't fell the needle, then by staring at those green lines...
— You should stare at something else, like you did with my face all along – said Edea, who acknowledge that there was something unique on her face. Maybe a first impression issue, thought Freya, since the driest of the flowers share of a scent. A blank wall as well.
— I saw my skeleton, Captain. I... I wasn't supposed to see it.
— Well, had you ever been into a hospital, Crescent? – suddenly, Edea's tone changed. It's the only thing in her that does change – ...to not being able to tell who's alive and who's dead, to slip in feces and blood on the floor... it ain't a nice thing, but you don't see me complaining. So, stop whining and get that tree down.
— But with my hands!? – said Freya, trembling in both her words and feet – that's... that's impossible.
— Know what else is impossible? This rain. Yet, it's here, falling and falling. And look at the mirror, and tell yourself that you are not a rat, girl. A rat doesn't difference from one another, they cannibalize their own sons, but we know the law and the punishment those who disobey the law deserve. That's why we don't crawl naked around these streets. The why we wear clothes, but a Dragoon ain't only a coat! – ouch. The pain in arms is gone, all taken somewhere else. Not my head, or my heart, but... it was then that Freya's helmet began to weight a lot, and she had no choice but to lay her forehead against the trunk.
— Can I break this trunk with my head? My feet? Anything?
— You can break anything that belongs to your body throught training, Crescent. Except your wit – For Edea, to play tough ain't that much of a game, but a thing easily to be done as to throw any rock in a lake to see it bounce.
— Alright – only round rocks bounce, the others sink, so thought Freya, who still couldn't feel any of her fingers by each hit – it should hurt, Edea. It's wrong not to hurt.
— It's your mind ignoring pain. That's the goal of this training. From where else the strenght of a mother holding a whole ceiling just so it doesn't fall on her sons comes from?
— Is it the same source of an assassin without a heart? – said Freya, with a fist upon the trunk, each hit felt like hitting water again and again.
— No, Crescent. It ain't. Some criminals can ignore pain, for sure, but it's different from my previous example. You know, when you give up pain, but still care for one another... that's what I meant.
— A day ago, Ezekiel said something about a criminal dressed as a Dragoon Knight, murdering people.
— Rumours.
— Rumours? With all those reports he came up in hand, upon his desk, isolated cases...
— Isolation such as a wall covered by bullet holes, but you closed the eyes by the moment you pulled the trigger. Well, I understand what Ezekiel passes throught, an only man doing the job of a hundred, and not being against his entirely, I know how hard it is to tell a lie from a half-lie, and a truth from a half-truth. Truth is that sometimes people report members of the own Jugend because they saw one of us lead astray by our powers, and because it's easy to do a report. Understand?
— A single slap in face is enough for them to do an abuse report, that's what you mean? – the scent of sweat floated to Freya's nostrils. Not even the amount of rain falling is enough for the scent to be gone, or what brought it at first place. Though, better let sweat go out than blood.
— Some people think we are the reason why crime exists, though we began to exist before it. They don't understand, even when we wear these coats so they can understand what we are capable of doing.
— Like standing on any water surface?
— Yes. To think we show our faces in order to tell that anyone can do what we do...
— But you hide the scars – and in your case, a smile too.
— Now quit the small talk, if you please – THUMP! If there was a word alone to describe the hitting of a trunk, perhaps...
— I'd rather talk than listen to my bones shattering piece by piece.
— And I'd rather watch you fall apart while doing my nails – ...THUMP! And another hit, this time louder. The only thing that shed of a noise, or dared to. Freya didn't wanted to turn her neck, or worse, get it done by those hands belonging to Edea. She knows the captain won't do it, but the tension doesn't let right thoughts to be articulated – but I am a good person, you caught me in a good day, girl. I'm not angry, so you know. Just demanding.
The trunk... It wasn't hollow inside, Freya of her wishes came true, the world already had that shape before she was even born. Her fingers can barely touch one another, after being used all day along. And what Edea said doesn't help. This if she said a thing until now. Those fingers... it was as if they didn't belonged to her body anymore, that same blood flowing throught arms was drained out by their tips, that they are about to rot and fall down...
— Enough, Crescent – a crooked neck, watching the grass growing between toes... of her feet and hands. Fallen, the young Dragoon's ears stand tall, once they heard a voice from behind. There's only Edea, but it's hard to not close the eyes, let them be sunken by darkness, tempting. Darkness that covered those scars, the cracks on the wall shedding of light – next time use your knees.
— Next time? – with conscience and blood left, Freya is able to stand on both feet. Only her hands to be fixed, unlike that appaling face asking for fresh air. How ironic for it to come out that cherry tree...
— Yes. It's over for today. Rest, and come back tomorrow.
— But-
— It's an order – Freya swallowed hard when she heard those words. For a moment, she couldn't say anything. Had nothing against such order, except for...
— But if I leave now...
— I'll tell Ezekiel about your leave – Edea pointed to the entrance. She could move a finger, after all – know that you can leave the Jugend anytime you want. It's your choice.
— And what about the duty hours?
— You aren't on duty yet, child. This is only training – only training, which took so much... Freya tries to focuse her mind, to breath with her nose instead of the mouth, both dry.
— So, if I never come back... – fading into distance, the red Dragoon leaves the Jugend, in doubt.
— You will – same doubt answered by Edea – it's what you want, stubborn like that.
...
Later...
— Oi, sis! – said Jack, standing at the market street, as well recognizing my color over this distance between us. It could only belong to me.
— Hi, Jack – and that awful scent... it could only belong to my brother. Not that I am perfumated right now – selling fishes?
— And scales too. Want one?
— No, thanks – I really didn't wanted anything that could flay my skin – if you please...
— Hey, hey! Are you going to pass by like that, sis? – Jack furthed his step towards me – don't you want to listen to me, or any of my offers?
— I'm not interested.
— Why? Not everyone share of this opportunity I'm giving you! – he insists, but I don't care.
— Does a Dragoon get a discount?
— Well, in this case...
— Then ask someone else, Jack. I'm not a Dragoon yet.
— But you are a child of one.
— You too – no matter what I say to Jack, he follows me. I am not even running away from his, just walking.
— Hey, I know what's wrong... not enough fiber makes you act like that – only you are smiling, Jack – but enough joking, you can talk to me whenever you feel... well, like that. It ain't good for you, sis.
— I know – I still haven't shown Jack my hands, hidden on the pockets.
— You never let up – Jack smiled again, but this time, it wasn't due mockery. Call him a bastard if you want, but he's yours. A good bastard, and I dare to say, a good brother – I advise you to relax a bit, Freya, or else you'll die from all the stress.
— I'll do it.
— Okay. Now, can you hold this bucket? – Jack offered me a wooden bucket, full of fish's heads. A good brother, you say...
— I will try, not because you asked – I just want to feel my fingers again. Carefully, I took the bucket with an only hand. It ain't that heavy, but my fingers can barely be close of each other. Somehow, I am able to hold the bucket, maybe for Jack – what are you going to do with all those heads?
— To discard ain't an option – said Jack, who came out a tent carrying carrots on a basket, which looked like fingers – these ugly carrots, I'll tell you... ugly, but delicious. They are so cheap, yet I don't see many coming in to buy them.
— Do you feed Freyr with those?
— Of course, sis! If you knew how much feeding an only baby costs... – Jack didn't noticed the dirty bandages wrapped in my hand, or any of those green lines. He just kept talking about having a son with Otterley, who used to be our nursemaid. I just accept it, like the rest; it ain't my life, but someone else's. A common life, not that I do not mind having one. It's just that a life without nobody is boring, and the only way I can be with someone, or millions of them... – now that he grew teeth, my boy wants variety.
— Don't you think it's too earlier to feed the baby with solid food?
— If I could, he would be drinking water by now. You know, Ottis ain't always home, taking care of other's sons... see, burmecian babies are a weird thing. Anything that comes out of an only month pregnancy may be, if you think about it. We learn things so quick, only to forget them as we grow. And Freyr isn't that young, sis. He's on its five, six months. Don't know why I had to hide him from you and mom, maybe I felt too ashamed.
— Why did you felt shame? – I asked, to which Jack's ears twitched. And that look on its face, too...
— I...I can't explain. Yeah, how could I explain that I fell in love with my nursemaid? That is... it's wrong somehow, even thought it isn't. The age gap doesn't bother me that much. It really shouldn't be a reason for I to worry about. So, together of Ottis, we wanted to grow a peace of mind before any of us let mom know her son brought a grandchild to this world, not for her, but... forget it. Know how much of an exaggeration it would be to call Freyr by accident, understand?
— As much as it would be for you to worry about these little things.
— Yeah. After telling ya to chill, to hear these things out of me – so Jack looked around, left to right. Then, he took a glimpse of my face – I wonder when Freyr will open its eyes. Should had, by now.
— It's a thing he can only do by himself – for someone who used to be a brat, Jack grew a lot – good to know you're raising your son well.
— To be born in this filthy world is already a well-earned accomplishment, sis – same Jack said, and now that I perceived he was bothered as much as I.
— Why do you say that?
— Well, sis... today, I saw something horrible. A few quarters, a man stood on the roof. He looked below, walked in and out, and more people getting in at the streets. I was there too, couldn't get out, seeing that figure who wanted to jump, and I... oh, I don't know. I just stood there, watching... It was as if I was liking it, sis.
— Don't say these things. The Jack I know would not ever enjoy violence in a sickening way.
— Speaking of violence, tell me what they did with your hands – now that he noticed.
— Crescent! – I trembled, soon as I heard my name out a third party. And I knew to whom that voice belonged – what a surprise!...
— You don't need to shout, Hrist – instead of me, it was Sir Fratley who said it so – I am having a bad ear ache.
— Oh, sorry – said Hrist, who provided support for Sir Fratley's limpering feet. In other words, Hrist was his cane, but dare to say it at her face – it's just that... oh, what the hell, weren't you supposed to be punching the tree until now, Crescent?
— Punch the tree? – Jack asked, looking at Hrist, then back at me. My hands, specifically – is that the treatment given to your delicate hands?
— Delicate? Huh, those nails deserved to be cut – said Hrist, to which Jack turned back to her.
— And you would enjoy it so.
— Would I? Look, this was Sir Fratley's idea all along.
— Really? From you, Fratley? – Jack seemed less confused, and more pissed. I know where this is getting – a guy who couldn't even hurt a fly, no matter how much blood it drew out you.
— Jack... – I tried to hold his arm, pulling him back. In this situation, the arm is the least of the things that hurt.
— Do I know you? – asked Sir Fratley, who had no idea where he was.
— As much as I know you, pal – and I didn't wanted to be here – look, Frattie, I know you are a good person.
— And a lawyer that can sue for defamation, don't forget that – Hrist said, with a devious smile.
— May I continue, Hrist Chatterbox?
— Chardonnay. Yes, you can. If you insist this to be a way for old friends reunite again...
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
— Well, Sir Fratley... in no way I'm criticizing your work, but please, there are other ways a girl can grow a bit of muscle. What you did with sis, I'll never forgive you if you do it again, not without saying 'I'm sorry', or 'would you care for some tea?'
— Jack... – Sir Fratley said, but there was something off in his voice. He didn't looked to my brother's face, just the ground – your heart is beating a lot... so full of live. Why waste heartbeats like this? Why be moved on by hatred?...
— What? – caught by surprise, Jack gasped – what are you saying?
— Get used to it – to which Hrist explained, with that same smile on face – Fratley can hear your intestines too, but a heart is enough to tell you're not fine. Also, hanging out for free, Crescent?
— Speak to your father. He confirmed my exit. Besides, Edea told me to rest.
— Did she? – Hrist stood pout, looking at me – you're lying.
— She ain't lying, Hrist. I can hear her heart. Yours, Jack's, mine...
— How convenient – both Jack and Hrist reacted to what Sir Fratley said before. The two looked to each other, in a rare moment of synchronicity.
— You took the words out my mouth...
— Boy, I can take more than spit out of it.
— Boy? I am older than you.
— Don't remind me. Come on, Fratley... we have a bigger fish, not this sardine to care about – so Hrist and, with a pull on the shoulder of Sir Fratley, left the street. Now I have only my brother to care about.
— You didn't had to do it, Jack.
— Oh, come on, sis. I was at your side.
— That wasn't your voice – I feel a shaking travel my body, same itching I feel when I am about to run, or punch someone. But I do my best to resist.
— I worked a lot, sis. As a matter of fact, my back is killing me.
— That's no excuse for being so rude with Sir Fratley – I said, to which Jack had no reply. He must be feeling same itching – also, have you saw his face? He seemed shocked.
— Yeah... I perceived too. Vulnerable, out his mind, and I took it as advantage – Jack replied, following a deep, and heavy breath – but after seeing your hands, I had to say something. Now, I don't hate Fratley; I really don't want to. And if there's a thing I hate... is to hate. Someone, or something. Like rocks between toes.
— I appreciate that you care for me, Jack. But please, not so much.
— Alright. Next time I see Frattie, I'll tell him what I really have to – I appreciate the optimism coming out my brother, shown in his face and words – as for Hrist... well, she's like that. You can't trust someone whose hair covers the eyes.
— And what about me?
— You are my sister. We share of an unbreakable bond – yes, we do – hey, now that you're out training, what about a dinner?
— Dinner? – my stomach claims for food, which I'll humbly accept. Yet, something bothers me – why not? But I won't be able to hold anything after this basket, not even a fork. So...
— Don't worry. I'll hold it for you, like I do with Freyr – and then Jack closed his fist, waving it on all directions like a poisoned fly, coming to my face. Gosh, that voice and smug... – now, just open your mouth and watch out for the dragoooon!
— Shut up, Jack.
...
On another place...
— What is this? – I notice a scent other than mine. Kinda familiar – lavender, isn't it?
— Only now that you took notice? – said Hrist, from where that scent came from. Nice, unlike most her words.
— A while ago. Just had to ask.
— Is that your way of saying 'I'm feeling better'?
— Maybe – my head is still waving around. I think it would be worse had I been able to see anything but black.
— Good. Now get out my shoulder – I felt a pull of arms, but I can't feel my legs. Then I fall, and I feel slimy mud between my hands. I think I shouted when I fell, so I thought when I holded Hrist's hand, shivers on each of her fingertips – oh... I'm sorry, Fratley.
— It's okay. I just have to believe – my foot, the one who kicked the door, is bleeding. If there's blood in my foot, then that means my legs are alive. They belong to me. I was born with them, lost so many people on the way... except for my... my... – I need you, Hrist.
— Geez – Hrist let her breath come out. She ain't tired, just fed up – okay. But please, your smell...
— Any complains? – as far as I know, I'm not stinking.
— No, no. It's just that it... it's all over my clothes, Fratley. You smell like an old man.
— I am not that old, Hrist – I said, soon as we began to walk.
— Well, you can barely walk, you are blind, and stands near young girls – there's something enigmatic about Hrist's smile. I wonder how many muscles does she uses to make it come out. This one, specifically. In this case, she's the only one smiling
— Does the third point sheds of any relevance?
— It was a joke. I'll improve next time. Now, mind if I ask where are we going, Sir Fratley? – a few times Hrist calls me by Sir. I can't tell if by irony, or respect. I only have a pair of ears, after all – the Jugend is on the other side.
— I know. And I have no need to be there. Zack must have received the corpse by now – nobody wanted to see Johnny's body. They just wanted to see the poor guy fall down, as a sort of sick joke. How repugnant is to feel something other than blood come out the dead. Blood ain't supposed to be green, one of them said.
— I wonder what's worse for daddy: to be at morgue, or to sign papers with same stare – said Hrist, worried. It ain't usual to feel this out her, unless on my company – at least, none of the papers are pages in blank, so he must feel entertained somehow. Like, a machine could do these and more without complain.
— A machine? – so I hear the noise of a rambling carcass, its roar unlike any other beast I've faced before. They had a heart, but this wooden craved with steel devil has a source of power in place. Hearing better, tolerating its presence on burmecian grounds if preferred, I can tell that it's claws are collecting wheat, its tubes fertilizing barren fields. In my mind, it has the size of a house, on wheels. Hrist stood quiet, as we stood alongside the fence. So much noise... is there someone guiding it, or does it have free will? I want to hide, but the grass that used to hide the green of my clothes is gone. This darkness ain't comfortable.
— Not everyone has one of these – Hrist said, speaking about the burmecians. People outside borrow a lot of these machines, I'm sure that I heard these noises during my travels. It moves slower than a train, yet it spits that same breath taking smoke.
— I wouldn't like to. I prefer when I have something to be done with my own hands.
— But wasn't that thing made by hand too?
— These machines do what our hands do in less time, but they also turn any use of a hand very unuseful by comparasion – I made my statement, to which Hrist nodded. However, she doesn't agree with me fully. If that was the case, that wouldn't be the Hrist I know.
— You use your feet in a loom, as much as you hold a needle to sew.
— That's not what I meant, Hrist. What bothers me is that all craft is gone in change of a standardized method.
— Honestly, you weren't supposed to see any human value in cold steel. Well, that's what we earned from Lindblum in exchange of nothing.
— Lindblum... I once went there. Beautiful place, the last I ever saw with these eyes.
— And why you came back? – 'why would I come back to this awful place?' that's what she meant. For many reasons, Hrist. Same old story. One of them... right here. I may not be able to see, but that doesn't mean that I can feel. Lavender... not only it belongs to Hrist, but someone whom I shared my life with. Before the gates of a city of stone, I stand. A wind invites me to a place without life, weren't for the grass and the people that come in and out. Or my heightened senses. A lot of unknown faces, for a place where so many are well known.
— ...pant...pant... Pant. Whoa, Fratley. You've walked this far on your own, without falling. To this place... – I heard Hrist on my back, sweating and losing breath. Other than walking all the way to the graveyard, I found strange that I heard no more of her voice. Her voice, scent... – without paying, too.
— Lavender... – I feel this scent. With the tip of fingers, I have the touch to tell where her name is written. Here... lies... Sophia Highwind – they were mom's favorites. One of the few things I can remember about her is the scent of these flowers. Everywhere, Hrist – I kneeled before the grave. The petals of lavender were drying up, despite the lot of rain falling. Something fell out my eye. Do blind people cry? Of course they do. Like children.
— I only feel the scent of rain – Hrist's senses are limited, compared to mine. For better or for worse. I kinda miss the scent of rain pouring on dust, without the things in between. I never liked soup, just a yellow boiling liquid with carrots floating. Had I this tongue, what would I think about mom's food?
— ...'Sure. Travel the world, but be back at dinner', so mom said. I mean, father and I never went back. If it wasn't for me, only father – I murmured, very loud – he left home, and I made company. All the times he left Burmecia, I was there at his side. Doyle too, and how that beck hurted... anyway, despite the knowledge and amusement I acquired, I couldn't see, or refused to, that things weren't any wonderful at home. Rarely mom and pops fought each other, and with time, a silly reason was enough for them to discuss. Despite that, they were good people, never layed a hand on another. Know when you take a walk alone to bring relief? Well, father choose the world. One day, he left home for real. Didn't wanted my company, but I insisted. Funny how none of my friends noticed I was gone, except for mom.
— She was more than I friend, I see – then I felt Hrist's hand laying upon my left shoulder.
— She died alone. And I wasn't there. Everyone, except for me – I hear the vermins crawling beneath me. It's all I hear. There are things I shouldn't hear, like the crowd of each morning devouring my spirit, or the vermins taking away what remained of mom.
— And what would you do if you were? – everything, except what is inside of me.
— It would be useless to save her. But to say some words, in other hand... say something to make her feel better – leaning on mom's grave, slowly I try to stand up on my own. Joints crippling, fingers twitching, I hear something inside of me, louder than any yell, quiet like a whisper. Hrist is behind me, stood at my side until now.
— I would like to know your mother. I didn't even had one.
— And what about Lenneth?
— Right there – Hrist said, as she pointed to a grave to which we walked at – well, Lenneth took care of me like she did with her own offspring. While father fought at the streets, I was in her arms, this when a spear wasn't being held by same, and that's it. I wouldn't ask for a better life, never fought for Lennie's attention. Maybe a bit, but that's beside the point. How I liked her... without Lenneth, or daddy, what would I be, other than an orphan?
— Who knows.
— Yeah, who knows. Hey, now I see that a lot of us Knights are orphans. So why not, instead of Dragoon, call us Orphan Knights?
— Guess we are all orphans in a way. Of the sun, the moon, the stars... father used to say it when we crossed the hills – I said, as Hrist and I left that awful place, full of good people – I made company for him, said what I had to. This until I lost him, my sight and my childhood. In his place, another man raised me. Vincent Irontail... Oh, forgive me for being too sentimental. I don't feel right today, after what happened.
— With the whole world in your ears, who wouldn't feel like this?
— I feel a lot better when I am able to only hear a voice, Hrist – and to hold an only hand, too.