Interlude (Part Three)

There was something about the dull pain in his legs that heightened Tyron Sul's senses. He felt every bead of sweat trickling down his brow, heard each individual cry of the seagulls circling high above, saw the ephemeral rainbows in the crystalline spray of the waves as they broke on the jagged stone beneath his feet. The sharp rocks glistened in the sunlight, looking utterly merciless and deadly-and they were-yet Tyron walked at a normal pace, stepping from stone to stone as if it were no more dangerous than a paved city street. While others, if they chanced to see him treading that perilous bridge, would think him a madman, he knew better. He had walked these same rocks many times as a child, and though his stride might be longer, his body older, the path was the same.

* * *

A lone island stood about a mile or so off the coast along the Mi'ihen Highroad, seemingly inaccessible. Even a skilled and experienced swimmer would have thought twice before swimming a mile in the fairly rough, shallow, rocky-bottomed waters off Mi'ihen. Those same waters were also quite perilous for boats to traverse, effectively cutting off all travel. And so, the island had become 'off-limits' in the mind of the local residents.

However, when the tide receded, the seas uncovered a natural bridge connecting the island to the mainland. Those few who did know about it had deemed it unsafe. The rocks could slice an unlucky traveler to pieces, and if you were unfortunate to be caught on the land bridge when the waters rose. the stories weren't very pretty. To walk the stone bridge was suicide, and the deed of a fool.

Common knowledge, however, is not always fact. Tyron, as a child, had challenged the path, and had succeeded. He had been cut and bruised and scraped, but he had made it across. The island, cut off from the outside, had been his sanctuary, his fortress, and his haven. More importantly, it had become Tyron's home.

Tyron had never known his parents. He had been raised in a small temple of Yevon outside Luca, a temple that had since fallen into disrepair. The priests had never told him anything of his parents, save that they had been killed by Sin. And, although the servants of Yevon had been kind and wise and caring to him, Tyron had always felt the need to roam. And so, when he was barely eight years old, he had packed up what few belongings he had, and ran away in the dead of the night.

Immediately, he knew it was a mistake. Yet something, an irresistible wanderlust, kept him from returning back to the temple. Tyron hadn't slept that first night, terrified that he would become a meal for a hungry fiend. And, through the protection of Yevon-or perhaps maybe sheer luck-he had survived. The next day, Tyron's salvation came in the form of a merchant, who had been returning from Luca with a wagon full of wares.

The merchant's son, an energetic boy who was twelve years in age, had spotted Tyron on the side of the road where he had collapsed from exhaustion. The kind-hearted merchant had taken the boy to his small house by the side of the Highroad, and the young Tyron became an unofficial member of the family.

However, the merchant and his wife saw Tyron's need to wander from the very beginning. Not wanting to keep the young boy chained down, but unwilling to risk his safety all the same, the friendly merchant had made sure that his own son accompanied Tyron wherever he went. Even at the young age of twelve, his son was already showing remarkable talent with a sword.

And thus begun the friendship between Tyron and the merchant's son, Amono. The two of them immediately bonded, and would have been inseparable even if Amono's father had not ordered it. Tyron idolized the older boy, and aspired to become his mirror image. The merchant had given the younger boy a fine carved wooden sword, a katana, and the two friends were frequent sparring partners. Despite his youth, Tyron displayed impressive talent with a blade as did Amono, yet the elder boy always ended up the victor in their friendly duels.

Amono's mother, naturally, disapproved of the fights-it was she who had to dress the scrapes and bruises, of course-and forbade them to occur. Naturally, that didn't stop the two boys from carrying on behind her back. but they were unable to go all out on each other for fear of being discovered. The two friends longed for a remote area where they could push the other to the limit, yet there was no suitable place nearby.

The solution had been discovered by Amono's sister, Taradine. She was thirteen, the second oldest child in the family-Amono's oldest brother, a young man of fifteen, kept to himself mostly, studying metals and the craft of smithery-and, while she was not as physically skilled as her younger brother, was incredibly smart. And for every ounce of intelligence she possessed, she paired it with a gallon of beauty and kindness. Although Tyron's best friend was Amono, Taradine haunted his dreams for many years. It was Taradine who had first noticed the land bridge at low tide, and it had been she who had come up with the idea that they could cross it.

And so, three children dared to do what many adults would never consider doing. And the island was theirs.

* * *

A feral grin found its way onto Tyron's face as he pressed his attack, swinging furiously at his older opponent. The wooden katana whistled through the air on a direct arc for Amono's neck before the other boy's sword came up in a parry, knocking it harmlessly to the side. In that moment, Tyron's attack was broken and he quickly found himself on the defensive.

Amono laughed, his dark eyes sparkling. "Come on, Tyron, faster! What sort of defense is that? You're leaving yourself wide open!" To punctuate his words, Amono leapt forward, batted Tyron's blade away, and jabbed the younger boy in the side with his own weapon.

Yelping, Tyron fell back, hands reflexively going to cover the injured skin. His katana fell to the ground, landing in the sand with a quiet puff. A second later, Tyron joined it, still tenderly cradling his side. "That wasn't fair," he began, but he was cut off.

"Well, it looked fair to me." Taradine said from above them, idly playing with her long, braided hair. She was sitting on a rock that overlooked the beach where the two boys were sparring. It was early afternoon, and the sun was beating down on the trio with all of its power, yet they paid it no heed. "And by my count, that makes the score seven to four in favor of Amono."

The older boy leaned down and helped Tyron to his feet, and brushed some sand off of his back. "You're getting quicker, Tyron, but you still you always just concentrate on one thing to block-which you always succeed in blocking, of course-but you lose awareness of everything around you."

Tyron sighed, as he leaned down to pick up his sword. "It wasn't fair," he repeated, pushing his long black hair off of his face. "You came in with a slash, you usually use a thrust there. I wasn't ready for a slash."

Above the two boys, Taradine giggled. "Well yeah, I think that's the point. Fiends won't use set attack patterns against you, so you have to be careful."

Amono nodded, with a lopsided grin on his face. "You'll never be a guardian if you keep on making those same mistakes."

At those words, Tyron's brow furrowed. "Wait, what do you mean 'be a guardian?'" he asked warily, looking from Amono to Taradine and back again.

For a brief second, something like guilt flashed over Amono's face, but then it was gone. "Nothing, Tyron. Just if you ever decide to be a guardian or a Crusader or something, that's all." He shrugged, clearly uncomfortable. Tyron was about to press the question when Amono sunk back into a fighting stance. "Go again?"

Tyron could never resist a challenge, especially not one from Amono. Searching for purchase in the sandy beach, he closed his eyes, and jumped forward.

.metal met metal with a loud clash. Tyron, now a young man of fourteen, sliced upwards in a disemboweling strike, but the strike was blocked by Amono's blade. The two disengaged their weapons for a brief instant before Amono pressed the assault, driving Tyron back along the waterfront.

The older man, a powerfully built eighteen-year-old, spun and slashed across with his flavus-a forward-curving sword designed to break armor and shields-in a blow that would have taken Tyron's head off had the youth not ducked under it. Seeing an opening, Tyron leapt forward, driving his shoulder into Amono's stomach in a powerful tackle. The two fell to the ground, then rolled to their feet before resuming the duel.

Amono knocked the younger boy's sword away before leaning down, and bringing his right leg around in a sweep kick that knocked Tyron's legs out from beneath him. His long, dark hair spilling out behind him, Tyron fell, but somersaulted back to his feet as a slash split the sand apart where his head had been a moment before. He threw his weight forward, twirling around with an overhead blow, hacking down at Amono.

Stunned by the ferocity of Tyron's attacks, Amono stepped backwards, slowly being driven towards a grove of plants, large palm trees that grew by the island's shore. He blocked a low cut, then feinted towards Tyron's neck before slashing upwards, but that blow was parried and the younger man continued to press his advantage.

The two opponents had entered the grove now, a small patch of green against the white sand. The grove consisted of several dozen trees bordering a small pool of sapphire water, barely fifteen feet wide, yet fairly deep. It made an excellent swimming hole, as the two had discovered with Taradine many years before. Tyron grinned as he forced Amono back, leading him to the water. Amono kept parrying his blows, but bumped up into a palm tree, sending him off balance. At that moment, Tyron played his key card.

There was a flash of white light, and Tyron seemed to vanish. There was a sound of metal whistling through the air, and he reappeared behind his friend, sword held horizontal, as if just finishing a mighty cut. Smirking, he turned around.

Amono looked stunned, and then turned to grin at the younger man, as a trickle of scarlet fluid leaked from his left cheek. He reached up to touch it, looked with curiosity at his red fingers, and then looked up at Tyron, eyebrow raised. "That was a new technique," he said nonchalantly, as the palm tree next to him fell in two, neatly bisected. "Never seen that one before."

"Could've taken your head off with it, if I wanted," Tyron bragged, beaming at Amono's approval. "But, you know, I considered that kind of overkill for a friendly spar."

Nodding, Amono raised his sword. "But you've made one key error, my friend." he grinned. "You're now the one with his back to the water."

Tyron swore to himself, looked back at the water, and then leapt forward in a mighty blow. The older combatant easily blocked it, and Tyron's katana slid into the curved part of the blade. For a brief moment, their eyes met, and Amono smirked. In the next instant, he had twisted his wrist, sending Tyron's sword flying up into the air, and spinning the younger man off balance. Amono laughed, and shoved forward, pushing Tyron into the water.

The katana came spiraling down, and Amono snatched it in midair. Laughing, he looked down at Tyron as the young teen came sputtering up for air. "That move always works, you know. Surprised you haven't came up with a counter for it yet. Only been using it for, oh, five years." As he said this, he went down to the edge of the natural pool, and extended a hand to the younger boy, pulling him from the water.

"It's not like I can just wave my hand and come up with a counter, you know," Tyron countered. "Plus, I could've had you with that move before." Squeezing water from his long, black, hair, he shook his head. "Really need to take Tara up on her offer to braid this one day."

Amono agreed. "I do have a question about that move, though. when did you come up with a technique like that?" He indicated the neatly sliced tree with a nod of his head. "Never seen you working on it before."

"Oh, I've been working on it here and there." Tyron dismissed the question with a wave of his hand. "But I wish that Tara could've seen it." Taradine had been spending less and less time with her brother and his friend on the island, and had mostly been studying in the temple as of late.

A flash of sorrow swept across Amono's face, and he closed his dark eyes. "Listen, Tyron. there's something I need to tell you." His voice trailed off at that, and Tyron immediately felt a sense of worry. He started to speak, but Amono held up a hand, and gave him back his katana. "Tyron, walk with me. Just. walk."

* * *

Tyron stepped across the beach, shirtless, holding his katana in a ready stance. His hair, in the long, bound ponytail he always wore, gently waved in the sea breeze behind him. He looped his sword in joined infinity loops, before bringing it up in a crescent cut. Whispering incantations to himself, Tyron kept stepping closer and closer to the water, until he was wading in it knee deep.

As he did so, his blade seemed to glow with an inner light. then, Tyron's eyes flashed open, and he stabbed viciously downward into the water, spearing a fish cleanly on the end. The sea creature flopped helplessly, impaled on the blade, before finally going limp. Tyron walked out of the water again, to a small campfire that was burning on the island near the border of the beach. He leaned down, transferred the fish onto a nearby stick, and began roasting the creature for his evening meal.

The sun was sinking below the horizon, but the fire provided ample light nonetheless. Tyron stretched, the fish still cooking in the flames, feeling delicious pain in his body. His entire chest was scarred, as were his arms- including the recent wound from the wolf-from numerous battles. One particular injury ran from the base of his neck, all the way down around his shoulder to his back, where it culminated in a nasty mound of scar tissue.

That particular wound was one he knew well, and one that had irreparably changed his life. Amono, unbidden, came into his thoughts, as did the smiling face of Taradine. he had failed them, of course. Tyron looked straight into the fire, and saw the smiling face of a young woman, with sparkling green eyes and sun-bleached hair. Maybe he could still fulfill his promise after all.

* * *

Somewhere along the Mi'ihen Highroad, a girl ran, panting for breath. She hid in the underbrush, listening fearfully. The sound of shouts from barely half a mile away, the angry shouts of a mob, confirmed her fears, and she took off running again. She resumed running, sprinting down the path to the shoreline, when she stopped in her tracks. There was a stone path in the water, leading all the way to an island off the shore. Far off, in the distance, she could see a fire lit on the beach. That meant the land bridge, as jagged and dangerous as it looked, had to be crossable. the shouts were nearer, now. Terror flashed in her green-swirled eyes as she dashed forward, onto the perilous way. It would be her only chance.