Braska's Journey
Macalania – Chapter Three – The Travel Stop
Auron swam in a void of infinite pain. Trapped by his own body in his subconscious, he dreamed. Red disembodied eyes, huge in their nightmare form, stared at him. A voice echoed in his head - laughing. It was the laugh of the man who had tortured him in the dungeons of St. Bevelle.
Struggling to wake up, he kept telling himself it was a dream. Over and over, he repeated, "I must wake up." But he didn't wake up. Instead, colored lights flashed around him as the imaginary man flung spell after spell on Auron's dream-self.
He couldn't breathe. The part of him that could still reason was aware he was dying. Auron knew that if he couldn't regain consciousness, couldn't stop the torture of his imaginary body, his real life would end. And so, the young warrior clung tenaciously to the only thing he had left – pain.
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Braska knelt next to Auron as Jecht looked on – blitzball in hand and ready to fly if a leaf so much as twitched. Healing was Braska's chosen art and his skills were almost without peer. The Summoner closed his eyes and placed his hands on either side of Auron's head; not quite touching the Guardian's face. Then, exhaling, he began to chant.
Blue light radiated from Braska's body; a look of concentration and concern gracing his face. Moving his hands slowly, he brushed his palms over Auron's prone form. The Summoner's head tilted, brow furrowing, as he reached the warrior's chest and left arm. Quickly, the delicate fingers slid downward over Auron's legs. The frown seemed to lessen. Then, Braska's hands quickly returned to Auron's head. He stopped chanting and the light winked out.
"Jecht, I do not have much time if I am to save him." Braska's voice was low and worried. "It is impossible for me to fix everything right now. I can only hope to stabilize him. Once we reach the travel stop, and safety, I can focus more fully on healing him." The Summoner looked around quickly and then returned his focus to the blitzer. "I need you help me hold him still.."
Nodding sharply, Jecht said, "Ok. What do I do?"
Calmly, Braska told Jecht what he needed. Kneeling next to Auron's head, the blitzer put a strong hand on each shoulder and waited as Braska moved to straddle the warrior's legs. Then, placing his hands on the young man's chest, the Summoner cast Cureaga.
In spite of the restraint, Auron's body still bucked as the heal spell flooded him. His eyes flew open and he gasped for breath. The pain of the dream became real again and he realized he was pinned to the ground. All he could see was Jecht. "Braska!" he shouted.
"Auron, stop! I am here." The sound of his Lord's voice seemed to calm the warrior. Leaning toward Auron he said, "Your injuries are severe. The left shoulder is dislocated and the arm broken. You're ribs were cracked and the lightening strike almost took you." The warrior swallowed and squeezed his eyes shut in pain. "I am sorry, but we have to get to the Inn before I can fix the rest. If you cannot make it on your own, we will have to carry you. I can give you something to ease the pain, or I can put you to sleep. It is your choice."
Jecht didn't know what to think. The situation was overwhelming. He was so numb with shock from the fight that he had little surprise left to feel when Braska seemed to simply pray and heal Auron. The blitzer was never one to believe in what he couldn't touch, see, feel, taste, or smell. If it wasn't in front of him, it wasn't true. He knew plenty of people in Zanarkand who followed some kind of religious philosophy. He always thought they were a bunch of nuts – people looking for some grand explanation or meaning to life. Life was life. You lived it and you died. That was that. Now, here he was, stranded in a world of magic and religion where people prayed and received active help from some kind of God or something. So, Jecht knelt there, pushed Auron's shoulders to the ground as he was told, and tried not to wonder if there was a hell – cause he was pretty sure he'd end up in it, if he wasn't there already.
"I will try to walk." Auron's reply was forced through clenched teeth.
Braska nodded at Jecht and the blitzer let go. Reaching into his robes, the Summoner brought out two long flat leaves and put them to the warrior's mouth. "Chew on these, but do not swallow them. It would be better to drink a tea made of them, but we do not have that option."
Nodding, Auron opened his mouth and Braska slipped the leaves inside. Then, the Summoner moved from his position across the warrior's legs. He gestured at the blitzer. "Help me get him up, Jecht."
The two managed to get Auron on his feet. Braska slipped himself under the young man's right arm to help support him as Jecht gathered up the packs and his blitzball. The group began to move down the path and the blitzer retrieved Auron's sword. Looking at it for a moment, Jecht twisted the haft in his grasp and then slung it up and onto his shoulder, the way he had seen Auron do earlier in the day. The trio walked off into the chill air toward Lake Macalania.
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Two spans later, Auron was on the mend and Jecht was bored out of his mind. Before leaving Bevelle, Braska had given the blitzer some travel gil in addition to the items they picked up in the marketplace. In retrospect, it was probably not the best idea.
Upon arrival at the Al Bhed travel stop, there had been a flurry of activity. Braska needed help getting Auron undressed and into bed. The warrior had protested enough that Braska had finally gotten stern and put the man to sleep. The pair had then made quick work of stripping him so the Summoner could set the arm. After some sickening pulls and twists, Jecht had helped Braska truss up the injury with some bandages and splints before the priest cast a spell to knit the bones. Announcing that he was no longer needed, Braska told Jecht to get some rest and he'd see him in the morning.
The sunrise had seen Auron surly and irritated. Jecht could hear Braska and the Guardian argue all the way in the hall when he'd exited his room – with himself as a principal topic. Frowning, the blitzer went into the shop area to see if he could find something to do. He had little luck.
Hitting on the pretty Al Bhed woman hadn't gone much of anywhere and only killed about an hour. When Braska finally exited the room he shared with Auron, the man looked exhausted. Jecht had offered to "hang out" with Auron and let the Summoner sleep, but Braska would hear none of it. The two rounded up some food, had a meal together, and then the Summoner had disappeared again to be with the warrior.
That was when Jecht went to his room and started thinking. And when Jecht started really thinking about the situation he now found himself in, it got him pretty homesick.
It all started innocently enough. He'd been pondering what he could do to waste some time. Since he'd seen a fiend, he figured that avoiding them was a good idea. Going outside was not an option. He picked up an "Al Bhed Dictionary" in the lobby, but had never been the bookish sort and it got old pretty fast. He paced a bit, and played with the blitzball, but it wasn't long before that wore thin. Then, he started wishing he had a guitar.
Next thing he knew, he was thinking about how nice it would be to have his big vid screen and some movies to watch. That brought memories of cuddling on the sofa with his wife as they watched horror flicks – she always climbed in his lap when she got scared and he enjoyed that. In fact, he was pretty sure Tidus was the result of an evening of horror flicks. That led to thoughts of his son and more than a bit of self-recrimination for being a lousy father. Soon, he was wishing he could be with his family and feeling down.
That's when he remembered the sake he picked up in Bevelle.
Feeling out of his element, depressed, and alone Jecht did the logical thing - he got drunk. This was not a new state for the man from Zanarkand. The last few years hadn't been that great. He was getting pretty old for a blitzer and, though he was still the greatest to ever play the game, he knew the ride wasn't going to last forever.
Jecht hadn't had parents. He'd run away from foster homes and grown up on the streets. It was a tough life. Jecht saw a pretty nasty side of Zanarkand – a side he tried hard to forget. Luck saved him. One night, a stranger found him near the docks and gave him a blitzball.
Blitzball let Jecht take control of his life. Climbing his way out of the alleys and into the water, he made something of himself. With single-minded determination, and raw talent, Jecht shot to the top of his sport. A shining star, he had his pick of women and more money than he could count. He married a beauty and when Tidus had been born; it filled him with pride. The boy was everything to him – he loved the child so much it almost scared him. He had it all.
Then, the team started to lose games. Younger players started getting more press. Things started to slide and he couldn't deal with it. He began to drink.
It didn't take long for things to get unpleasant at home. Jecht started coming home late after games. The press, following his every move, made sure to plaster pictures of him and every woman he was found with all over the news. It led to arguments and more drinking. The shouting turned ugly and fists started to fly. Tidus got caught in the crossfire.
Jecht had no model for good parenting. Doing the best he could, he figured it was enough to provide for the kid – to teach him how to blitz, protect him from the hell out there, and make sure the boy was tough enough to take what people were going to dish out. At first, when Tidus was small, things were fine. Then, as his son got older and Jecht spent more and more time on the road, Tidus seemed to cling to the proverbial skirts of his mother. The child started crying for attention. Jecht didn't get it; didn't understand. Without a frame of reference, and being the blunt person he was, he started telling the kid that crying got you nowhere. Crying only made things worse.
After Jecht started drinking, and things at home started going south, Tidus began acting out. It was one thing for the boy to cry for his mother's attention. It was another when he actually told his father, "I hate you."
The first time the boy had said those words; Jecht left the house and hadn't come home for a week. He went on a bender so vast that he couldn't even remember half of it. When he finally drug himself home to face his wife and son, he felt like he deserved to be hated. After that, the arguments and the hurtful words just didn't touch him anymore. He stopped going to practice. He stopped caring.
Then, about a week ago, Tidus said something to Jecht that made him think. The two had been on the deck of the houseboat and the boy said, "They say you're no good 'cause you drink all the time." It had pissed him off. It was one thing for the press to put him down and say he was washed up. It was another for his own seven-year-old son to say it in disgust. Jecht spat out, "I can quit drinkin' whenever I want!" The reply from the little boy had been swift. "Then do it now."
"Do it now."
The words echoed in his head while he drank in the small Al Bhed room. Those words had made him want to prove something - prove something to his son. And, when Jecht was of a mind to prove a point, nothing got in his way.
So, he'd called up his coach and told him he was through drinking. He told the man he was heading out to the practice field in the morning. Feeling sick and aching all over, Jecht had hauled his ass out of bed at an ungodly hour, dressed in his uniform, and got ready to leave. His wife had been asleep and he hadn't bothered to wake her up to say goodbye. He opened the door to Tidus' room to look in on the brat and whispered to nobody, "You'll see. I can do anything. I just have to want it."
Then he left. Taking a slip from the dock, he was almost to the training area when all hell had broken loose.
Jecht didn't really remember much. A huge wave came out of nowhere. The tiny boat he'd been on was no match for the force of nature. When the water slammed into the thing, it shattered into tiny pieces and sent Jecht flying into the water. The next thing he knew, he was on a beach. Some guy in a uniform with a sword found him. The blitzer hadn't gotten two sentences out of his mouth when people started trying to restrain him. Jecht managed to fight off six guys before they cold cocked him and tossed him in that cell. And now, here he was, following a man he hardly knew and a warrior he knew even less in a world where the normal laws of nature and physics just didn't seem to apply.
Who could blame a man for drinking in a situation like that? Braska sure didn't.
The Summoner knocked on Jecht's door around mid-day and found the man drunk off his ass. Without complaint or accusation, Braska simply had a seat in the chair next to the bed and let Jecht ramble on about whatever came into his head. While the blitzer wasn't looking, the priest checked the sake cask to see how much alcohol Jecht had consumed and blinked in surprise. It was over half empty. Discreetly, he moved the thing under the chair in an effort to keep Jecht from getting sick or passing out. Finally, the man from Zanarkand wound himself down. Sighing, Braska took the sake cask with him when he left Jecht to sleep it off.
The next day saw a repeat of Jecht's behavior and the Summoner began to be concerned. Jecht had spent some of the money given to him buying another recording sphere and a bottle of whiskey – a brown alcoholic substance made by the Al Bhed that Braska had sampled in his youth. The blitzer made short work of the bottle and then made a fuss about wanting to go outdoors to ice skate. Braska had finally convinced the man it was a bad idea. The result had been a slurred comment of, "Ya needa lightenup. Yur as stiff as that worrier monk…"
While the change of title had been amusing to Braska, it had only upset Auron. The warrior had been chomping at the bit and insisted on getting up. As luck would have it, Auron picked just the wrong moment to step outside the room. Jecht had been draped over Braska as the priest attempted to maneuver him into bed when the monk got up. The man from Zanarkand tossed out the comment and Auron's eyes narrowed. "Good for nothing drunk," he'd said, before stalking off.
Now, Braska had two surly men on his hands and was almost at his wits end. Having had little sleep the night before they left Bevelle, the Summoner was exhausted from a day of travel and two days of healing the injured Guardian. Knowing he couldn't keep pushing himeslf much longer, Braska wondered how he was going to manage if Jecht and Auron kept it up.
Rin arrived the next morning and saved the day. Braska had known the Al Bhed man for years. The blond had taken over the family business and ran the travel agencies scattered all over Spira. Dealing weapons, potions, provisions, food, and anything else he could trade; Rin was a tough negotiator. He was also honest and liked Braska.
The two put their heads together and came up with a plan. Jecht got put to work unloading the supplies Rin had in his transport. Braska felt a little bad about waking him – it was obvious he was hung over – but it would keep Jecht busy and out of a bottle for the day. It freed the Summoner to focus his attention on Auron for the morning and ensure that the warrior was ready to resume the trek. Telling him that they could leave for the temple in the next day, Braska ordered Auron to do nothing strenuous and stay indoors. Then, he promptly burrowed into bed and slept.
Dawn arrived all too soon. Braska still felt a bit tired when he got up, but was ready to face the day. After breakfast, the trio gathered up their things and made ready to depart. Jecht insisted on using one of his spheres to record the place. "Nobody at home is gonna believe me, Braska. Will ya take some for me?"
The Summoner nodded and took the sphere. Jecht stood under the travel agency sign and Braska turned it on. Auron, standing off to the side with his still recovering left arm exposed to the chill air, was disgusted with the whole situation and wanted nothing to do with it.
"Auron, could you stand closer to him?" Braska's voice floated on the light breeze. There was an implied command in the question. Sighing, Auron nodded and then moved to stand with Jecht under the sign. His lone protest was to keep his back turned.
"Good, that should do it." The Summoner sounded pleased. Somehow, he'd get the pair to stop bickering and be friends. He was determined.
Jecht couldn't leave well enough alone. He was still grumpy from working yesterday and unhappy about almost everything. Turning to face Auron he said, "What's the matter? Afraid I might bite?" He tossed the words at Auron with a bit of a condescending tone. It was like throwing a bone at a dog.
"Jecht..." The tone of Auron's voice was Braska's first warning.
The blitzer ignored it. "Braska! You should take one, too." Jecht turned and moved toward the Summoner, rubbing at his neck. "It'd make a great gift for little Yuna."
Mentioning Yuna made the Summoner miss her terribly. Braska had been so preoccupied with Auron's injuries and Jecht's antics that he had not had much time to think about his little girl. "I suppose," he said.
That was all it took. Auron bristled. He was tired of Jecht's insensitivity and wasn't going to watch Braska spend another day suffering along in silence. "Lord Braska…" he said curtly, "we shouldn't be wasting our time like this!"
Jecht walked off to pick up the packs. He'd be carrying both today since Auron was under orders to keep from straining the healing shoulder. "What's the hurry, man?" The blitzer's tone was slightly irritated.
Auron snapped. "Let me tell you what the hurry is!" The warrior strode quickly toward Jecht, intending to get in his face.
It was all Braska could do to get there in time. He fumbled with the sphere in an effort to turn the thing off and tried to command the warrior's attention. "Auron!" Braska put himself between the two, facing his young Guardian. "Jecht is right. There is no rush. What is the harm in taking a few pictures as we travel?"
The two looked at each other. The sadness in Braska's eyes was almost more than Auron could take. All the warrior wanted was to protect his friend from pain, and he had only made the situation worse.
//I am just as insensitive as that lout. At least Jecht has the excuse of not knowing Braska's going to die.//
Closing his eyes, Auron said quietly, "I am sorry, Lord."
"There is nothing to be sorry for, Auron." Braska reached out a hand and put it to the warrior's good shoulder. He smiled lightly. "You are right, we should get under way."
Turning, the Summoner strode forward, staff in hand, and began to walk toward the temple.