Braska's Journey
Guadosalam - Chapter Two - The Farplane
Auron seated himself on the stairway that led upward and terminated in a portal of shimmering light. Though he had never been there, he knew what Jecht would see. Far below the platform, a gloriously vibrant land would stretch out in all directions. Magnificent waterfalls would cascade from unimaginable heights as a strange blue-white orb hung eternally aloft – it's soft and gentle light illuminating a land of endless peace.
Some nights he dreamed of that place. He would wake in a cold sweat, his heart aching with a longing that couldn't be fulfilled. The serene vistas, the warm golden haze, the innate knowledge that he was not alone there – that his loved ones waited just beyond the light to welcome him – would be abruptly cut off. Thrust back from the dream and into his body as rudely as he had been resurrected all those years ago, it left him feeling cheated.
He wanted so badly to stand up and walk through the barrier – to see his mother, father, uncle, and sister. He wanted to run inside and pray for a vision of Sam that he might beg for forgiveness. But more than that, he wanted to join them; to feel the tranquility and let go of all the pain.
And so he stayed still, rooted to the spot he chose on the stairway as though cast in stone. He had made promises. He promised Barak to resolve his personal issues and to ensure that Shana was cared for. He promised Braska to Journey. He vowed to see Sin eradicated from the face of Spira. He would not join his loved ones with things undone – he would join them knowing he had completed his tasks. Only then would he allow himself to again see the beauty he knew lay a few yards away.
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A slight figure with a round delicate face and brown hair with sandy golden sunstreaks hovered in the air. The eyes, bright green with swirled black irises, shimmered and accentuated the soft smile that played on rosy lips. Braska had dropped to his knees at the figure's appearance; tears coursing down his face unabashedly – a strange contrast to the expression of joy on the Summoner's face. Jecht could find no single word for it and thought of it often after; the look on Braska's face at that moment. The Summoner seemed inwardly illuminated, full of some kind of contentment and hope that the blitzer couldn't begin to comprehend.
He had almost stayed behind with Auron. The long tunnel that lead to the portal had an eerie quality. Illuminated by the strange glowing veins and shimmering panes of a translucent green, they walked down the narrowing hallway; the ringing of Auron's boot falls against the stone punctuating the utter silence and pounding through Jecht's skull. The place gave him the creeps. There was a strange smell – not really musty or unpleasant but cloying and almost rotten. Thanks to his drinking binge, and the resulting hangover, it was giving his stomach the flips.
There had been no time to change his mind. Braska strode up the stairs toward the strange gateway and walked right through. Jecht, had hesitated on the landing – sniffing the air and it's strange saccharine scent – before reaching out a cautious hand to touch the barrier. It rippled like water, sending multicolored waves of light through the insubstantial structure. Though it hadn't hurt at all, the thought of what might lie beyond still gave Jecht pause.
In the end, it was Auron that finally motivated him to step through. The monk had grunted and the sound of metal clacking against stone jolted Jecht from his thoughts. He had no idea how long Braska might be and the idea of spending time alone with Auron was more than his aching head could stand.
He walked through.
Braska was still striding toward the opposite edge of the dais on which Jecht found himself. When he focused past Braska and into the distance, the vision gave him an extreme case of vertigo. Golden clouds swirled and parted to reveal the vastness below. The platform seemed to hang in the air without support. Soft melodic cries rose upward on the air and the almost sickening-sweet smell from before resolved itself into a burst of clean floral freshness. Jecht, used to having his perceptions manipulated by attacks in the bliz sphere, did what every young player learns to do right after they master the trick of holding their breath – he shut his eyes and let his body reset itself.
Once he was sure he wouldn't dry heave, he exhaled slowly and opened his eyes. Keeping focused on Braska and the land beneath his feet, he cautiously walked over to join the Summoner. In a matter of seconds, the apparition had appeared.
"Oh, thank Yevon!" Braska looked adoringly at the image of his wife, full of relief. Part of him had been consumed with the fear that he would not see her. Lost in the attack at sea, there had been no one to send Rain and her shipmates. For years now, Braska had lived in with the dread that she might not have found her way – that she might have become a fiend. Now he knew she was safe. When he gave his life to rid Spira of Sin he could do so knowing that he would join her and never have to part from her again.
Closing his eyes, Braska sighed and composed himself. Kneeling there, he performed the sign of prayer and gave thanks to his God for his wife's deliverance.
Jecht shifted uncomfortably as Braska prayed. He felt like an intruder. More than ever, he didn't belong. He didn't belong in this place. He didn't belong in Spira. Looking at Braska, then back toward the figure that hovered before them, Jecht frowned and thought again of his wife. What was she doing? Where was she? Where was he? Would he ever see her again? Would he ever see his son? Braska knelt there, so devoted to the memory of this woman. So, this was the woman Braska had defied his Church for? Yuna's mother. She was pretty – fine boned, delicate, and yet strong.
~~He's right. Yuna does look like her.~~
Unable to continue watching Braska in such a private and emotional moment, Jecht stepped away. He cautiously approached the edge of the platform and gazed downward. He had to admit, if there was a place he could call heaven, this would be it.
With the exception of a strange dark smoke that rose upward and shrouded the odd blue-white "sun," the place was idyllic. The floral smell obviously came form the huge fields far below the platform. The vibrant blues, reds, purples, greens, and golds that undulated along the ground below could only be flowers. Odd keening cries filled the air - the same as those that escaped when a fiend was killed. Multicolored lights of pyreflies chased one another across the rainbow landscape as if in play.
Fascinated, Jecht took a step closer to the edge. Then another.
"Jecht!"
Braska's hand clasped Jecht's arm, jerking him backward and jolting him out of his daze. It was only then that he realized that he nearly walked right off the platform.
"Be careful," the Summoner admonished. "I can perform many feats of magic, but I cannot retrieve you if you fall."
"Braska." Jecht looked at the Summoner, his brow furrowed in an expression of distress. His voice was almost pleading. "Why am I here?"
"I am sorry, Jecht." The look of guilt on Braska's face was plain. "I think you are here because of me."
"What?" Jecht blinked in confusion. "Whaddya mean, 'because of you?'"
Braska turned and maneuvered Jecht farther away from the precipice. Standing in the middle of the dais, Jecht suddenly realized that they weren't the only ones there. Just to the left of the entry, an old guado couple stood before an image of a young guado male. The woman, shoulders shaking, was being comforted by what Jecht assumed was her husband. To the right of the entry, a human woman in plate mail and a helm stood silent and erect before the image of a young man in similar garb. Several other groups of people were gathered at various places on the platform communing with silent specters of their loved ones. Jecht wondered why he hadn't noticed them until now.
Sighing, the Summoner moved close to Jecht. He kept his voice low, partially out of respect to those that were visiting and partially because of what he was about to say.
"It is hard to explain, Jecht. Even if you had lived in Spira all you life, you might find what I'm about to tell you…strange at best. I was accepted to study in Bevelle as an Apprentice Summoner when I was quite young. But, for many rather complex reasons, I instead followed my heart and went to live with the Al Bhed. After I married Rain, the temple wanted nothing more to do with me. I, frankly, did not care. I loved my wife; she was my world – my everything. When Yuna arrived, so small and fragile, I couldn't imagine anything more beautiful or amazing. We had to struggle to get by – having been defrocked, I no longer drew a stipend from the Church and my marriage to an Al Bhed meant that many people refused my healing services – but it didn't matter to us. We had each other and, if sometimes we had only potatoes and the things we managed to grow in our garden to eat, then we gave thanks for our blessings and didn't complain. Oh Yevon, it was hard for us but we were so happy together."
Tears shimmered again in Braska's eyes as he continued on. His voice was laden with emotion. "When Rain died, I went to the Temple priests and begged to be allowed to return. I threw myself at the mercy of Maester Mika and pleaded to be accepted as an Apprentice. I vowed I would not fail – that never had any man or woman in Spira wanted a thing as badly as I wanted to destroy Sin. At first, I said it out of grief. Later, I said it out of anger and rage. By the time I was allowed to return to the temple though, I no longer wished to eradicate Sin out of a sense of vengeance or retribution. I came to my calling with an open heart." Braska's face took on the strange glowing look Jecht had seen when he gazed upon the vision of his wife. The man radiated it as though it were some kind of tangible power. There was something mesmerizing about Braska – something that drew Jecht in the same way that the vision of the flower fields far below had. "I want only to free Spira from bondage, Jecht. I have no other wish - to give Yuna, and every other child, a life free of fear. I look at her and I see Rain. I think to myself; if I had come to the Temple in my youth, become a Summoner and defeated that monster, how many might still be alive? How many of these people here," Braska swept his arms around to encompass all the people there on the platform, "these grieving parents, the lonely woman, the children over there with their crying mother – how many of them would still have their loved ones if I had chosen differently? How many more must die until someone says, 'No more?'"
Jecht frowned. "Braska, I don't understand. What the hell has that got to do with me?"
"Only four people in one thousand years have defeated Sin, Jecht. Four. I knew it was a tremendous vanity for me to think that I could do it, that I might be the one to save Spira and bring the Calm. When I became an Apprentice, I prayed every day and every night to Yevon. I told him everything that was in my heart. I prayed, not only for strength and guidance, but also for a sign – for divine assistance. I begged my God to help me so that I could help the people in his name."
Braska's voice took on a soft and reverent tone. He looked intently at Jecht and reached out to him, placing strong hands on the blitzer's shoulders. "When I went into the Chamber of the Fayth in Bevelle, the Prayer Child appeared to me. He told me that my voice was strong and that my prayers had been heard. He said that the Fayth had sent a man to help me, someone to assist me in my task. He said that if I took this man with me and held true, that I would not fail. I would gain the Final Aeon and defeat Sin."
Jecht just stood there, blinking.
"When I came out of the Trials with Auron, Wen Kinoc was there. He said there was a man in the locks – a man from Zanarkand – and I knew. In that instant, I knew. Yevon sent you here as an answer to my prayers."
"Braska, this is nuts." Jecht shook his head. "I never heard of Yevon. I never heard of Spira. And why would your God pick me anyway? I'm just a blitzball player!"
The final sentence practically ripped out of Jecht's throat. The other people on the dais turned to stare at the Summoner and Guardian. Jecht jerked Braska's hands away and shouted at him, "I don't believe in this shit! I don't care about Spira and I don't give a damn about Sin!"
Chagrined, Braska tried to calm Jecht. "Jecht, please. Don't say those things. You're drawing attention to yourself."
"I don't care!" Jecht shoved Braska away. "I didn't ask for this! I don't want this! Find somebody else! Send me back!"
The Summoner seemed truly sorry when he replied, "Jecht, I do not know how."
Whirling, Jecht moved for the gateway. He wanted out of the place and away from Braska. He wanted to go home. All this talk about gods and spirits – these people seeing visions of dead loved ones all around him – it was crazy.
~~I've gone insane.~~
It was one thing to play along, to follow Braska and Auron as a means to an end. It was something else to be told you were literally the answer to someone's prayers. That you were being depended on to save an entire world. He felt like he'd been sacked in a blitz sphere – the hollow sick sensation that started just south of the solar plexus and the dizzying disorientation that came from having your world turned upside down. He bolted through the gateway and charged down the stairs, sweeping past Auron and refusing to acknowledge the warrior's presence when his name was shouted. Jecht had no idea where he was headed and he didn't care. He just had to get away.
His rapid steps took him back the way he had come – through the hallway and out into the city. In no time, he was standing in front of the bar. He stared at the door. There was nothing he wanted more at that moment than to drown himself in alcohol; to forget everything and allow the haze of inebriation to sweep through is mind and block out memory.
But what then? What would happen when the buzz wore off?
Back in Zanarkand, taking off for an evening of drinks with the boys would sometimes turn into lost days. He would wake up in a room somewhere, unsure how long he'd been gone. He wouldn't remember where he'd been, what he'd done, or whom he had been with. Of course, it wasn't hard to piece together afterward – the paparazzo made sure of that. He'd skulk back to the houseboat to face the music, flowers or jewelry box in hand for the wife that was sure to be unhappy. He'd picked up gifts for the boy too, but Tidus got angry after a while and refused them. When the kid threw a perfectly good portable console equipped with the latest version of BlitzAce - featuring the Sublimely Magnificent Jecht Shot Mark III - over the side of the boat and then shouted that he didn't want Jecht's crummy gifts, it brought a swift halt to Jecht's trips to the toy store.
What was there for him here? He couldn't go back the way he came – not by himself. For that matter he couldn't even leave this creepy cave city. If traveling with Auron and Braska had taught him nothing else, it was that Spira was a dangerous place and that going out on your own wasn't smart. He didn't even know what direction to walk anyway. Every time he tried to ask someone about Zanarkand, they shook their head sadly and treated him like an invalid or acted like he was out of his mind.
He went into the bar.
There was little gil left in the small pouch that Braska had given him back in Bevelle, but it was enough. He quickly downed a couple of bottles as he considered the options. Soon, he would have no money. If his family and life existed at all, it was far away; far beyond his ability to reach alone. The guado he'd talked to said that Zanarkand was a smoking ruin – destroyed in a war almost a thousand years ago – and that the only people that went there were Summoners searching for the Fayth of the Final Summoning. When someone back in Bevelle had told him that, he thought they'd been yanking his chain. No longer. Now, after everything he'd seen, it was starting to make sense. He had intended to talk to Braska about it – asking Auron anything was out of the question – when the Summoner had started his spiritual mumbo jumbo. Jecht didn't go in for that sort of thing. It bothered him – the idea that there was a God that kept track of all the wrong he'd ever done and might make him pay for his mistakes. Heaven and hell, angels and ghosts, demons and saints; Jecht figured they were just things people made up to help them get through life. He could understand that. Before he'd found blitz, his life had been far from easy. When he was a kid on the streets he'd prayed to an imaginary deity more than once to save him when the nights were cold, dark, and full of unfriendly people that thought he looked like an easy mark. There had never been an answer to his prayers.
Jecht ordered another ale.
It didn't take long for the alcohol to do its job. The pounding headache and sick falling feeling in his gut were fading away; replaced by comforting warmth of the blood and cocky self-assurance. The blitz players had said all the tournaments were held in some town called Luca. Jecht started to make a plan. People welcomed Braska and as his Guardian, they welcomed Jecht.
~~I stick with Braska til Luca. If I don't get answers; I find a scout.~~
Jecht ordered a final bottle for the road and left another silver gil on the table for the waitress. Then he left to find Braska. One way or another, he was going home.
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"I am sorry. He had a brush with Sin recently and the toxin still affects him."
Braska offered up the explanation aloud to quell the curiosity of the people in the Farplane before dashing off after Jecht. The few moments it had taken to speak the words were enough. By the time Braska exited through the barrier, Jecht was long gone. Auron was standing at the ready, a look of curiosity on his face.
"What happened?"
Braska hadn't told Auron about the conversation with the Prayer Child. He wasn't quite sure why. Though there had been no admonishment to keep the discussion to himself, Braska still felt it was meant for his ears alone. At the Macalania Inn, when Auron had insisted in no uncertain terms that Jecht be left behind, Braska had almost said something. It would have made the situation so much easier if he had. Auron didn't understand why Jecht was so important – why Braska insisted that the man must come with them no matter what – and it was causing a strain on their friendship. The distance that had risen up between them was painful. Now, once again, a moment had arrived when telling Auron might smooth the path. For a brief moment, Braska considered it and then set the thought aside.
**I went into the Chamber alone. What passed there is between myself and God.**
"I said something that upset him," Braska said simply.
"That much is plain, Braska." Auron frowned. The Call was sending him a muddle of confusing emotions. It was clear Braska felt guilt for something, but the Summoner wasn't saying what. Auron was unsure if it was due to Jecht's behavior or because Braska was unwilling to discuss the matter. "Did you tell him about the Final Aeon?"
"No. Not yet." Braska's words were distant and preoccupied. He turned his head, anxiously looking down the hallway. "I need to find him. I must apologize."
Auron wouldn't let up. "Lord, forgive me, but I must say this. The man is unstable. If he has left in this way, is it not best to simply let him go? I will admit he has had some value as a fighter. I will even grant that his tale of being a blitz player must have some basis. But his insistence that he is from the Holy City and his absurd assertions about a place filled with blasphemous machina is heresy! Braska, your own history and my status already casts a pall on your Pilgrimage. This man's behavior, and his status as your Guardian, could bar you from the Temples. The Church would like nothing better than to see you fail – to have you die and use your life as an example of what happens to those that challenge the Teachings."
Sighing, Braska shook his head slowly. "Auron, I know that what you say sounds logical. I understand that you want only to protect me – not simply because you are my Guardian but because you are my friend. But Jecht is my responsibility now. As you guard me, I must guard him. Though you do not understand why, I ask that you accept my decision - that you help me, as your friend, in this task."
The warrior crossed his arms over his chest. "If you order me, I will do so. I am your Guardian and you are my Summoner. But as your friend, I tell you now," Auron's left arm shot out and pointed down the now vacant hallway that Jecht had recently run down, "that man is nothing but trouble and I do not approve."
Braska's response was sad. "Then I order you."
He turned without another word and started down the hallway. Auron stood there, watching as the figure of his friend got smaller and smaller, his heart heavy.
//For both our sakes, Braska, I pray I am wrong.//
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