Colors of War, Chapter 4: Left Behind
Within the hour she was on her way, minus 'civilian' casualties, on her initial course. As scheduled, she stopped to spend the night at Cosmo Canyon (though it was extremely late by the time she led her mount up the steps) by the ever-burning Cosmo Candle. (It would make a handy bonfire.)
There seemed to be an awful number of old people up so late at night, though. She frowned up at the tanned, middle-aged man who came to take her mount's reins, holding them just out of his reach. "Who're you?"
The stranger bristled at her blunt distrust, drew himself up with enormous dignity, and replied. "I am Elder Handret, sent to conduct you to Elder Bugenhagen."
You and the monkey behind you, she thought derisively, and, leaving him behind, stalked toward the gathering of people clustered about the Cosmo Candle. What was going on? Weird old men with weird old ideas should stay at home. She wanted to sleep. These people were getting in her way. "Am I interrupting something?" she demanded curtly, her free hand on her hip. They turned and stared at her, inscrutably weathered nut-brown faces lined up in rows- no, in a circle, really- like they were preparing for a ritual- "Hey!" she protested as Handret grabbed the reins and disappeared into the dusky darkness, or tried to disappear. The enhancement had given her excellent night vision- 20/20 vision, even- enough to pick out the silver in Handret's hair by the flickering scarlet illumination available. She scowled at the next gnarled hand that directed her forward into the center of the circle, next to the bonfire. "What is it you people want?" the cadet said with youthful rudeness, plopping herself down cross-legged where someone had helpfully put a plain dirt-colored cushion.
Poker faces, worn into eternal masks by the harsh winds that had carved the Canyon from bedrock, presented her with insensibility. Insensible disapproval of her abrasive manner. Realizing that she wasn't going to eat- or sleep- until they finished their obscure rite, she shifted into a more comfortable position, making a conscious effort to relax her aggressive body language. "All right, I'm listening, I'm listening. But can you please make it quick?" She really wanted to sleep...
One heavily whiskered face bobbed above the rest, supported by a scrawny-looking body heavily shrouded in purple and green robes. He was, she saw as he glided jerkily forward, floating on a device that somewhat resembled a large green mushroom cap. At least that was what it looked like to her tired eyes. Something like that, anyway... "We knew you were coming, hoo hoo hoo!" he chuckled, stopping in front of her. The Elders, having arranged themselves in a circle, closed ranks behind him. Diera glanced at them, then at him, like a trapped rat, warily. "You have nothing to fear from us, hoo hoo hoo! Food and rest we have prepared, only hear what we say to you."
Not much choice anyway... "Is it that important?"
"Important?" May be, may not. Could concern Planet, could concern only you. Time will tell," one of the Elders intoned softly, stirring a twisted finger in the mounds of dust on the ground.
"The fact is," Bugenhagen continued smoothly, "we don't know anything about you, which is unusual. Our people have been building profiles from horoscopes for centuries. It is not impossible to ask the stars these questions, you know," he said, smiling at her disbelief. "With the correct forms, one can tell the course of a person's destiny. However, the stars say nothing about you."
Diera shrugged. "Nobody knows exactly when I was born," she said nonchalantly. "So-"
He waggled a walking stick at her. (Why did he need a walking stick anyway?) "Do you really think we run around getting maternity ward records, girl? All we need is a picture, a name, an age. Any two will do. The Cosmos knows. It does not seem to recognize you, though. Do you have any idea why?"
She glared at him. "What are you getting at, sir?"
"You could change the world," one Elder murmured, bringing an involuntary twitch from the dark-haired cadet, who squashed the urge to glance at him. "Wutai's Shogun Kamikire, Contresiera's Marshal Longburn, great people- all of them had their fortunes found with our telling and our blessing. You are the first and only person who lacks a destiny."
"I don't need a destiny. I don't need people telling me about my life!" She dragged herself to her feet, fed up with all this mysticism, fed up with being kept awake past midnight for senseless old babbling. "I'll do what us humans do all the time. I'll make my own future! So shove off!"
She was hunting for a way out of their circle when Bugenhagen spoke, louder and strangely grim. "Do you intend to continue killing as you do now, unregretful and unchecked?"
Diera gave him a violet glare, deciding to try for a running jump. "Are you asking me to quit the Turks?" she said coldly, well and truly annoyed. This old guy- "I'm not a nature person, gramps, I can't be a person like you. What's wrong with killing them, anyway? They've got it coming to them if they get in the way. I'll get rid of everything in my way, that's all.."
He drew himself up, projecting what majesty he still had left. "And am I one of the things in your way, young Raistlorne?"
Deliberately, Diera turned her back on him. What a stupid question. As if she wanted to be understood, much less by this annoying petrified stump. Didn't he know that being open made cracks for blackmail, for attack? Stupid old man. A short run and jump brought her to the world outside. None of the elders had moved, not even Bugenhagen- it was just a feeling she had, of course- but a young boy immediately stepped forward, his dark face inquiring. She glared at him, putting all her hostile irritation into it- how dare he be so energetic at two in the morning?- and he paled, hastily ushering her off to the Inn.
But with every step she took, she felt old eyes on her back, old stern, reproachful eyes with the weight of decades behind them, drilling grim holes in her back. And it scared her, a little, that these old relics could believe so deeply in something about her. She didn't believe what they did, and had the feeling that they had seen something in her she could never accept.
She was scared... and it was a fear that couldn't be taken care of with a gun.
The worst kind of fear.
--
"Oi, wake up!"
Morning came with a loud, painful crash that left her with an aching head. She tumbled out of bed, clawing wearily at her long, tangled hair and wondering what all the fuss was about. "I'm awake, I'm awake, I'm awake," she mumbled, half asleep. Vincent was really angry today, she thought blurrily, had he been dumped by that Lucrecia woman?
....'oi'?
Did Vincent...use words like that? It was a Wutaian... word...
"Sleeping late's no excuse for not waking up early!" the voice barked, cutting sharply though the cobwebs in her brain.
She did not know this voice.
The red light shining through the door flamed an answering spark in her tired mind.
"Cosmo Canyon," she gasped out loud, blinking furiously, seeing the person before her for the first time. The Elders- the eyes-
"Are you awake or not?" A large, calloused hand cuffed her ear, adding discordant jangles to the persistent buzzing that permeated her awareness. She slapped reflexively at it, catching a glancing blow, punctuated by a quiet grunt. "So you're the brat Blackthorne brought out from nowhere?" It was a tall, heavy-set man of middle age, strangely pale in the ruddy light of what lay outside. Dressed in the formal navy suit of the working Turks, he had oddly white-shaded hair, his eyes obscured behind wraparound sunglasses. A soapy, slightly oily smell hung around him, eddying lazily in her sensitive nose. She sneezed, earning an irritated sigh from the man. "What's your name and rank, brat?"
What was he? Not the true dark coffee color of the native Corellians, certainly, but not the snowy beige of most Contresieran nobles, either. This Turk was true white, from top to fingertip (all she could see of his skin anyway), even vaguely through to his ears. "Diera Raistlorne, unpartnered cadet-trainee," she replied with half a mind, still studying this stranger's oddities. "What's your name and rank, then? By the way, why are you all white?"
"Winter Doros, partnered with Ihirle Tanana, Lariat rank. And this," he tapped his chin with one white thumb- "this is called albino. It's a recessive gene. What you're smelling is my skin lotion." For a white guy, he seemed awfully proud of his 'gene'. Being a golden-skinned mongrel breed of apparent Mideelan descent herself, Diera was curious about the reason for his pride. She'd never found much to be proud of in her own rare violet eyes, which sparkled like a whirling suncatcher in any light, even without light. Vincent was hard to scare with the whole glowing-eyes-in-the-dark thing, so she'd given up on trying to startle him with it long ago. She opened her mouth to ask what was so great about his white skin, but he cut her off as she drew breath to speak. "The district boss sent me to take you to the Canyon base. You've been given a change of orders."
All the breath escaped her in a loud hiss. "You kidding? I've reports to deliver!"
"Scheduled to go with today's Chocobo courier," he answered easily, snagging her bunny backpack from its place beside her pillow. "Hurry up, then. The dumb blond chick leaves in an hour, and the boss is a busy guy." She indignantly scrambled to follow, puzzled about this strange occurrence. Why take her off her job? What had she done wrong? "Oh, by the way- your sleeping posture. It's horrible. You should do something about it-"
"SHUT UP!"
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