5.
Hyoga woke with birdsong in his ears, the early morning sun peeping through and a cat purring at his feet. She had crept in during the night through the half-open door and refused to budge, even as he got up. Going over to the window he drew the curtains and gasped.
Bright oranges and browns and reds flared up against a pale blue sky streaked with yellowing pink clouds: he was looking at a forest in full autumn colours. Across the street a line of beech trees stood tall and straight like soldiers on guard, whilst behind these there was a growth of birches, young oak and other, less identifiable trees.
The streetlamps winked out as the sun rose and cast forth its golden rays.
So this was what an ordinary life was like. Waking up in a bed, drawing the curtains and looking out into daybreak, and seeing that the world is just beautiful. You don't have to save it, simply enjoy it.
He felt happy.
"Oh, if I can only hold on to this one perfect moment! It will last me for the rest of my life"
He took a deep breath and sighed.
His perfect moment was over.
There would be no more mornings like this for him. Time to start running again.
But first, he would have to do something about these people.
Wipe their memories? There seemed to be no other solution. He did not want to see them hurt. Athena and the saints were his problem, his responsibility. Too many people had suffered and died because of him: no more would.
And yet - if he used the mindwipe (something he had picked up from Ikki, having seen the Phoenix Saint use a similar technique more that once, and twice on him) he would be doing the very thing the Fields abhorred most, that Queer had warned him against.
"So this is what I have come to: in order to protect my friends I must hurt them. Oh Athena, what kind of monster the service of you turned me into?"
He fell back on the bed, face buried in his hands.
An indignant "Mrow." came from the cat
"Oh puss, why is it so hard, Why do I have to make such decisions?"
He stroked the animal and she began to purr, rolling over on her back loudly demanding him to scratch her fluffy fat belly.
"I wish my life could be as easy as yours, pussy. A family who loves you, a bowl of mild in the evening and a welcome warm bed. You are a lucky creature, do you know that.
She confirmed it by purring even louder.
"I must go now, puss. You understand that, don't you? I must save your family from their folly. Even if it will cost me the last shred of my Soul."
He smiled bitterly. Every step he seemed to take led him further on the road to perdition. How long before he'd stop caring?
I don't believe for one moment that you could ever stop caring, Hyoga. You are the sort of person who puts himself in other's people's shoes. You put yourself in mine. If you hadn't, I'd still be strip dancing in the Pink Bunny. Or worse."
"Oh, no, Shun is the one with the empathy, not me."
"But not the drive and the courage to act on it. That was all you."
"And Shaina."
"Hardly. My thoughts were all bend on revenge. All I wanted was to kill Athena."
"Didn't we all at some point?"
He looked around for his clothes: they were nowhere to be seen, not even in the laundry basket in the bathroom.
That properly ended all plans he had of sneaking out after mind-wiping the Fields: the presence of his own clothes and the absence of the ones he had borrowed from Queer would betray his passing. And then he recalled the phone calls mr. Field had made last night. There was no way he could alter that.
"I should have stopped them yesterday…I should never have come…but then…why not. They are adults. Why not let them shoulder the responsibility? After all, I'm only 15…"
If Hyoga had but a dim idea of what an 'ordinary' life for a teenager such as himself was like, he did know that it didn't usually include making life-or-death-save-the-world decisions.
"This is nice. Comfortable. Not having to think about battles or training. My Cloth be damned. Athena be damned!"
He liked the sound of that thought so he repeated it out loud:
"Athena be damned!"
He moved towards the mirror over the washbasin and began to undo the bandage over his eye.
He kept it closed, even as he finished, peering into the looking glass with his right one to examine the white flesh of the left of his face making a marked difference from the siberian-suntanned rest.
"You look like one of those Chinese bears, whatsits, pandas. It was ridiculous to keep wearing that thing when you know your eye has healed itself months ago. Stop punishing yourself for what happened to Isaak. The best way to honour his memory is to make sure there will be no more Isaak's - or Seiya's."
He opened his eye.
"There, that wasn't so hard, was it? Hiding and running: you've been good at that. You should stare reality straight into the face instead! And admit that you are ill equipped to deal with your problems: all you know is how to kill an opponent. The Fields seem pretty confident on what they can and must do…and they can help Miho and Seika and Sunrei. Together we may be able to resolve these matters."
He nodded at his reflection. Having come to a decision did him good. It seemed to him that it was an altogether different Hyoga who washed and dressed now, one who in no way resembled the ruthless Ice-Saint, nor doubting and frightened young man of the night before.
He went downstairs. All was quiet and still in the house, and he wondered if he should go back to his room and wait for the Fields to rise, or perhaps, as a sort of thank-you, prepare breakfast for them (though he had no idea how to go about doing that). But then he saw through the half-open door mr. Field sitting at the dining-room table with a pot of tea in front of him and a newspaper. Janiculus the dog lay at his feet. She got up as Hyoga entered, and wagged enthusiastically. He petted her, unsure how to begin. Fortunately, mr. Field did it for him.
He folded his newspaper and waved Hyoga to a chair.
"Good morning. Have a seat, help yourself to tea. I believe we have some serious matters to discuss."
The table was set for five: a creamy white cloth with a flowery pattern and cups and saucers of the same colour, with little silver spoons, and knives and forks wrapped in a russet paper napkin. The tiny flame of the tealight winked at him as he took the pot and carefully poured into one of the cups.
"Sugar is in the bowl. Take as many lumps as you like."
Hyoga took three.
Janiculus laid her heavy head on his knee as he sat down on his chair. She drooled a bit.
"Down, 'Cully. She's been fed, but my wife has spoilt her: she will always beg for titbits at table; just shoo her away."
Mr Field lit his first pipe of the day.
"Now then- puff-puff- I called my old friends yesterday night - puff-puff- and they had some interesting reactions."
He looked at Hyoga over his reading glasses that were balancing on the tip of his eagle's beak nose.
"Er…"
The Russian took a deep breath. He had rehearsed a little speech while he had dressed, and he wanted to get it right.
"Please Sir, you must understand one thing. The Gods are absolutely merciless. When they think that they are in the right they will swipe at everything that stands in their way like you would a fly. Consider your wife, your children…"
"I have." interrupted mr. Field," So have they. And we have all considered the numerous innocents the Gods have put at risk. The thing is…" he paused, and wagged the end of his pipe at Hyoga as if better to drive the point home: " The thing is, the English have shown throughout their history an extraordinary talent for making troublesome commitments. We Fields are no exception. The minute you stepped through our door we felt humanly bound to help you. So we will see this through with you, son."
Son!
Mr. Field had called him: 'son'!
It was just a word, Hyoga knew, it did not mean that mr. Field considered him to be like a child of his, brother to Queer and Vimi and that brainy Esk, but it gave him a sense of belonging he had not felt in a long time: it certainly held so much more affection that his own father had ever shown him.
A warm feeling invaded him, and he could have wept with joy.
Mr. Field was also very English when it came to emotionalism, so he pretended not to see how affected Hyoga was, and continued: "Nor have the God's actions gone unnoticed. Now the SIS keeps tabs on most big-business enterprises like Graad, but the Foreign Office doesn't usually do so. Yet when I asked Hoolahan if he knew Mitsumasa Kido, I could hear him fall over backwards. When he became ambassador in Japan, roundabout the time when you were send to your training camp in Siberia, he received orders from 'up high' to check out that gentleman.
As for Freddie Moutjoy, he actually had me call back on a secure line! There is a file on Kido and Graad at the Office that is so Top Secret only very senior officers know about it. I have no doubt that their opposite numbers in the US, the Soviet Union, China, and France have similar files."
He paused to take another puff at his pipe.
"Up until Saori Kido outed the Saints at that Galactic Tournament, the Foundation was under scrutiny for having too long an arm to be entirely 'clean'…sorry, I do believe I use too much 'inspeak'. Let me clarify: Graad is extremely powerful and will use that power in matters that concern National -and International- Security.
Hence the files. The General Public believes that all that was revealed about the Saints during the Tournament is just a hoax to attract viewers; and even at the Office there are many who believe all those fights were 'staged' and the information given about the rapidity of your hits faked. So you can imagine Mountjoy's excitement when I told him I have living proof of the veracity of it all."
"Oh".
Hyoga felt his heart sink. This was not what he wanted. If so many people were involved, Athena would not fail to find out and then… he shuddered at what might happen.
Mr. Field seemed to guess his thoughts.
"Don't worry. Freddie will keep mum if I ask him to. The most important thing to do first is to get those girls and your friend Jacob out. Hoolahan has given me the number of a bright young thing at the Embassy in Tokyo, and Freddie has confirmed that the lad is 'clean', I mean, trustworthy, so I've called him and he'll make contact with your Miho. "
"Oh!"
Hyoga didn't know what else to say. It was as if a load had fallen off his shoulders. He could trust mr. Field to do what was necessary. It would be all right. He would no longer have to worry about the safety of his friends.
He felt like singing.
And somebody was singing, in a pleasant, clear voice: Queer, coming down the stairs.
"'C'est la lutte finale:
Groupons-nous, et demain,
L'Internationale
Sera le genre humain.'"
"I know that song!" cried Hyoga, surprised.
"You should, being Russian." said mr. Field with a slightly sour face, "That is the 'Internationale', the Communist Anthem. My son insists on being 'leftist' at times. He's not even pale pink, but I haven't the heart to tell him that. He enjoys trying to wind me up. Morning, son!" he called out to Queer, "You are in a revolutionary mood today."
The young man grinned, "Who wouldn't be, after last night!" and he continued:
"Il n'est pas de sauveurs suprêmes:
Ni Dieu, ni César ni tribun
Producteurs, sauvons-nous nous-mêmes!
Décrétons le salut commun!'"
"Appropriate, wouldn't you say? 'There are no supreme saviours, no God, Caesar or tribune, workers, let us save ourselves, and decree the common…how would one translate 'le salut'? Never mind, Hyoga understands French, don't you, Hyoga? I bet you even know the words in Russian."
"Warn me when you plan to storm the Winter Palace." growled mr. Field. "Meanwhile you can fix us breakfast. Full English, with sausage, bacon, mushrooms and tomato, eggs sunny side up."
"'Debout les damnés de la terre.
Debout les forçats de la faim!'" *
"Breakfast!" bellowed mr. Field, " In the kitchen, now, that is your Sunday job. If you want to go on living with us for free, my boy, you'll have to pull your weight."
Queer jumped to attention, clicking his heels together and sticking up his left arm in a straight salute:
"Jawohl mein Vater!"
"And don't forget you're expected in Church at nine-forty. Better hurry."
"As to that, I was hoping you would take my place in the Choir today. I lost much of my weekly income as I didn't go buskering in town last night, so I thought to make up for it with performing in restaurants at lunch…"
"And keep the Good God waiting?"
"I thought we had established God wasn't good."
"God doesn't exist, but the people that go to mass need him, or at least the comfort of Religion and the accompaniment of your voice. You've promised Pater Bollen to sing in the Choir on Sundays, and a Field keeps his promises."
Queer threw up his arms in a mock gesture of surrender.
"All right, all right, the 'Pater' ** has spoken, your dutiful son obeys, slavery has clearly not been abolished in this family."
"Breakfast."
"Coming up! Do you take the full works as well Hyoga? And your eggs? Scrambled, hard-or soft boiled?"
"Er…"
The young Russian got the feeling that that was all he would be able to say from know on. The Fields talked way over his head sometimes. Queer saw the look on his face and laughed.
"Know what? Come and help me in the kitchen. And never mind us: we are an odd lot. Welcome to the Family!"
Despite his bewilderment, Hyoga was sure now that he was, indeed, part of the Fields.
And he liked it.
Authors Notes:
* = 'Arise, damned of the Earth
Arise, forced labourers of Famine' (my own translation)
There is an English version of the 'Internationale' as well, available on the Net.
** = In certain upper class Oxbridge educated English families, children (used to) call their parents Pater and Mater, Latin for father and mother. This kind of thing drives mr. Field up the wall, which is why Queer does it (though he never set foot in either Oxford or Cambridge): he teases his father mercilessly, but it is based on real affection.