Hiyas! Here is part 5. I've decided on a way to explain the saving points and their ability to let you play Blitzball: I've made them some kind of transporters, straight to Luca. There's where the stadium is, right? So in my Spira those saving points—although not so numerously present as in the game—stand in every village, and they are something like a television ball/telephone/transporter, and are called Luca Spheres.  This chapter ends the flashback to the use of Ifrit. Next chapter will deal with the rest of the journey to find Sin. Enjoy!

5.

Ifrit's appearance caused a flurry of excitement and fear in the Ronso Village, but Braska hastily dismounted and explained matters, calming them down soon enough. They still were not all to happy to see them, and Jecht noticed more than one blue-furred person who seemed larger than he actually was because of raised hackles, but the Summoner smiled, thanked, offered gil and was finally directed to the inn and given a room.

Auron slept through it all, although he began to cough when Ifrit plucked him from his back and deposited him into the broad arms of a huge Ronso called Inorhe. His waxen colour and the blood dripping from his mouth proved more convincing than Braska's invocations of Yevon; the big feline's tail stopped trashing about, and his inner eyelids retreated.

"Looks bad," he rumbled, and carried the Guardian inside with as much care as if it were a cub. Jecht followed a little more slowly, after a sideward glance at the Luca Sphere near the house of the Ronso Chief. It was flickering dully; apparently they had fixed it since they passed through.

I wonder whether they're playing today, he mused, then shook himself. I should see if Braska needs me instead of dreaming about playing Blitzball. However, when he came into the room Braska had already set the Ronso to work and was now deftly removing Auron's coat. The shirt beneath was stained with red here and there, and Jecht could not suppress a wince. Bones sticking through skin…

"Hey Braska?"

"Yes?"

"Can I help ya with anything?" The Summoner looked back over his shoulder.

"No, no I don't think so. Um. Why don't you…er…go outside for a bit? See if you can find something to mend your coat? And could you buy a cask of mint wine? The shop aught to have it." Auron began to cough again, and he hastened back to him again, holding him immobile while he coughed.

"Eh, sure." Suddenly, he felt a little helpless. "I'll check the Sphere as well—ya know, see if they play…"

"Sure, go ahead," Braska said without paying attention. "But be sure to behave considerately, though. You know they don't take friendly after humans who do not live up to their ideas of respect." And to Inorhe, "Can you lift him now, and keep him straight while I remove his shirt?"

"Okay," Jecht said to no one in particular, and walked out of the room, hands in his pockets.

Even though he had been prepared for the damage on his friend's body by the touch of his fingers, Braska still hissed with sympathy and pity when he cut Auron's shirt away. His chest was unharmed, but on his left his skin was a purplish black, and his ribs caved inwards on one point, breaking the skin on several places. As Inorhe kept him straight, he walked around him and examined his back and other side, and whistled. Auron had been lucky to hit the ledge with his right side, or his back would have been broken. As it was, his ribcage had not only broken on several places but had also somehow shifted a bit, and snapped his collar bone as well.

"Not good," the Ronso rumbled. "Breathing sounds hitchy. Guardian must have blood in lungs."

"I fear so, yes," Braska sighed. "I'll need to mend that first. And I need him to keep sitting up like this if I want to heal everything at the right pace." He looked at the high-posted bed and combed his hand through his hair, stopped as he came to his head ornament and took it off. "Right. I'll need ropes and a lot of pillows. And bandages. A few yards at least. Can you arrange that for me?" The feline nodded. He waited until the Summoner supported the Guardian instead of him and walked out of the door.

Braska stroked Auron's pale cheek.

"You've really done it this time, my friend. It will take you at least a day to recover from this injury—and me the rest of THIS day to patch you up again. Pray to Yevon that Jecht won't provoke the Ronso into a fist-fight or something." Auron did not reply, and he frowned. Inorhe had been right; his respiration sounded awful, as if he were breathing liquid. He wondered whether it was a good idea to keep him sedated; the absence of pain was one thing, dying in one's sleep was another. Well, I'll just have to monitor him carefully. I'll keep him asleep for as long as I dare, and wake him when I need him to speak.

The Ronso entered with a stack of ropes and bandages in one paw and four pillows beneath his other arm. In his one free hand he carried a cup of steaming liquid.

"Tea," he growled. "For the Summoner." Braska was touched.

"Thank you." Inorhe performed the sign of prayer as well as possible without the use of one's hands.

"Braska healed my cub. Brought me news from Kimahri. Tea is the least Inorhe can do for Braska." He propped up the pillows behind Auron's back and gently pushed the man into them. "Inorhe will help as much as the Summoner wants." Braska smiled.

"Thank you, Inorhe. And thank you for the tea. I really do appreciate it." The Ronso made a sound like a giant humming bee and looked away, suddenly embarrassed.

"Rrrr. It's nothing. How do you want him positioned?"

A little while later Auron sat straight on the bed, arms hoisted upwards by ropes, head drooping on his chest, broken ribs exposed to the whims of his Summoner. Blood dripped from his lower lip on his lap, and Braska cracked his fingers.

"First the lungs." He sat down on the bed and laid his hands on his friend's back and side, closed his eyes and began to pray. After a while Auron's body became visible behind his closed eyelids, but he probed deeper, until the flesh disappeared and he could see his skeleton and organs. "There. Two ribs on this side, one on the other side." His hands skimmed lightly over the injured parts, pressed here, caressed there, and the blue light of healing lit up the man's flesh, all the way to his lungs, making him look like some sort of transparent deep-ocean fish. Auron began to cough again, sounding more strangled than before, and Braska sped up his litany.

"Yevon be praised aid your loyal servant grant me the power to heal the wounds caused by forces greater than me delay the final spiral Yevon aid me in my cause…" There, gently now, I have to pull them out before I can mend his flesh…there, that's it, one more to go. Hold still now, Auron, don't move, you can cough the blood out later. Beneath his fingers bones shifted back to their ordinary position, then began to knit. Lung tissue formed a scar, then became smooth and elastic once more, and immediately Auron breathed easier. Braska exhaled as well, and leaned back against the headboard with a sigh. His back ached from sitting in one position for too long; it always amazed him how fast time went when he healed someone, while it seemed such a short time to him.

"That's one. One more to go." He wiped his sweaty face with his sleeve and looked regretfully at the now stone cold cup of tea. "Ah well. Can't win them all." He took a sip, pulled a face, then emptied the cup anyway. As if on cue, Inorhe stalked into the room, a tea pot large enough to provide for a whole orphanage in his hand, and poured him a new cup.

"Hot tea much better than cold," he lectured, and would not go away before Braska had finished the second cup as well. "Need any help?" Braska shook his head.

"No, only when I let him down, later. But now, no, thank you. Um, did you happen to see Jecht?" The Ronso swiped his tail.

"Yes. Outside, talking to Sphere." He gave a sigh of relief.

"Oh, good. He's not bothering anybody, then." Pushing the hair out of his face, he placed the empty cup on the night stand. "I'd better get on with it before it gets dark. Thank you for the tea." Inorhe bowed, took the pot, and disappeared again. Braska went back to healing.

Auron woke up while Braska was knitting his collar bone back together. At first he did not know where he was, and why his arms and his sides hurt so much, but as soon as he identified the taste in his mouth as the salt tang of blood and the woozy feeling in his head as the after effects of a sleeping potion, he remembered what had happened.

His collar bone gave a soft clicking sound, and he winced as it fit into place. Braska looked up from his shoulder, saw his eyes and smiled.

"Awake? I'd hoped it'd last a bit longer, but it's good to see you awake again. No, don't speak yet. I haven't finished with this side yet—but you should feel a lot better already." Auron nodded, then winced again as his neck cramped up.

"Why…why're my arms tied up?" Braska shook his finger at him.

"I told you not to speak! And to answer your question, I've been dying to get you in a vulnerable position like this…" He made large eyes and licked his lips, and Auron leaned away from him a little. Dishevelled as he was, with his moist face and dark circles beneath his eyes, Braska looked less than trustworthy.

"My…Lord?" The less-than-trustworthy face split in a grin.

"Don't be an ass, Auron." He laughed. "I needed you secured like this so I could reach all of your ribs without having to lift your arms all the time. You're quite heavy, you know." He went back to his friend's ribs and chanted quietly for a while, until Auron asked where Jecht was.

"Jecht? Hmm. Outside, somewhere. Inorhe's keeping an eye on him, I think. They've repaired the Sphere, so I guess Jecht's seeing whether the Psyches play this week."

"Is it wise to let him…ow…"

"I told you not to talk." Braska said pitilessly. "That's your punishment for not trusting Jecht. And for disobeying my professionally given advise." He applied pressure on one rib until Auron began to hyperventilate from trying to keep still, gave it one sharp knock and ticked it into place. Auron whimpered softly, and he spoke up to cover it, "There. I'm sorry. This one was totally out of place." He looked away until he was sure his Guardian had his facial muscles back under control, then ventured a reassuring smile.

"As for Jecht, I'm sure he'll be all right. He's learned to keep his mouth shut at the right times."

"I…see…" Auron said faintly, unable, for the moment, to bring up enough interest in Jecht's do's and don'ts, and Braska wiped the sweat from his eyes with a clean, moist cloth.

"As you should. You have other worries at the moment."

He slid his hands over Auron's body one final time, concentrating on anomalies, but the bones and flesh his hands met was whole, if weak and strained. "Right. I'm going to swathe you up in bandages now, to make sure that everything will settle correctly. And then I can free you from this doubtlessly uncomfortable position." He smiled, grabbed the heap of bandages and proceeded to mummify his Guardian from waist to shoulders, pulling the strips so tight Auron's face turned red and his own knuckles grew white.

"There," he panted finally, "That should do it." He tapped against the man's chest. "Does this hurt?" Auron shook his head.

"I don't even feel it."

"Good. Let me get Inorhe so we can get your arms down."

"A knife…"

"I will not cut somebody else's ropes if they can do that for me," Braska admonished. He stood up, wavering a little, then walked out of the door in search of the big Ronso.

"Try to breathe in now. Deeply. I know it hurts, but…no, deeper." Auron filled his lungs with air, then doubled up as something constricted there and brought his hands to his mouth. Bright red blood bubbled from between his fingers. The Summoner gritted his teeth as the other man began to cough again, and handed him a handkerchief. "Here, use this. It's the blood in your lungs, you'll have to cough it out."

"I don't…" Cough. "Understand. You healed me." Cough. "Why does it hurt…so much…still?"

"You took a pretty bad beating. When it has sustained so much damage, your body needs some time to realize that it has been healed. Don't worry, you'll be fine in a day or so. You just need some time to recuperate." A knock interrupted him, and before he could say 'Enter', Jecht opened the door and walked in.

"Braska. Auron! How're ya doin'?" Auron hid the handkerchief in his lap and tried to frown. All he managed was a twitch of his brows, and Jecht looked a bit worried. "Are you alright?"

The man certainly did not look alright. He half lay, half sat on the bed, supported by pillows, bandages from hip to neck, skin the same colour as the cloth and obviously too weak to lift as much as a finger. But he nodded, and Braska interjected that he was fine, but that he should rest for at least a day, perhaps two.

"Braska…" Auron whined, but then he began to cough again and Jecht saw the bloody kerchief.

"Right," he said. "He looks just fine to me. The very picture of health. Remind me never to ask you whether I've got a cold or a lethal disease."

"Jecht!" Auron snapped, but the other man imitated one of his better snorts and sat down on one of the two chairs.

"Ah yes, I've got something for ya. Mint wine, wasn't it? They called it Ethera." he pulled a small, flat bottle out of his coat and handed it to Braska. "I smelled it. It smells vile. What on earth are we supposed to do with it?" Braska grinned cruelly, and Auron hissed. The bed creaked as he leaned into the pillows a little more.

"No. No. Oh no, no, no."

"Yes, Auron."

"No."

"Do I sense a childhood trauma here?" Jecht wondered aloud, and the Summoner began to laugh. Auron stared at the bottle as if it were a poisonous snake, shook his head slowly from side to side, without ever taking his eyes of it.

"It has nothing to do with childhood. It's poison, that. I want none of it."

"It will accelerate the mending of your bones with more than a day."

"I don't care."

"I would have given you some if I'd had it, when you were unconscious."

"You should have taken your chance at the time," Auron said with uncharacteristic rudeness. "I am NOT taking as much as a spoonful of that stuff." The smile slipped from Braska's face.

"Auron."

"No."

"Don't be an idiot. You know it will help you heal."

"No."

"Oh come on, it can't possibly be that bad, can it?" Jecht said. "I mean, it smells bad, but if you just pinch your nose…?"

"You could use some as well," Auron hissed viciously. "Your arm's mending as well." Braska sighed.

"Auron, please."

"I'll take some if you take the same amount," the Guardian said, and gave Jecht a smile that suggested sharp teeth and talons. "How's that, my Lord?"

"Fine, fine."

"Hey!" Jecht protested, but Braska had already taken three small cups from his backpack, and now uncorked the bottle. A sickeningly sweet, minty scent wafted from the opening, and Jecht felt his nostrils quiver like those of a chocobo near a fiend. Auron pressed the bloody cloth against his nose and looked pained. Braska just turned a little paler and poured.

"Three cups?" Jecht asked.

"One for each of us. Or did you think I would let you drink this terrible brew just because I like seeing you sick?" He smiled, but in the stench of the wine it was more a grimace. "I can use a bit of energy as well."

"Is it really that horrible?"

"Worse." Auron gasped from behind his kerchief. "You'll be most terribly sorry that you agreed to drink it."

"I didn't." Jecht realized, but Braska pushed a cup into his hands, clinked it with his own, pinched his nose and said, "Cheers," And quaffed it in one gulp.

"Right." He did the same, and drank.

It tasted…terrible. He had never, ever imagined that such a horrible taste existed. It was a mixture of the cloying sweetness of honey and the sharp freshness of mint, combined with the bitterness of soap and some sort of oily fish taste. As soon as it hit his taste buds his whole body revolted, and he had to clasp both hands against his mouth to keep it in, although he had to swallow five times to actually get it down.

"Aaahhh, damn…" he brought out, and wiped the tears from his eyes. "That must be the most terrible, horrible stuff I've EVER drank in my life!"

"I'm not surprised," Auron groaned through teeth clenched together to keep from retching. He was holding his ribs with one arm and had his free hand pressed against his mouth. His face was almost green. "It is…filthy." A shiver ran through his frame, and he winced. "It is one of the few things I consider to be too terrible to drink, no matter the consequences. I agree, it works revitalising as soon as you've gotten the taste out of your mouth, but…" He closed his eyes and pressed his hand tighter against his mouth.

"I know it tastes terrible," Braska muttered. His whole face was twitching as if his muscles had gone wild. "Every time I tell myself that it isn't that bad really—but it is!"

"You've drunk this more often?" Jecht asked, horrified. Braska nodded, shivering.

"There've been times I drank it every day. In the beginning, when I had just become a Summoner."

"You poor man!" Suddenly he remembered the other purchase had had made, and he pulled another bottle out of his pocket. "I'd planned on saving this until tomorrow, but I think we could all use a dose now, right?" He slammed the bottle of sake on the table.

"My hero," grinned Braska, and put the bottle to his lips. Auron concurred. Within a minute half of the bottle was empty, and they sat there with their faces flushed and their eyes glassy, with a fire burning in their stomach.

"Though I'm not sure you should drink alcohol after imbibing Ether," Braska mused aloud. Jecht shrugged.

"I don't care. At least that taste is gone. For that matter, what's it supposed to do? I don't feel anything."

"You'll find out tomorrow morning. Or tonight. It will give you new energy."

"Ah." He took another sip. "So…we might go to Luca tomorrow, and I could play."

"What?" He flexed his arm. There was still a twinge of pain when he bent it in a certain way, but otherwise it was fine. If that mint wine, or Ether, as Braska called it, was as effective as the Ronso in the shop had claimed it was, he would be able to play at full strength tomorrow.

"I called Wazzu. The Al Bhed Psyches play tomorrow, and one of their attackers has fallen ill. Wazzu wondered whether I could replace him." He twirled the bottle between his fingers. "He'd seen me practise. It'd be great to play once more for a change, instead of just looking at it."

Braska looked at Auron, who shrugged sleepily—and winced.

"I can't fight now. You yourself told me I should rest for at least a day." The Summoner nodded.

"True. And whether you lie on your bed or sit in a stadium doesn't matter much." Jecht looked up.

"So we can go?!"

"Certainly. One day more or less…" But Jecht had already jumped to his feet, where he tottered dangerously for a moment before his momentum carried him forward.

"Great! I'll contact Wazzu right away." He moved to the door, then suddenly stopped and addressed Braska, "O yeah, one more thing. The Ronso guy downstairs wondered whether you could dismiss your Aeon. It's melting the whole road."

"Ifrit!" Braska howled, blanching beneath his flush. "I forgot all about him! Oh, he'll be furious!" Even faster than Jecht he stood up and ran out the door. Jecht grinned.

"The Summoners these days! Mislaying their Aeons all the time…" But Auron had his eyes closed, and if he heard him he did not reply, and privately Jecht was amazed that he had been awake for such a long time already.

"Thanks anyway," he whispered, and then the other surprised him once again by opening his eyes and nodding.

"You're welcome." Auron said, and went back to sleep.

To be continued…