"Hello, hello
Are you out there?"
--Poe
"For When You Return"
Part XVI
Location: The Time of the Sixth World
Two Eternities Before Present Day
"...Scared...?
But I'm not... scared."
"...You will be."
(Hello?)
(Hello....?)
(Anybody...?)
(Hello?)
(Hell...)
(Hell.)
Squall Leonhart came to slowly and tryingly. Everything was hazed, and his face felt like clay. His joints were stiff and his lips chapped... When he moved them to take in a gasping breath of air, the bottom one split painfully with a skin-wrenching crack--something that he could almost hear as well as he could feel--in order to bring up the salty, metallic taste of blood. He blinked his eyes twice to make sure that they indeed were open... but despite the flays of light, everything seemed blotted out.
He pushed up an arm and heard the crackle of leaves.
Thus, he realized that he was buried in a mass of shrubs and undergrowth.
When he sat upright he was hit with a burst of light. It was daytime. Overhead was a thick canopy of trees, and Squall looked at the sway of greens and browns with a feeling of disbelief clogging his pores. Wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, he finally pushed a palm into the ground and eased himself shakily to his feet.
(Where am I?)
(Hello?)
His heart started to pound sharply, more sharply than it ever had before. Something was wrong. Something was, very, very wrong. And, walking to the beat of that inner drum, he started to move his feet. He became distinctly aware of how quiet things were, how sharp the sounds of his boots against the foliage sounded, how cold his hair was against his forehead when he moved his head from one side to another... the way his ungloved hands clammed up sharply and frigidly.
For a man who liked to be alone, he was suddenly struck with a great desire to talk to someone. Or something. Ten minutes, and he was already going stir-crazy.
Warily, he touched his hand to his temple. His feet did not stop moving. If anything, they moved quicker. He broke into a partial sprint. His legs felt jerky, as if they were having trouble bending properly. A puppet.
Shiva was gone, he realized.
(Xu. She ejected it. She had ejected it.)
This was the last thing that Squall remembered. Quickly he scanned his mind for some sort of rationalization, some sort of possibility, some sort of reason for being here. In doing so, however, he was hit with a wide array of even more questions... Each one more disturbing than the next.
(Where is everyone?)
(Why am I here?)
(-Where- am I?)
His chest constricted, and with moisture in his eyes--for a moment he was glad that he was alone; thank the heavens that no one could see this--he scanned his mind for Shiva one last time, and then checked for anything else that could be of use.
Zenkamuka.
For some strange reason, a feeling of dread passed over him. Squall actually hesitated for a moment, stopping short just to the left of a thick and gnarled oak tree... Glancing from side to side with a quick flicker of thought, he took a deep inhalation of breath and junctioned the creature to his mind. The fullness was familiar, yes, and for a moment a wave of energy passed through his bloodstream.
Actually having to press a hand to his heart to stop it from trembling, Squall didn't realize that he was not alone until the group of hunters were almost upon him. The sound of a cough and a series of cracking undergrowth sent his eyes wide, and he slid quickly behind the tree that he had paused next to. Pressing his shoulder-blades to the wood, he listened breathlessly as the clearing filled and a few voices filtered through the air.
...Why was it that he felt so apprehensive?
Wary, but unaware of why exactly he felt that way, Squall peeked his head out from his hiding place enough to see a group of men stopping to rest in that small clearing. They were dressed oddly, in leather that seemed to have come straight from an animal without much conditioning, and oddly woven shirts. Their hair was grimy and long, tied back in messy and clay-streaked braids or tails. There was not one rifle or modern weapon -- there were only bows, and poorly made ones at that. Primitive.
One of the men's eyes slowly flickered up in Squall's direction. Panicking, Squall quickly pushed himself back against the tree. Holding his breath in once more, he listened. It had gotten quiet again. Heart pounding, it took only a few moments for his chest to start shaking up and down in desperate attempt to breathe.
Why was he afraid?
...What was it that disturbed him so much about this?
Where -was- he?
There was, really, only one way to find out. Releasing the air in his lungs, Squall touched his tongue to the inside of his teeth in order to brace himself. And then, with a calm and hopefully peaceful gesture, he stepped out from behind the tree and raised both hands cordially. This was a good thing -- every man jumped, and every bow was immediately notched with an arrow.
Squall let out a tense hiss at the sight. His eyes didn't widen, not that much, but for the life of him, he could not close them or turn them away. For a moment he was able to keep contact with them as if they were only one set of irises... and then, with a rush, that near-majestic moment passed and he was just a strange man in the midst of smelly, primitive... and not to mention armed hunters. Not one longbow lowered or wavered.
"Uh..."
This was a bad time for his vocabulary to die out. Squall, upon seeing their stares, realized just what place he was in. He too wore leather, yes, but it was conditioned and far from raw in appearance. None of their garments were colored, nor did they have a smoother sheen. His white undershirt was clean and obviously better woven, and his face was--save the scar--smooth and unmarked. He didn't just look foreign, he seemed out of this world.
"...I'm a... little lost," Squall said. For some reason, he was unable to lower his hands. The fact that not one man moved their steady arrows away from him was not much help.
"I..." The hunter closest to him, a bearded man with a mop of unkempt and partially-braided hair, moved his eyes clearly from Squall's face to the brilliantly glittering Greiver pendant that fell across his chest, and then to his face again. "...Does anyone understand what I'm saying?"
A few of the bows lowered. Squall felt an instant of relief, but it was brief. They merely leaned over and whispered to each other, looking at him with a mixture of... was that fear? Were they afraid of him?
Squall looked down at himself. When his eyes lifted again, the bows were up as if they had never left. Yes, they were afraid... but it was a controlled sort of fear. A...deadly... sort of fear. Squall felt his breath fall short.
A tall, but well-built man began to speak. His eyes were intense, and his voice had the wavery sound of someone who was controlling his apprehensions with blatant boldness and volume. Every man stared at him with the same intensity, and Squall warily found himself scuffling a short step backwards.
"Foul beast," His tone took on that of an incantation. The man to the left of him lowered his bow to his side and shakily put two fingers to the center of his forehead, tapping once and then bringing it to his left shoulder. "Return to the pits from which you have came. A-fouled beast, harbinger of damnation," His voice lifted into a reverent warble. "May our marks be true and release our humble lands from the curse that which he had brought upon us, may thy damned soul be undamned..."
Disbelieving, Squall looked from one side of the group to another. Eyes wide and slack-lipped, he fell back against the tree that had once been his sanctuary, numb and terrified. What was this? What -was- this? And then there was the definite creak of arrows ready to be cracked, and he realized what his numb and screaming body already knew.
They were just going to kill him!
His legs started to give out, and with a rush he realized that he was falling, sliding down the trunk of the tree. With a rush of panic he threw out a hand, as if it could ward off what was coming... and as his bottom struck the earth he screamed out a summon and turned his cheek to them, squeezing his eyes shut in dread.
A rush spiraled from the pit of his belly to his heart, gave it a firm squeeze and jerked him forward. His arm twitched as the sensation of energy hit, and then his chest rose up in a painful arch as the Guardian Force called Zenkamuka was pulled from him in a wave of black light--if such a contrasting combination were possible.
Like a ghost coming out of the flesh of its mortal body, Zenkamuka lifted out of him. Squall could feel a strange and cool form of release. His awareness was strange and intense... He could see the bony line of her partially-covered back, the whipping wave of her black hair... and then he could see her face, feel her jaw twine and her head spin from one side to another, languid and sinister. Her shoulders rolled up, and then down in their sockets. There came the feeling of her eyelids lifting, the pierce of those haunting black orbs... and then the noise, the soft backdrop of a thousand screaming voices lifting into a full-fledged torrent of sharp vocal wind, piercing and mind-blowing. Her jaw shifted out of its hinges and her voice joined in the song... a mouth impossibly large and all the more haunting due to that fact. The noise raised in pitch, reached a shattering climax...
...And died. Simply ceased to exist.
Lathered in sweat, Squall fell back. He was vaguely aware of the litter of arrows, thrown astray as the hunters' aims were broken by his summoning... the obscure sensation of blood at his cheek and the quiver of a arrow imbedded just by his face, above his head, and in the ground at his feet.
Heaving, he lifted his head off the trunk and looked in front of him.
They stood slack-jawed, straight and erect. Those who hadn't dropped their arrows carried them blankly at their sides. For a moment Squall thought that they were paralyzed, or dead where they stood... but then someone moved. A man in the back broke into frightened tears, and another fell onto his bottom with shock.
The closest man, however, looked down at his arms, his hands...and then at Squall. There was an eerie darkness in his eyes, something that turned Squall's heart into stone. The hunter was almost smirking.
"An illusion," He said. "The witch, he's fooling us with illusions!" With an accusing finger he pointed at Squall and then turned to face his men. Some of them shifted and turned their eyes to the man against the tree, others paused hesitantly. "His tricks are harmless!" They were urged. "Harmless! Fools!"
(Witch?!)
(...Harmless?)
A hunter went for an arrow, another bent quickly for his bow. Squall, however, didn't wait around to test their aim. With a rush he pushed his hand into the ground and spun up to his feet, pushing off into a sprint before he was even able to fully straighten. He heard a shout, felt a whiz as the first arrow passed his ear--
And that was when he hit him.
The traveler was standing just a few feet from the edge of the clearing. Squall had nearly run into him -- but the man casually held him back with an extended hand, letting the top of Squall's head run harmlessly into his palm. Smack. Squall fell back on his bottom, and found himself looking at an unsheathed sword -- relatively short and thin. Following it up the arm, he eventually found himself face-to-face with a gangly and bemused looking man. He tossed his black braid over one shoulder and smiled wanly.
"A few crops die, and men go witch-hunting. Do you think that executing the first strange man you see will make your corn grow better? Perhaps we can dabble blood on the soil and do rain-dances as well!"
His face, which had been calm and rather good-natured, suddenly shifted into a look of stony anger as he twisted a wrist and arm in order to quickly twist his sword up. An arrow that Squall had just barely seen comingwas slashed away and fell in two clean pieces in front of him. There was a rush, and with a quick motion the traveler snapped his sword like a throwing dagger into the shoulder of the hunter who had shot at him from across the clearing.
There was a cry. Before that bow dropped to the ground the traveler was pulling a second short-sword from a sheath at his back and darted forward to sever another bow in two. Whirling, he took hold of the end of the sword that had been imbedded in the hunter's shoulder and met his belly with a kick, forcing him to the ground and withdrawing the blade in a clean, efficient movement. By then there was a tizzy of movement, and Squall watched dumbly as the traveler deflected another arrow and smashed the hilt of one of his swords into an attacking man's face.
"Some help?" The traveler didn't even sound short of breath, and as he whirled in a quick circle with flashing blades Squall broke enough out of his lameness to push himself to his feet again. The men had all leapt back at a safe distance from the twisting blades -- and Squall suddenly realized that there was no technique in this man's motions... he was simply whipping those weapons around in hope that he'll keep his attackers at bay and the arrows away from his body. He was doing a surprisingly good job at it.
Squall took this opportunity to study him for an instant. He was cleaner, but not by much. This man wore the same strange clothes as the rest.
(Where -was- he?)
Everyone was too involved in the gangly and sword-wielding man to really notice Squall's approach. A man who managed to get at the traveler's back had pulled a dagger from it's sheath -- he was shocked to find a fist holding him back just as he lifted it to stab, and turned around to find himself staring into Squall's icy eyes. Squall was unarmed, and had no magic junctioned -- he simply brought back a fist and sent it spiraling into the man's face.
Most of the bows had been either broken or knocked away. It didn't matter much anyway, with the way that everyone was jumbled together. Squall, who was throwing aside the first man that he had struck, was suddenly under everyone's attention -- before he knew it, a strong pair of hands were wound about his waist and he was lifted tightly off his feet. The traveler was suddenly a distance away with his own problems, and Squall winced to see the man that he had dropped earlier push himself up to his feet in order to take advantage of Squall's struggling immobility. There was a red welt on his face where Squall had hit him.
In a burst of panic, Squall managed to get his feet down and used them to push himself up. Planting his heels into the approaching man's chest, he shoved himself back into the man who was holding him and sent them all plummeting backwards and into the ground. There was a huff as Squall landed on his capturer, and with a knock of his shoulders he shoved himself free of the hold.
There was a whiz and a rush of air. Squall, who was pushing himself to his feet, was nearly struck through the head with one of the traveler's short swords. It quivered upright in the earth in front of his face, and with a startled look he glanced over his shoulder. The traveler was swinging the other sword about, and with a struck of luck broke a stretched bow--someone was trying to shoot him at close range--so that it, incidentally, snapped the arrow back into his attacker's face.
The sound of an approach brought Squall back to his own affairs, and he quickly grabbed the hilt of the sword. Pushing himself and pulling it out of the ground in the same beat, he expertly deflected a blow with the flat of his blade. It was much lighter than his gunblade, and he was able to execute familiar strikes with surprising quickness.
The traveler, much like himself, seemed hesitant to make any fatal blows. However, together both armed men managed to fall the attackers -- Squall put down the last man with a cracking blow to the head, and as the body fell into the dust at his feet he found himself staring at a clearing full of fallen men... with the traveler heaving over the form of his own last strike on the other side. He was leaning on his sword, and the air was filled with a series of painful groans. Eventually, however, his head lifted and Squall met his eyes.
Brushing himself off, the traveler let out a sigh and stepped over the bodies in order to approach Squall. He held out a hand -- looking surprisingly quirky and energetic in doing so... his eyes were almost chipper. Squall was confused for a moment, and then he simply extended a palm of his own and shook the man's hand.
The traveler's lips twitched upward slightly. "Nice to meet you, too -- but I was actually hoping to get my sword back."
Squall blinked, and looked down at the weapon in his hand. Idly, and feeling quite foolish--(That's what you get for being cordial.)--he handed it over. The traveler took it casually, looked it up and down, and then wiped it on the hem of his shirt with a firm sweep. Squall was amused to see that he had cut a thin, straight gash in the fabric while doing so. The traveler didn't seem to notice.
"Well, I think I've had my share of fights for the day." He made a tipping-of-the-hat motion. "I fare thee well."
Fare thee...? When the man turned away, Squall found himself blinking back surprise. It took him a moment to respond, and as a result his voice sounded quite sharp. "Hey! Hey, wait!" Quickly, he went after him. The traveler stopped short as they both stepped out of the clearing, and turned to face him with a crooked eyebrow.
Squall heaved a breath and looked from side to side, before letting out a, "This may sound odd, but... Do you know where I am?"
The man's lips twisted a little, and he smoothed out his face in something akin to dry astonishment. "Why... You're right here, of course." He said briskly.
"No, I mean..." Squall had started to explain himself, but then he noticed the twinkle in the man's eye and felt his face go sharp. "You know what I mean!"
"Of course I do. And I answered your question. Fare thee well."
"Don't 'fare-thee-well' me!" Squall started. The man was quick to interrupt him, however... with that same, strange amusement in his voice.
"Shall I bite my thumb at you? Kick you in the shins and run, perhaps? You -must- be from far away. What strange customs you have!"
"I'm serious!" Squall said. He was brimming with irritation, but tried to curb it as best he could -- after all, not only had this man saved his life, but he also was the only person that he had met so far that seemed to be native to this area and wasn't out to do him any physical harm. "I'm lost... I -need- to know where I am."
"You're in a forest," The man started, and at Squall's glare he put on a bemused grin and continued, he had been satisfied by that response. "Just outside of Merada."
(Merada?)
"Merada?" Squall asked incredulously.
"Yes," The man eyed him strangely, and purposely slowed his voice as if he were speaking to a small child. "Merada. You are in a forest. The nearest city is Merada."
Squall blinked and stepped back. It didn't make sense. He had to have been missing something... There had to be an explanation, something that would set everything right. There had to be something... This didn't make any -sense-.
"Look," the man said. He eyed Squall warily at his reaction. "I just left Merada. I'm not going that way. The next big city is Alve Brook. Unfortunately, that's quite a distance off. If you want to find sufficient supplies and a good chocobo, I'd recommend Merada," He pointed to his south. "There are small villages on the way that I'm going, however, and if you want a guide to one of them, you're welcome to join me."
"Alve Brook?"
"Am I stuttering or something?" The man asked drly. "Yes, Alve Brook."
"Do you know how I can get to Balamb?" Squall asked.
"...Balamb?"
Squall wiped at his mouth and looked down at his feet. He was suddenly very tense, and very worried. This didn't make sense. None of it made sense... There had to be a way...
Crazy. This man was crazy. That had to have been it.
"I'll go to Merada." Squall said evenly. "That is the nearest city, correct?"
"Indeed."
"And it's that way...?" Squall pointed in the direction that the man had before.
His face twisted a little. Obviously, the tone that Squall was using was insulting him, although he met it with a tight and playful little smile. He sounded a little snide, yes, but that undertone of good-nature did not die. "Yes. Due that way."
"Thank you." Squall said. It was beginning to play out, now. He couldn't have been far from Balamb, and this strange man had simply mistaken the name of the city. That had to have been the explanation -- there was simply no other way.
"Yes, well..." The man shifted his gaze to one side, and then did a quirky and cordial little bow -- hardly serious, although it was far from rude. "The best of luck to you. I fare thee well for the third time -- but three's a charm, yes? Of course."
This time, Squall let him turn off and head in the opposite direction. He nodded a touch and let out a lilting little sigh as he watched him go. He had a story in his head now, a decent rationalization, but it didn't relieve him... This didn't remind him of the forest near Balamb... and the way the man was dressed... Those hunters didn't ease his mind much, either. Was there some sort of indigenous village nearby, a historical settlement? Why hadn't he ever heard of it... And where was this strange man heading?
Crazy. He -must- have been crazy.
Squall was turning away when the traveler spoke to him again--he looked over one shoulder to see that the man was still walking away with his back to him, and one hand had lifted a little in the manner of a wave. "Keep straight, and get some armor and weapons when you arrive in Merada. There are a lot of monsters out there these days -- and I'm not only talking about the ones with teeth and tentacles, either." The barest glimpse of his profile, as he turned slightly in his departure. "And if you want to try for a good deal, tell the ironsmith that Greiver sent you."
Squall's heart stopped in his chest and he felt his feet turn to lead.
(...Griever?)
End Part 16/?
To Be Continued.
Are you out there?"
--Poe
"For When You Return"
Part XVI
Location: The Time of the Sixth World
Two Eternities Before Present Day
"...Scared...?
But I'm not... scared."
"...You will be."
(Hello?)
(Hello....?)
(Anybody...?)
(Hello?)
(Hell...)
(Hell.)
Squall Leonhart came to slowly and tryingly. Everything was hazed, and his face felt like clay. His joints were stiff and his lips chapped... When he moved them to take in a gasping breath of air, the bottom one split painfully with a skin-wrenching crack--something that he could almost hear as well as he could feel--in order to bring up the salty, metallic taste of blood. He blinked his eyes twice to make sure that they indeed were open... but despite the flays of light, everything seemed blotted out.
He pushed up an arm and heard the crackle of leaves.
Thus, he realized that he was buried in a mass of shrubs and undergrowth.
When he sat upright he was hit with a burst of light. It was daytime. Overhead was a thick canopy of trees, and Squall looked at the sway of greens and browns with a feeling of disbelief clogging his pores. Wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, he finally pushed a palm into the ground and eased himself shakily to his feet.
(Where am I?)
(Hello?)
His heart started to pound sharply, more sharply than it ever had before. Something was wrong. Something was, very, very wrong. And, walking to the beat of that inner drum, he started to move his feet. He became distinctly aware of how quiet things were, how sharp the sounds of his boots against the foliage sounded, how cold his hair was against his forehead when he moved his head from one side to another... the way his ungloved hands clammed up sharply and frigidly.
For a man who liked to be alone, he was suddenly struck with a great desire to talk to someone. Or something. Ten minutes, and he was already going stir-crazy.
Warily, he touched his hand to his temple. His feet did not stop moving. If anything, they moved quicker. He broke into a partial sprint. His legs felt jerky, as if they were having trouble bending properly. A puppet.
Shiva was gone, he realized.
(Xu. She ejected it. She had ejected it.)
This was the last thing that Squall remembered. Quickly he scanned his mind for some sort of rationalization, some sort of possibility, some sort of reason for being here. In doing so, however, he was hit with a wide array of even more questions... Each one more disturbing than the next.
(Where is everyone?)
(Why am I here?)
(-Where- am I?)
His chest constricted, and with moisture in his eyes--for a moment he was glad that he was alone; thank the heavens that no one could see this--he scanned his mind for Shiva one last time, and then checked for anything else that could be of use.
Zenkamuka.
For some strange reason, a feeling of dread passed over him. Squall actually hesitated for a moment, stopping short just to the left of a thick and gnarled oak tree... Glancing from side to side with a quick flicker of thought, he took a deep inhalation of breath and junctioned the creature to his mind. The fullness was familiar, yes, and for a moment a wave of energy passed through his bloodstream.
Actually having to press a hand to his heart to stop it from trembling, Squall didn't realize that he was not alone until the group of hunters were almost upon him. The sound of a cough and a series of cracking undergrowth sent his eyes wide, and he slid quickly behind the tree that he had paused next to. Pressing his shoulder-blades to the wood, he listened breathlessly as the clearing filled and a few voices filtered through the air.
...Why was it that he felt so apprehensive?
Wary, but unaware of why exactly he felt that way, Squall peeked his head out from his hiding place enough to see a group of men stopping to rest in that small clearing. They were dressed oddly, in leather that seemed to have come straight from an animal without much conditioning, and oddly woven shirts. Their hair was grimy and long, tied back in messy and clay-streaked braids or tails. There was not one rifle or modern weapon -- there were only bows, and poorly made ones at that. Primitive.
One of the men's eyes slowly flickered up in Squall's direction. Panicking, Squall quickly pushed himself back against the tree. Holding his breath in once more, he listened. It had gotten quiet again. Heart pounding, it took only a few moments for his chest to start shaking up and down in desperate attempt to breathe.
Why was he afraid?
...What was it that disturbed him so much about this?
Where -was- he?
There was, really, only one way to find out. Releasing the air in his lungs, Squall touched his tongue to the inside of his teeth in order to brace himself. And then, with a calm and hopefully peaceful gesture, he stepped out from behind the tree and raised both hands cordially. This was a good thing -- every man jumped, and every bow was immediately notched with an arrow.
Squall let out a tense hiss at the sight. His eyes didn't widen, not that much, but for the life of him, he could not close them or turn them away. For a moment he was able to keep contact with them as if they were only one set of irises... and then, with a rush, that near-majestic moment passed and he was just a strange man in the midst of smelly, primitive... and not to mention armed hunters. Not one longbow lowered or wavered.
"Uh..."
This was a bad time for his vocabulary to die out. Squall, upon seeing their stares, realized just what place he was in. He too wore leather, yes, but it was conditioned and far from raw in appearance. None of their garments were colored, nor did they have a smoother sheen. His white undershirt was clean and obviously better woven, and his face was--save the scar--smooth and unmarked. He didn't just look foreign, he seemed out of this world.
"...I'm a... little lost," Squall said. For some reason, he was unable to lower his hands. The fact that not one man moved their steady arrows away from him was not much help.
"I..." The hunter closest to him, a bearded man with a mop of unkempt and partially-braided hair, moved his eyes clearly from Squall's face to the brilliantly glittering Greiver pendant that fell across his chest, and then to his face again. "...Does anyone understand what I'm saying?"
A few of the bows lowered. Squall felt an instant of relief, but it was brief. They merely leaned over and whispered to each other, looking at him with a mixture of... was that fear? Were they afraid of him?
Squall looked down at himself. When his eyes lifted again, the bows were up as if they had never left. Yes, they were afraid... but it was a controlled sort of fear. A...deadly... sort of fear. Squall felt his breath fall short.
A tall, but well-built man began to speak. His eyes were intense, and his voice had the wavery sound of someone who was controlling his apprehensions with blatant boldness and volume. Every man stared at him with the same intensity, and Squall warily found himself scuffling a short step backwards.
"Foul beast," His tone took on that of an incantation. The man to the left of him lowered his bow to his side and shakily put two fingers to the center of his forehead, tapping once and then bringing it to his left shoulder. "Return to the pits from which you have came. A-fouled beast, harbinger of damnation," His voice lifted into a reverent warble. "May our marks be true and release our humble lands from the curse that which he had brought upon us, may thy damned soul be undamned..."
Disbelieving, Squall looked from one side of the group to another. Eyes wide and slack-lipped, he fell back against the tree that had once been his sanctuary, numb and terrified. What was this? What -was- this? And then there was the definite creak of arrows ready to be cracked, and he realized what his numb and screaming body already knew.
They were just going to kill him!
His legs started to give out, and with a rush he realized that he was falling, sliding down the trunk of the tree. With a rush of panic he threw out a hand, as if it could ward off what was coming... and as his bottom struck the earth he screamed out a summon and turned his cheek to them, squeezing his eyes shut in dread.
A rush spiraled from the pit of his belly to his heart, gave it a firm squeeze and jerked him forward. His arm twitched as the sensation of energy hit, and then his chest rose up in a painful arch as the Guardian Force called Zenkamuka was pulled from him in a wave of black light--if such a contrasting combination were possible.
Like a ghost coming out of the flesh of its mortal body, Zenkamuka lifted out of him. Squall could feel a strange and cool form of release. His awareness was strange and intense... He could see the bony line of her partially-covered back, the whipping wave of her black hair... and then he could see her face, feel her jaw twine and her head spin from one side to another, languid and sinister. Her shoulders rolled up, and then down in their sockets. There came the feeling of her eyelids lifting, the pierce of those haunting black orbs... and then the noise, the soft backdrop of a thousand screaming voices lifting into a full-fledged torrent of sharp vocal wind, piercing and mind-blowing. Her jaw shifted out of its hinges and her voice joined in the song... a mouth impossibly large and all the more haunting due to that fact. The noise raised in pitch, reached a shattering climax...
...And died. Simply ceased to exist.
Lathered in sweat, Squall fell back. He was vaguely aware of the litter of arrows, thrown astray as the hunters' aims were broken by his summoning... the obscure sensation of blood at his cheek and the quiver of a arrow imbedded just by his face, above his head, and in the ground at his feet.
Heaving, he lifted his head off the trunk and looked in front of him.
They stood slack-jawed, straight and erect. Those who hadn't dropped their arrows carried them blankly at their sides. For a moment Squall thought that they were paralyzed, or dead where they stood... but then someone moved. A man in the back broke into frightened tears, and another fell onto his bottom with shock.
The closest man, however, looked down at his arms, his hands...and then at Squall. There was an eerie darkness in his eyes, something that turned Squall's heart into stone. The hunter was almost smirking.
"An illusion," He said. "The witch, he's fooling us with illusions!" With an accusing finger he pointed at Squall and then turned to face his men. Some of them shifted and turned their eyes to the man against the tree, others paused hesitantly. "His tricks are harmless!" They were urged. "Harmless! Fools!"
(Witch?!)
(...Harmless?)
A hunter went for an arrow, another bent quickly for his bow. Squall, however, didn't wait around to test their aim. With a rush he pushed his hand into the ground and spun up to his feet, pushing off into a sprint before he was even able to fully straighten. He heard a shout, felt a whiz as the first arrow passed his ear--
And that was when he hit him.
The traveler was standing just a few feet from the edge of the clearing. Squall had nearly run into him -- but the man casually held him back with an extended hand, letting the top of Squall's head run harmlessly into his palm. Smack. Squall fell back on his bottom, and found himself looking at an unsheathed sword -- relatively short and thin. Following it up the arm, he eventually found himself face-to-face with a gangly and bemused looking man. He tossed his black braid over one shoulder and smiled wanly.
"A few crops die, and men go witch-hunting. Do you think that executing the first strange man you see will make your corn grow better? Perhaps we can dabble blood on the soil and do rain-dances as well!"
His face, which had been calm and rather good-natured, suddenly shifted into a look of stony anger as he twisted a wrist and arm in order to quickly twist his sword up. An arrow that Squall had just barely seen comingwas slashed away and fell in two clean pieces in front of him. There was a rush, and with a quick motion the traveler snapped his sword like a throwing dagger into the shoulder of the hunter who had shot at him from across the clearing.
There was a cry. Before that bow dropped to the ground the traveler was pulling a second short-sword from a sheath at his back and darted forward to sever another bow in two. Whirling, he took hold of the end of the sword that had been imbedded in the hunter's shoulder and met his belly with a kick, forcing him to the ground and withdrawing the blade in a clean, efficient movement. By then there was a tizzy of movement, and Squall watched dumbly as the traveler deflected another arrow and smashed the hilt of one of his swords into an attacking man's face.
"Some help?" The traveler didn't even sound short of breath, and as he whirled in a quick circle with flashing blades Squall broke enough out of his lameness to push himself to his feet again. The men had all leapt back at a safe distance from the twisting blades -- and Squall suddenly realized that there was no technique in this man's motions... he was simply whipping those weapons around in hope that he'll keep his attackers at bay and the arrows away from his body. He was doing a surprisingly good job at it.
Squall took this opportunity to study him for an instant. He was cleaner, but not by much. This man wore the same strange clothes as the rest.
(Where -was- he?)
Everyone was too involved in the gangly and sword-wielding man to really notice Squall's approach. A man who managed to get at the traveler's back had pulled a dagger from it's sheath -- he was shocked to find a fist holding him back just as he lifted it to stab, and turned around to find himself staring into Squall's icy eyes. Squall was unarmed, and had no magic junctioned -- he simply brought back a fist and sent it spiraling into the man's face.
Most of the bows had been either broken or knocked away. It didn't matter much anyway, with the way that everyone was jumbled together. Squall, who was throwing aside the first man that he had struck, was suddenly under everyone's attention -- before he knew it, a strong pair of hands were wound about his waist and he was lifted tightly off his feet. The traveler was suddenly a distance away with his own problems, and Squall winced to see the man that he had dropped earlier push himself up to his feet in order to take advantage of Squall's struggling immobility. There was a red welt on his face where Squall had hit him.
In a burst of panic, Squall managed to get his feet down and used them to push himself up. Planting his heels into the approaching man's chest, he shoved himself back into the man who was holding him and sent them all plummeting backwards and into the ground. There was a huff as Squall landed on his capturer, and with a knock of his shoulders he shoved himself free of the hold.
There was a whiz and a rush of air. Squall, who was pushing himself to his feet, was nearly struck through the head with one of the traveler's short swords. It quivered upright in the earth in front of his face, and with a startled look he glanced over his shoulder. The traveler was swinging the other sword about, and with a struck of luck broke a stretched bow--someone was trying to shoot him at close range--so that it, incidentally, snapped the arrow back into his attacker's face.
The sound of an approach brought Squall back to his own affairs, and he quickly grabbed the hilt of the sword. Pushing himself and pulling it out of the ground in the same beat, he expertly deflected a blow with the flat of his blade. It was much lighter than his gunblade, and he was able to execute familiar strikes with surprising quickness.
The traveler, much like himself, seemed hesitant to make any fatal blows. However, together both armed men managed to fall the attackers -- Squall put down the last man with a cracking blow to the head, and as the body fell into the dust at his feet he found himself staring at a clearing full of fallen men... with the traveler heaving over the form of his own last strike on the other side. He was leaning on his sword, and the air was filled with a series of painful groans. Eventually, however, his head lifted and Squall met his eyes.
Brushing himself off, the traveler let out a sigh and stepped over the bodies in order to approach Squall. He held out a hand -- looking surprisingly quirky and energetic in doing so... his eyes were almost chipper. Squall was confused for a moment, and then he simply extended a palm of his own and shook the man's hand.
The traveler's lips twitched upward slightly. "Nice to meet you, too -- but I was actually hoping to get my sword back."
Squall blinked, and looked down at the weapon in his hand. Idly, and feeling quite foolish--(That's what you get for being cordial.)--he handed it over. The traveler took it casually, looked it up and down, and then wiped it on the hem of his shirt with a firm sweep. Squall was amused to see that he had cut a thin, straight gash in the fabric while doing so. The traveler didn't seem to notice.
"Well, I think I've had my share of fights for the day." He made a tipping-of-the-hat motion. "I fare thee well."
Fare thee...? When the man turned away, Squall found himself blinking back surprise. It took him a moment to respond, and as a result his voice sounded quite sharp. "Hey! Hey, wait!" Quickly, he went after him. The traveler stopped short as they both stepped out of the clearing, and turned to face him with a crooked eyebrow.
Squall heaved a breath and looked from side to side, before letting out a, "This may sound odd, but... Do you know where I am?"
The man's lips twisted a little, and he smoothed out his face in something akin to dry astonishment. "Why... You're right here, of course." He said briskly.
"No, I mean..." Squall had started to explain himself, but then he noticed the twinkle in the man's eye and felt his face go sharp. "You know what I mean!"
"Of course I do. And I answered your question. Fare thee well."
"Don't 'fare-thee-well' me!" Squall started. The man was quick to interrupt him, however... with that same, strange amusement in his voice.
"Shall I bite my thumb at you? Kick you in the shins and run, perhaps? You -must- be from far away. What strange customs you have!"
"I'm serious!" Squall said. He was brimming with irritation, but tried to curb it as best he could -- after all, not only had this man saved his life, but he also was the only person that he had met so far that seemed to be native to this area and wasn't out to do him any physical harm. "I'm lost... I -need- to know where I am."
"You're in a forest," The man started, and at Squall's glare he put on a bemused grin and continued, he had been satisfied by that response. "Just outside of Merada."
(Merada?)
"Merada?" Squall asked incredulously.
"Yes," The man eyed him strangely, and purposely slowed his voice as if he were speaking to a small child. "Merada. You are in a forest. The nearest city is Merada."
Squall blinked and stepped back. It didn't make sense. He had to have been missing something... There had to be an explanation, something that would set everything right. There had to be something... This didn't make any -sense-.
"Look," the man said. He eyed Squall warily at his reaction. "I just left Merada. I'm not going that way. The next big city is Alve Brook. Unfortunately, that's quite a distance off. If you want to find sufficient supplies and a good chocobo, I'd recommend Merada," He pointed to his south. "There are small villages on the way that I'm going, however, and if you want a guide to one of them, you're welcome to join me."
"Alve Brook?"
"Am I stuttering or something?" The man asked drly. "Yes, Alve Brook."
"Do you know how I can get to Balamb?" Squall asked.
"...Balamb?"
Squall wiped at his mouth and looked down at his feet. He was suddenly very tense, and very worried. This didn't make sense. None of it made sense... There had to be a way...
Crazy. This man was crazy. That had to have been it.
"I'll go to Merada." Squall said evenly. "That is the nearest city, correct?"
"Indeed."
"And it's that way...?" Squall pointed in the direction that the man had before.
His face twisted a little. Obviously, the tone that Squall was using was insulting him, although he met it with a tight and playful little smile. He sounded a little snide, yes, but that undertone of good-nature did not die. "Yes. Due that way."
"Thank you." Squall said. It was beginning to play out, now. He couldn't have been far from Balamb, and this strange man had simply mistaken the name of the city. That had to have been the explanation -- there was simply no other way.
"Yes, well..." The man shifted his gaze to one side, and then did a quirky and cordial little bow -- hardly serious, although it was far from rude. "The best of luck to you. I fare thee well for the third time -- but three's a charm, yes? Of course."
This time, Squall let him turn off and head in the opposite direction. He nodded a touch and let out a lilting little sigh as he watched him go. He had a story in his head now, a decent rationalization, but it didn't relieve him... This didn't remind him of the forest near Balamb... and the way the man was dressed... Those hunters didn't ease his mind much, either. Was there some sort of indigenous village nearby, a historical settlement? Why hadn't he ever heard of it... And where was this strange man heading?
Crazy. He -must- have been crazy.
Squall was turning away when the traveler spoke to him again--he looked over one shoulder to see that the man was still walking away with his back to him, and one hand had lifted a little in the manner of a wave. "Keep straight, and get some armor and weapons when you arrive in Merada. There are a lot of monsters out there these days -- and I'm not only talking about the ones with teeth and tentacles, either." The barest glimpse of his profile, as he turned slightly in his departure. "And if you want to try for a good deal, tell the ironsmith that Greiver sent you."
Squall's heart stopped in his chest and he felt his feet turn to lead.
(...Griever?)
End Part 16/?
To Be Continued.