Luck had never been with the No'Jar twins, and Celina's encounter with the
boy in the jungle proved to be no exception. Little Pahlist, as he was
known, carved a mighty path through the trees as he fled, thoughts of
having almost been tainted by the demon frightening his senses. Those
eyes. . . those eyes. . .
Upon reaching the outskirts of the small, hut-filled village, he sounded a shrieking alarm, screeching "Demon!" and "Heretic!" in what seemed a thoroughly nonsensical fashion. Most of the old timers who watched his mad progression thought him to have lost his marbles, so little did he make sense: and Pahlist did not stop to defend himself. Instead, he made a direct beeline to the man who would be most disturbed by the news: his father, Reverend Skarab himself.
---
Celina was thoroughly puzzled by what had just happened. Was it something she said. . .? The boy had looked so frightened, and she didn't know why. Maybe it was something to do with what he'd been poking. Upon investing his object of curiosity, however, Celina found it to only be a small clump of rainbow coloured mushrooms. A little odd, perhaps, but hardly demonic. She promptly picked up his discarded stick and took a few cursory jabs at the bright, spongy, umbrella-like fungi.
Demons, demons. . . wonder what – and then she stopped, and considered it. What had the boy said? 'Yevon be with you'? Did that mean he was one of those Yevon people who hated Al Bhed?
"But. . . I'm not a demon, I'm Celina."
Nevertheless, she decided to go with the violently erupting sense of urgency that had blossomed in her mind, and took off at breakneck speed towards O'aka's cabin.
---
The Preacher had been alone in his study, reading quietly, when his son came bursting into the room, face beaded with sweat and legs trembling. He collapsed on the floor, attempting valiantly to get out the news he had brought for his father.
The Preacher rose quickly. "Pahlist! What in Yevon is the matter with you?" His big arms soon encircled and cradled the tiny frame of his boy, who looked to be battling in vain with his lungs.
"D-D-D. . ." The word simply refused to exit his vocal cords, despite Pahlist's frantic efforts. Yevon, give me strength, he prayed mentally, and summoned all of his will to say what he had to say.
"Slowly, son. Hush."
"D-D-Demon. N-N-N-ear old man O. . . O'aka's. . . cabin. . . those e-e- eyes. . ." and he fainted. Pahlist had never been an athletic boy, so devoted to Yevonic study as he generally was, and such a dashing run from the forest to his father's study had put his body into temporary disarray.
The Preacher had gotten the message, however. O'aka had been acting rather strangely, lately, as though he was hiding something: now it was clear. The old man was harbouring Al Bhed.
"Ohh, a terrible judgement must be wrought today, my son." And he held his little Pahlist tightly to his chest.
---
"Gramps, I have something to tell you!" Celina, far more fit than Pahlist and with less of a travel to undergo, had little difficulty in speaking with perfect coherence.
O'aka looked up from his nearly completed meal, one of boiled fish and sliced bananas. Mahri watched at his side, stretched up on his tiny legs to watch the preparations from atop a crate. "Oh, so I'm 'gramps' now, eh? Tch, kids."
"Gramps, a kid saw me and he called me a demon! I'm not a demon, right? I'm Celina, right?" The little girl seemed more preoccupied with establishing her proper identity.
O'aka, at current, had other things on his mind, however. He barely even registered the fact that a piece of steaming fish – meant to be quickly transferred to a plate - was clutched tightly in one of his hands, burning it a bright red. In his mind, a constant stream of images, featuring villagers destroying his cabin and killing the lot of them, with Preacher leading the pack, stormed about in a vicious flurry.
"Oh, bloody hell." His whisper was barely audible.
---
Preacher had revived his son after a half hour of impatient coaxing. Pahlist then proceeded, after taking a long gulp of spring water, to describe to his father the particulars of the encounter: he had gone wandering in the forest, observing all of Yevon's creations, when he'd come across the demon with the swirling eyes near O'aka's cabin. He had then run as though the devil was on his tail, which, to his mind, may well have been true.
"Yevon help us, our peaceful world has been intruded upon." His father was gripped by an iron resolve, one that insisted he defend his home and make the heathen pay. He gazed at his son, who could not help but flinch at his father's flaming eyes. "My son, go out and alert the people. Tell them I am coming to address them all on a matter of great import. This monstrosity cannot be allowed to escape. Go, quickly."
Pahlist went, still a little sore but a great deal more panicked. His father, despite the anger that lurked in him, gazed almost lazily at the door that led from his study to the basement of his home. That large, red, mahogany door, adorned with a gleaming diamond knob. Both his wife and Pahlist had been strictly forbidden from ever so much as touching that door, and both had readily agreed to the restriction.
That door. The monster would see what lay beyond that door before the end. Oh yes. Yevon – and its Reverend – would see to that.
---
O'aka dashed about his home in a fit of utter despair, gathering everything that was of value and could be carried. His money. . . his merchant's license. . . a few very old, and rather small paintings, reputed to have been done by Yunalesca herself in her youth, and worth an absolute fortune. . . some private letters and documents. . . a map. . . some food. . . the list dragged on, until O'aka realized he had neither the time nor the capacity to take all these things with him.
Mahri sat upon the crate, looking a little puzzled. Celina was crying as she followed close on the heels of O'aka, repeating over and over that she hadn't meant to do anything wrong, and why was he picking up all his stuff and putting it in boxes? Couldn't they all just have dinner? He was scaring her.
He stopped, hands shaking. "My girl, you have right to be scared. . . I don't blame you for talking to the boy, but, you really shouldn't have, Celina. . . now we're all in a lot of trouble, and we have to get out of here. . ."
"But why?" She pleaded, tugging on one of his long, drooping sleeves.
"Because Yevon is coming to see us tonight, or maybe sooner, and I don't think he'll be very happy with us, kiddo. C'mon, help me pack, please?"
---
"Citizens of Haliki! I have just learned of a pestilence that has infected our tiny community. My son has, Yevon bless his soul, discovered that an Al Bhed heretic has entered our island through some unknown means, and is currently being held up under the care of our resident outcast, Citizen O'aka."
This exclamation brought outbursts of rage and terror from all sides. Nothing so apocalyptic as an Al Bhed had ever besmirched their tiny village.
"But fear not! We shall not allow this creature to exist here. It will not draw Sin to us with its machina-using trickery. No, be sure of Yevon that it will not. We will act as the agents of Yevon, and cast this demon out, for the good of all. And, to ensure that this never happens again, Citizen O'aka shall receive his own punishment. Curse the Al Bhed! Curse all those who would invite Sin to remain on our beautiful Spira any longer!"
This garnered a rousing roar of applause from the assembled crowd. A certain fiery purpose had materialized, one that was shared by every last soul in the tiny village square.
"Come, my brothers and sisters: we must go to war, for the good of our people."
---
O'aka's mind raced furiously as he thought of what his little family should do. They couldn't stay in the house anymore: from what Celina had claimed, it seemed as though the boy had spotted her on his property. He would be investigated first, with all certainty.
And that investigation, in all its horrific glory, would be coming soon: so far as O'aka knew, there were only three children on the island, and two of them were female. That left a single boy, and O'aka had absolutely no doubts as to whose progeny he was.
The boat wouldn't be arriving for another week. If they could hide in that time, perhaps, they could stow away on it. . . but where to hide on such a small island? They would be found out within a week for sure.
There only seemed to be one solution, really: try the high seas. They would take his rather miniscule rowboat out into the ocean, and hope that fate decided to shine upon their lives.
This plan seemed entirely pertinent until O'aka, hefting a box in one hand and trying to move past the frantic Celina who scurried about at his legs, got a look at her face.
That shining, perfect little face. It was terribly frightened: her eyes were wide, and swimming with tears: and where that boy had seen a vortex, threatening to eat his eternal soul, O'aka saw a swirling galaxy of absolute loveliness. There was no end to those eyes. He felt as though he could be lost within them forever, and yet, not regret it for a moment.
How could he gamble so with a life so precious as hers? Simply toss a boat out on the salty sea, and hope their water and food holds out? He couldn't. It wasn't possible.
O'aka watched her a moment. Then, stooping, he dropped his box, and clutched her, long and hard. "We'll be okay, honey. I swear we will."
"Y-you promise?"
"I promise." She sniffled. "I love you, grandpa."
Mahri, deciding for once that he could not bear to be neglected, shuffled his way over, and found himself quickly embraced by the old man who, scant weeks before, had been nothing more than a stranger.
---
When the mob descended on the house, they found O'aka, alone, sitting in his rocker. A thin, finely ornamented blade rested in his lap. He appeared to be incredibly tranquil, seeing as how his death was imminent: and that look seemed to ward off all those villagers who approached him, save for one.
The Preacher towered over O'aka, thunder lurking in his normally upbeat brows. With a booted foot he put a rest to the old man's rocking. O'aka said nothing.
"Where is the little she-devil, Citizen O'aka?"
O'aka merely looked at him, his mouth a thin, resolved line.
"Tell me, now. No heretic will be permitted to remain here. Yevon forbids it."
O'aka cocked an eyebrow. "Last I checked, you aren't Yevon, you damned goon."
---
O'aka had taken great care in hiding the children away several minutes earlier, in a very tiny alcove within his shed. It had heretofore been used for storage of a few valuables, his Yunalesca paintings amongst them: for now, however, it was occupied by two tiny souls, clutching one another in utter terror. O'aka had given them a decent store of food, enough to last a week, and instructed them not to leave the alcove for at least four or five days, and to avoid the village completely. He'd supplied them with all of his money – more than enough for passage on the boat, whose captain couldn't care less whether or not one was an Al Bhed – and given them a few cursory directions to the port, which sat some distance from the village.
"Can't you stay with us, grandpa? Please?" Celina, begging with ever- watery eyes, had pleaded.
O'aka had smiled sadly. "I'm afraid I can't, lass. I'm sorry. I think it's game over for old O'aka, here. But, buck up; living with me would have been boring anyway." O'aka had sniffed loudly at that sentiment and covered his eyes briefly. "Now, listen close, you here? Don't make any noise. Not even a peep. You have to be brave, and not cry anymore, or they'll hear you, and the jig'll be up. You get me, lass? Be just like your little brother, here."
Mahri had closed his eyes mournfully at that.
"But, grandpa. . . please don't leave us-"
"I have to, lass. Please understand. And I have to leave now. But. . . just, stay alive, okay? Don't let them catch you. Grow up big and strong, and make your pal O'aka proud. You hear?"
His face had been utterly drenched in tears as he slowly closed the wooden door to the alcove, carefully camouflaged on one side to avert prying eyes. "Thank you, kids. You made me so happy."
Celina's final, anguished cry of "Grandpa!" – and had Mahri said it, too, or was that O'aka's imagination? – had been cut off as the tiny door shut with a click.
---
"You have one last chance, Citizen, before I have to bring down the full force of my Yevon-derived authority on you – where is she?"
O'aka responded by slowly sliding the sword from its scabbard. Many of the assembled villagers pressed themselves up against the walls of his hut, entirely unused to violence: the Preacher, however, scarcely appeared to budge.
"So be it." The Preacher's gigantic hand closed in on O'aka's head, and O'aka, giving one final word of thanks to those gentle children who had redeemed his heart, closed his eyes, and prepared to lash out with fiery steel at his nemesis.
---
However, no tragedy ever ends without one final, heart-wrenching twist: in this case, it was a twist that would determine the fate of one man for the next thirteen years to come. It was this twist that filled O'aka with the iciest sensation of utter dread he had ever experienced.
A very familiar voice, somewhat wavering but steeled nonetheless, called to the Preacher from outside O'aka's cabin.
"Don't you hurt my grandpa!"
---
O'aka's eyes flew open. "No! Celina!" He cried, but it was too late: the Preacher already had a grip of iron on his sword hand as he gazed outside the window, watching with cold fire as a small girl and an even smaller boy, hand in hand, beckoned out for him to stop. He grinned with predatory glee. "Ahh, Yevon smiles on me! The lambs come to the slaughter without even being prodded!" With a slight motion of his hand, Preacher sent scads of townspeople out to capture the youthful duo, which was done in fairly short order. Celina knew running would only invite disaster upon her grandpa, and Mahri, ever clinging, stayed with her. They were yanked apart, Mahri squirming with discomfort but otherwise quiet, and brought onto the porch. Preacher dragged O'aka out onto it, bereft of his sword, with a single hand, and tossed him onto the hard blanks with a pained thud.
"Citizen O'aka. . . I should not have thought you so foolish. You should have known from your teachings that these. . . abominations, were forbidden from living here, let alone living at all!"
O'aka ignored him, watching Celina as she struggled in the arms of a young man and an older woman. "Celina. . . why. . . why didn't you just stay there. . ."
Celina screamed, her voice far more mature than usual. "Grandpa didn't do anything wrong! He's a nice man! Leave him alone! You just want me so leave him alone!"
Preacher, his deep, thickly lined boots clicking insidiously on the porch, made his way over to the youth. With a rough hand he clutched her chin and yanked it upwards, facing him. "You're right, demon: we wanted you. And now we have you, you heretical, machina lover. Your kind brought Sin upon us, and it continues to have free reign over us all."
With a wide flourish of his other hand, he encompassed the rest of the village, all of whom surrounded the porch, silent. "They, you would commit them to death, just because of your own selfishness? I think not. You will not be given the chance to perpetuate any more of your crimes here, demon. Neither you nor your fellow death-monger." He stabbed an accusatory finger at Mahri.
O'aka looked at Mahri. The boy had always been rather cold: up until recently, he had treated O'aka as a sort of third wheel, and even today, wasn't the most accessible body to talk to.
What O'aka saw in the boy at this moment filled him with more fear than anything else in the day had managed to instil. It was a quiet fire, yet it ran deep, and blazed in his core: one that promised absolute ruin for the Preacher. If Celina's eyes were galaxies, then her brother's were a nova, ready to engulf everything, even the human soul: and despite all the love O'aka held for the boy, he thought him to be infinitely more malicious than the Preacher in those brief few seconds.
Preacher seemed to sense it, too. "Look! He wants to destroy me, the little heathen! Well, you'll have no chance, pup; I'll whip you into submission and make you see the divine retribution before you perish." Yet there was a certain level of unsteadiness in his normally booming voice as he spoke these words.
O'aka yelled out for mercy. "They're just children! What the hell is wrong with you people? They've done nothing wrong, hell, Sin killed their parents, too-"
O'aka received a heavy kick to the temple. Stars fluttered briefly before his eyes, and his head collapsed. Preacher, kneeling, grabbed a clump of his thinning hair and raised O'aka's eyes to meet his own. "Be glad, Citizen, that I do not deign it necessary to kill you. A lifetime of exile to think on your wrongs shall be sufficient." And with that final judgement, he dropped the old merchants head, hard, on the ground once more.
"Come, my friends! And bring the heathens with you!" The Preacher, setting off at the head of the crowd, his fidgety yet proud son at his side, marched away steadily, his captives held tightly by the townspeople, towards home. His chest was puffed out with pride as he began, slowly, to chant the Hymn of the Fayth, a tune that was quickly mirrored by all those in the procession. Several men, however, broke off from the main group, and began to circle O'aka's property, dropping odd, runic stones at various intervals, and forming a large semi-circle around his house.
O'aka saw none of this, though. He rose on his wavering hands, attempting in vain to stand, to run after them all, to save his grandchildren. But his legs simply would not agree to the request. They gave out. He fell. Tears poured down his face, and he cried, all in utter despair.
The last words he heard of his poor, terror-stricken granddaughter, were screams of "Why do you hate us?", echoing in the steady noon air, as she was carried off to her death.
Upon reaching the outskirts of the small, hut-filled village, he sounded a shrieking alarm, screeching "Demon!" and "Heretic!" in what seemed a thoroughly nonsensical fashion. Most of the old timers who watched his mad progression thought him to have lost his marbles, so little did he make sense: and Pahlist did not stop to defend himself. Instead, he made a direct beeline to the man who would be most disturbed by the news: his father, Reverend Skarab himself.
---
Celina was thoroughly puzzled by what had just happened. Was it something she said. . .? The boy had looked so frightened, and she didn't know why. Maybe it was something to do with what he'd been poking. Upon investing his object of curiosity, however, Celina found it to only be a small clump of rainbow coloured mushrooms. A little odd, perhaps, but hardly demonic. She promptly picked up his discarded stick and took a few cursory jabs at the bright, spongy, umbrella-like fungi.
Demons, demons. . . wonder what – and then she stopped, and considered it. What had the boy said? 'Yevon be with you'? Did that mean he was one of those Yevon people who hated Al Bhed?
"But. . . I'm not a demon, I'm Celina."
Nevertheless, she decided to go with the violently erupting sense of urgency that had blossomed in her mind, and took off at breakneck speed towards O'aka's cabin.
---
The Preacher had been alone in his study, reading quietly, when his son came bursting into the room, face beaded with sweat and legs trembling. He collapsed on the floor, attempting valiantly to get out the news he had brought for his father.
The Preacher rose quickly. "Pahlist! What in Yevon is the matter with you?" His big arms soon encircled and cradled the tiny frame of his boy, who looked to be battling in vain with his lungs.
"D-D-D. . ." The word simply refused to exit his vocal cords, despite Pahlist's frantic efforts. Yevon, give me strength, he prayed mentally, and summoned all of his will to say what he had to say.
"Slowly, son. Hush."
"D-D-Demon. N-N-N-ear old man O. . . O'aka's. . . cabin. . . those e-e- eyes. . ." and he fainted. Pahlist had never been an athletic boy, so devoted to Yevonic study as he generally was, and such a dashing run from the forest to his father's study had put his body into temporary disarray.
The Preacher had gotten the message, however. O'aka had been acting rather strangely, lately, as though he was hiding something: now it was clear. The old man was harbouring Al Bhed.
"Ohh, a terrible judgement must be wrought today, my son." And he held his little Pahlist tightly to his chest.
---
"Gramps, I have something to tell you!" Celina, far more fit than Pahlist and with less of a travel to undergo, had little difficulty in speaking with perfect coherence.
O'aka looked up from his nearly completed meal, one of boiled fish and sliced bananas. Mahri watched at his side, stretched up on his tiny legs to watch the preparations from atop a crate. "Oh, so I'm 'gramps' now, eh? Tch, kids."
"Gramps, a kid saw me and he called me a demon! I'm not a demon, right? I'm Celina, right?" The little girl seemed more preoccupied with establishing her proper identity.
O'aka, at current, had other things on his mind, however. He barely even registered the fact that a piece of steaming fish – meant to be quickly transferred to a plate - was clutched tightly in one of his hands, burning it a bright red. In his mind, a constant stream of images, featuring villagers destroying his cabin and killing the lot of them, with Preacher leading the pack, stormed about in a vicious flurry.
"Oh, bloody hell." His whisper was barely audible.
---
Preacher had revived his son after a half hour of impatient coaxing. Pahlist then proceeded, after taking a long gulp of spring water, to describe to his father the particulars of the encounter: he had gone wandering in the forest, observing all of Yevon's creations, when he'd come across the demon with the swirling eyes near O'aka's cabin. He had then run as though the devil was on his tail, which, to his mind, may well have been true.
"Yevon help us, our peaceful world has been intruded upon." His father was gripped by an iron resolve, one that insisted he defend his home and make the heathen pay. He gazed at his son, who could not help but flinch at his father's flaming eyes. "My son, go out and alert the people. Tell them I am coming to address them all on a matter of great import. This monstrosity cannot be allowed to escape. Go, quickly."
Pahlist went, still a little sore but a great deal more panicked. His father, despite the anger that lurked in him, gazed almost lazily at the door that led from his study to the basement of his home. That large, red, mahogany door, adorned with a gleaming diamond knob. Both his wife and Pahlist had been strictly forbidden from ever so much as touching that door, and both had readily agreed to the restriction.
That door. The monster would see what lay beyond that door before the end. Oh yes. Yevon – and its Reverend – would see to that.
---
O'aka dashed about his home in a fit of utter despair, gathering everything that was of value and could be carried. His money. . . his merchant's license. . . a few very old, and rather small paintings, reputed to have been done by Yunalesca herself in her youth, and worth an absolute fortune. . . some private letters and documents. . . a map. . . some food. . . the list dragged on, until O'aka realized he had neither the time nor the capacity to take all these things with him.
Mahri sat upon the crate, looking a little puzzled. Celina was crying as she followed close on the heels of O'aka, repeating over and over that she hadn't meant to do anything wrong, and why was he picking up all his stuff and putting it in boxes? Couldn't they all just have dinner? He was scaring her.
He stopped, hands shaking. "My girl, you have right to be scared. . . I don't blame you for talking to the boy, but, you really shouldn't have, Celina. . . now we're all in a lot of trouble, and we have to get out of here. . ."
"But why?" She pleaded, tugging on one of his long, drooping sleeves.
"Because Yevon is coming to see us tonight, or maybe sooner, and I don't think he'll be very happy with us, kiddo. C'mon, help me pack, please?"
---
"Citizens of Haliki! I have just learned of a pestilence that has infected our tiny community. My son has, Yevon bless his soul, discovered that an Al Bhed heretic has entered our island through some unknown means, and is currently being held up under the care of our resident outcast, Citizen O'aka."
This exclamation brought outbursts of rage and terror from all sides. Nothing so apocalyptic as an Al Bhed had ever besmirched their tiny village.
"But fear not! We shall not allow this creature to exist here. It will not draw Sin to us with its machina-using trickery. No, be sure of Yevon that it will not. We will act as the agents of Yevon, and cast this demon out, for the good of all. And, to ensure that this never happens again, Citizen O'aka shall receive his own punishment. Curse the Al Bhed! Curse all those who would invite Sin to remain on our beautiful Spira any longer!"
This garnered a rousing roar of applause from the assembled crowd. A certain fiery purpose had materialized, one that was shared by every last soul in the tiny village square.
"Come, my brothers and sisters: we must go to war, for the good of our people."
---
O'aka's mind raced furiously as he thought of what his little family should do. They couldn't stay in the house anymore: from what Celina had claimed, it seemed as though the boy had spotted her on his property. He would be investigated first, with all certainty.
And that investigation, in all its horrific glory, would be coming soon: so far as O'aka knew, there were only three children on the island, and two of them were female. That left a single boy, and O'aka had absolutely no doubts as to whose progeny he was.
The boat wouldn't be arriving for another week. If they could hide in that time, perhaps, they could stow away on it. . . but where to hide on such a small island? They would be found out within a week for sure.
There only seemed to be one solution, really: try the high seas. They would take his rather miniscule rowboat out into the ocean, and hope that fate decided to shine upon their lives.
This plan seemed entirely pertinent until O'aka, hefting a box in one hand and trying to move past the frantic Celina who scurried about at his legs, got a look at her face.
That shining, perfect little face. It was terribly frightened: her eyes were wide, and swimming with tears: and where that boy had seen a vortex, threatening to eat his eternal soul, O'aka saw a swirling galaxy of absolute loveliness. There was no end to those eyes. He felt as though he could be lost within them forever, and yet, not regret it for a moment.
How could he gamble so with a life so precious as hers? Simply toss a boat out on the salty sea, and hope their water and food holds out? He couldn't. It wasn't possible.
O'aka watched her a moment. Then, stooping, he dropped his box, and clutched her, long and hard. "We'll be okay, honey. I swear we will."
"Y-you promise?"
"I promise." She sniffled. "I love you, grandpa."
Mahri, deciding for once that he could not bear to be neglected, shuffled his way over, and found himself quickly embraced by the old man who, scant weeks before, had been nothing more than a stranger.
---
When the mob descended on the house, they found O'aka, alone, sitting in his rocker. A thin, finely ornamented blade rested in his lap. He appeared to be incredibly tranquil, seeing as how his death was imminent: and that look seemed to ward off all those villagers who approached him, save for one.
The Preacher towered over O'aka, thunder lurking in his normally upbeat brows. With a booted foot he put a rest to the old man's rocking. O'aka said nothing.
"Where is the little she-devil, Citizen O'aka?"
O'aka merely looked at him, his mouth a thin, resolved line.
"Tell me, now. No heretic will be permitted to remain here. Yevon forbids it."
O'aka cocked an eyebrow. "Last I checked, you aren't Yevon, you damned goon."
---
O'aka had taken great care in hiding the children away several minutes earlier, in a very tiny alcove within his shed. It had heretofore been used for storage of a few valuables, his Yunalesca paintings amongst them: for now, however, it was occupied by two tiny souls, clutching one another in utter terror. O'aka had given them a decent store of food, enough to last a week, and instructed them not to leave the alcove for at least four or five days, and to avoid the village completely. He'd supplied them with all of his money – more than enough for passage on the boat, whose captain couldn't care less whether or not one was an Al Bhed – and given them a few cursory directions to the port, which sat some distance from the village.
"Can't you stay with us, grandpa? Please?" Celina, begging with ever- watery eyes, had pleaded.
O'aka had smiled sadly. "I'm afraid I can't, lass. I'm sorry. I think it's game over for old O'aka, here. But, buck up; living with me would have been boring anyway." O'aka had sniffed loudly at that sentiment and covered his eyes briefly. "Now, listen close, you here? Don't make any noise. Not even a peep. You have to be brave, and not cry anymore, or they'll hear you, and the jig'll be up. You get me, lass? Be just like your little brother, here."
Mahri had closed his eyes mournfully at that.
"But, grandpa. . . please don't leave us-"
"I have to, lass. Please understand. And I have to leave now. But. . . just, stay alive, okay? Don't let them catch you. Grow up big and strong, and make your pal O'aka proud. You hear?"
His face had been utterly drenched in tears as he slowly closed the wooden door to the alcove, carefully camouflaged on one side to avert prying eyes. "Thank you, kids. You made me so happy."
Celina's final, anguished cry of "Grandpa!" – and had Mahri said it, too, or was that O'aka's imagination? – had been cut off as the tiny door shut with a click.
---
"You have one last chance, Citizen, before I have to bring down the full force of my Yevon-derived authority on you – where is she?"
O'aka responded by slowly sliding the sword from its scabbard. Many of the assembled villagers pressed themselves up against the walls of his hut, entirely unused to violence: the Preacher, however, scarcely appeared to budge.
"So be it." The Preacher's gigantic hand closed in on O'aka's head, and O'aka, giving one final word of thanks to those gentle children who had redeemed his heart, closed his eyes, and prepared to lash out with fiery steel at his nemesis.
---
However, no tragedy ever ends without one final, heart-wrenching twist: in this case, it was a twist that would determine the fate of one man for the next thirteen years to come. It was this twist that filled O'aka with the iciest sensation of utter dread he had ever experienced.
A very familiar voice, somewhat wavering but steeled nonetheless, called to the Preacher from outside O'aka's cabin.
"Don't you hurt my grandpa!"
---
O'aka's eyes flew open. "No! Celina!" He cried, but it was too late: the Preacher already had a grip of iron on his sword hand as he gazed outside the window, watching with cold fire as a small girl and an even smaller boy, hand in hand, beckoned out for him to stop. He grinned with predatory glee. "Ahh, Yevon smiles on me! The lambs come to the slaughter without even being prodded!" With a slight motion of his hand, Preacher sent scads of townspeople out to capture the youthful duo, which was done in fairly short order. Celina knew running would only invite disaster upon her grandpa, and Mahri, ever clinging, stayed with her. They were yanked apart, Mahri squirming with discomfort but otherwise quiet, and brought onto the porch. Preacher dragged O'aka out onto it, bereft of his sword, with a single hand, and tossed him onto the hard blanks with a pained thud.
"Citizen O'aka. . . I should not have thought you so foolish. You should have known from your teachings that these. . . abominations, were forbidden from living here, let alone living at all!"
O'aka ignored him, watching Celina as she struggled in the arms of a young man and an older woman. "Celina. . . why. . . why didn't you just stay there. . ."
Celina screamed, her voice far more mature than usual. "Grandpa didn't do anything wrong! He's a nice man! Leave him alone! You just want me so leave him alone!"
Preacher, his deep, thickly lined boots clicking insidiously on the porch, made his way over to the youth. With a rough hand he clutched her chin and yanked it upwards, facing him. "You're right, demon: we wanted you. And now we have you, you heretical, machina lover. Your kind brought Sin upon us, and it continues to have free reign over us all."
With a wide flourish of his other hand, he encompassed the rest of the village, all of whom surrounded the porch, silent. "They, you would commit them to death, just because of your own selfishness? I think not. You will not be given the chance to perpetuate any more of your crimes here, demon. Neither you nor your fellow death-monger." He stabbed an accusatory finger at Mahri.
O'aka looked at Mahri. The boy had always been rather cold: up until recently, he had treated O'aka as a sort of third wheel, and even today, wasn't the most accessible body to talk to.
What O'aka saw in the boy at this moment filled him with more fear than anything else in the day had managed to instil. It was a quiet fire, yet it ran deep, and blazed in his core: one that promised absolute ruin for the Preacher. If Celina's eyes were galaxies, then her brother's were a nova, ready to engulf everything, even the human soul: and despite all the love O'aka held for the boy, he thought him to be infinitely more malicious than the Preacher in those brief few seconds.
Preacher seemed to sense it, too. "Look! He wants to destroy me, the little heathen! Well, you'll have no chance, pup; I'll whip you into submission and make you see the divine retribution before you perish." Yet there was a certain level of unsteadiness in his normally booming voice as he spoke these words.
O'aka yelled out for mercy. "They're just children! What the hell is wrong with you people? They've done nothing wrong, hell, Sin killed their parents, too-"
O'aka received a heavy kick to the temple. Stars fluttered briefly before his eyes, and his head collapsed. Preacher, kneeling, grabbed a clump of his thinning hair and raised O'aka's eyes to meet his own. "Be glad, Citizen, that I do not deign it necessary to kill you. A lifetime of exile to think on your wrongs shall be sufficient." And with that final judgement, he dropped the old merchants head, hard, on the ground once more.
"Come, my friends! And bring the heathens with you!" The Preacher, setting off at the head of the crowd, his fidgety yet proud son at his side, marched away steadily, his captives held tightly by the townspeople, towards home. His chest was puffed out with pride as he began, slowly, to chant the Hymn of the Fayth, a tune that was quickly mirrored by all those in the procession. Several men, however, broke off from the main group, and began to circle O'aka's property, dropping odd, runic stones at various intervals, and forming a large semi-circle around his house.
O'aka saw none of this, though. He rose on his wavering hands, attempting in vain to stand, to run after them all, to save his grandchildren. But his legs simply would not agree to the request. They gave out. He fell. Tears poured down his face, and he cried, all in utter despair.
The last words he heard of his poor, terror-stricken granddaughter, were screams of "Why do you hate us?", echoing in the steady noon air, as she was carried off to her death.