~*Three Step Story*~
by Lalita
Disclaimer~ Fortunately for all of you, I don't own Lufia.
Summary~ The first step to recovery is recognition. Then, it's determination. Will Aguro and Jerin follow this plan?
Author's Notes~ Here's the long awaited Chapter Two! *gasps* Is it so? Did Lalita the Procrastinator finally update? Only thanks to the reviewers! C.R. Carter- You really think it was cute? *blushes* There's not much fluff in this chapter… Glad I got it in while I still could. *glares at all the 10 year olds trying to take over ff.net* Down with the noobs! Down with the noobs! The Jack of Spades- Well thank you! I pretty much forgot about Jerin and Aguro, too, until I picked up the game the other day and since then it won't leave me alone! Shade-Duelist- I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long!!! Elizabeth Whittaker- *blushes again* You're an amazing author. Don't laugh at me, but I really am… well honored you reviewed my fic. *dies of embarrassment* I'm an idiot, I know. No need to tell me. But thanks! I'm surprised people laughed… Normally I don't write funny fics. ^___^
Suggestions and comments are greatly appreciated!
Chapter Two~ Recognition, Part II
One week, two days later. One week, two days later and Aguro was still sporting a sore cheek. He couldn't bring himself to grin and laugh the incident off or even frown, because his right cheek was frozen in the exact position it had been in when she slapped him.
Okay, so he was exaggerating a bit. He didn't have a bruise, and the red left from the sting had faded away, but Aguro would have to remember that the next time he riled Jerin enough so that she wanted to slap him, he would duck. He had damned well forgotten the little brat was full of wiry strength. He supposed their journey had done its share of building her up.
Muttering about the crazy wiles of females, Aguro set out to the field that would serve as the training spot that day for the new recruits. It was well before sunrise, and the brisk morning chill helped to clear his mind. His stomach grumbled, reminding him he had been forced to live off meager army gruel ever since, as Jerin had dubbed it, "The Accident." She wasn't referring to her slapping him- nay, that had been intentional.
Aguro scratched his head absently. Why the bloody hell had he kissed her? He wouldn't have if he'd known what he'd get for it. Bloody hellcat.
"Commander!" Aguro turned at the sound of his name. A gangly youth raced up to him, saluting him while catching his breath. "Sir."
Aguro waved him on impatiently. He had better things to do than listen to some half-witted boy. He could be training his troops- not that the idea held much appeal. "What?" he barked.
"There's been an attack on Grenoble," the boy gasped, wasting no time exchanging pleasantries. "The monsters in the cave killed the clerk and guard and now they've reached the town. Half the town's holed up in the Trading Post, the other half bein' slaughtered as we speak. General told me to get you right away."
Aguro snapped into defensive mode. He immediately increased his pace for the barracks, leaving the boy struggling to keep up with his longer stride. "Where are they, boy?" he growled, his mind racing. Why would monsters attack Grenoble? Why now? There were no monsters. The Sinistrals were dead. The cave in Grenoble had become somewhat of a laugh since the monsters fled, the challenge for hunting the treasures something a tyke could more or less accomplish. So where had the monsters come from? What the hell was going on?
"They're already suited up to go and be headin' out soon," was the reply. Aguro growled in frustration. Why the hell they'd figured on leaving without him he'd never guess.
"Please, sir." The boy, whoever he was, tugged on Aguro's sleeve. His tone was earnest. "I want to go."
The boy was pale, his eyes buggy, and his frame thin. He didn't look strong enough to pick up a rock and toss it like the tykes did, much less take up the sword and fight. "At any minute a gust of wind could take him off his feet," Aguro scoffed. Aloud, however, he said, "What's your name?"
"Dan. My name is Dan."
"Well then, Dan, why do you want to be going to battle? Don't you think you'd be more ready... next year?"
Dan lifted his chin stubbornly. "I'm thirteen summers already," he protested, "and I'm plenty strong. I can carry all my sister's dresses after there's been a big sale."
Aguro stifled a chortle. "Alright then," he said, and opened the doors to the barracks. Dan gasped appreciatively behind him as he hefted a gleaming ax off the wall. Sturdy, long, with a good grip and its only ornamentation a single emerald by the hilt, the ax had proved to be a worthwhile companion in past days... Aguro grinned wryly. Jerin never had let him keep it in the house, saying one day she'd be dusting it and accidentally chop off her finger, to which he had cheerfully replied, "Oh, cleaning's what you've been doing all this time? I never noticed."
Dan's eyes were wide as he gazed at the plates of armor strewn carelessly around. Aguro grimaced. He'd really have to teach his soldiers more about the habits of cleanliness... Dan lifted a bronze helmet and studied his reflection in it, then discarded it and touched a silver plate in awe. He looked timid at first, but then his curiosity spurred him on to lift a small steel knife and brandish it in the air.
Aguro chuckled and examined the knife. "This won't help that much in battle," he explained, then grabbed a wooden helmet used for training and stuck it on Dan's head, "but keep it anyway."
Dan heaped his thanks as they emerged outside again. The sun was rising, sending streaks of pink and deeper reds through the sky. Lorbenia was awakening. Women wearily opened their windows to let in the fresh air while sending out their bouncing tykes to fetch water from the well. The seamen had been up for some time, and now stood smoking pipes by the docks and surveying the sunrise before returning to load their cargo. And still more curious glances followed them as they passed by to the outskirts of town, people wondering why on earth Aguro was roaming with his armor on and a boy in tow.
They passed his house, or, rather, the one that Jerin had practically been the only occupant of as of late. The shutters were still closed. Aguro sighed. He's hoped to get a glimpse of her, maybe even on all fours over the garden she so loved, her skirt riding up past her ankles... He shook his head to clear it. She'd always been a late riser, and besides, now was not the time for these thoughts.
The dispatch had already been sent, that was obvious. Aguro made a sharp turn for the stables. Horses never had been the most comfortable mode of transportation for him, but it would get them there fast, and time was the key.
The Horse master, Jenks, was wiping his hands off on a dusty cloth when they entered. A somewhat pudgy man, it was apparent he was far past youth. Flecks of gray decorated his temples and his jowls quivered when he spoke. His belly straining against his apron, he approached them and narrowed his already beady eyes. "Commander," he said, plastering a smile on his face, "they said you'd be coming."
Aguro nodded tersely. He didn't like Jenks, never had. The man's eyes shifted too much and he was nosy, always butting into affairs that were none of his concern. In Lorbenia, no woman held the title of town gossip. It was Jenks.
Jenks licked his lips, obviously eager to know why the military had left in such a hurry. But Aguro knew the art of secrecy, and he would not give the man the satisfaction of sending the whole town into a panic. "How much?" he asked.
"Twelve gold coins." Jenks smiled. His teeth were yellow.
"Nine."
"Twelve."
"Ten."
A bead of sweat appeared on Jenks's brow. "Twelve," he said, and spat into the ground dangerously close to Aguro's boots.
"Ten."
The bartering continued on, until Aguro impatiently flicked ten gold coins to Jenks. Jenks looked down at the small cloth bag, then snapped his fingers. A stableman led out a gelding, freshly saddled and immaculately groomed. Aguro glared at Jenks. He had the sneaking suspicion the Horse master had already been paid his due by his comrades. The weasel.
Aguro placed one foot in the stirrup and hefted himself up. With one strong, bronzed arm he scooped up Dan and pulled him up behind him. Jenks slapped the horse's rump and Aguro and Dan thundered out as if the devil himself were at their heels. Looking back at Jenks, Aguro thought it was hardly far from the truth.
The gelding was fast, with a sleek brown coat. The countryside flew by them as they sped down the dusty road connecting Grenoble to Lorbenia. Not once did the horse trip in the ruts left by carts in the road, nor did he shy away when the stench of smoke and death became apparent. Dan clung to Aguro's back, boyishly smiling as the wind whipped his cheeks, but the smile was soon erased as they neared the town. No sooner had they glimpsed the light blue shores of the lake than the destruction became evident.
Aguro slowed the horse's pace to a clipped trot so he could take in the scene sprawled before them. Grenoble, a small town in the first place, was now nearly half its previous size. Aguro's stomach clenched. Ash blackened the grass, the flowers that had once grown so abundantly. Many buildings had crumbled and fallen under the attack. The Inn, one of the first sights upon entering the town, was reduced to a pile of rubble and charred wood. A hand hung out limply from underneath a particularly large beam that had collapsed in the fire. Aguro quickly turned the horse so that Dan didn't see the look of horror on the dead man's face, grotesque, and still carrying the smell of burning skin.
Dan's grip unconsciously tightened on Aguro's middle as they rode passed the church, one of the few foundations in the town that had been laid mostly with stone. The roof was gone and the polished blocks brown, but it was still standing. "Stay here," Aguro commanded Dan as he halted the horse. He dismounted, trying to ignore the feeling of uneasiness deep in his belly as he neared the holy place. He was a man that had never been comfortable with religion, never having stepped foot into the place when he was young except to filch from the offering tray. Aguro winced as he remembered those days, being an urchin on the street forced to fight for maggot-infested crumbs of bread. Jerin always complained he had too hard a disposition, but how could one not have such an attitude raised as he was?
The lock on the church door roused Aguro from his reverie. The door was heavy, solid oak and boarded from top to bottom with a padlock thrown in for good measure. Whoever had closed the place, they had wanted to be certain no one would enter. Aguro walked to the side and grabbed a smoldering piece of wood, then used it to smash a stained glass window. The glass, already cracked, fell away easily, raining down on the inside rather than out. Aguro looked inside and heaved a great sigh of relief. There were no corpses strewn about as he had expected, just five rows of empty pews and the blue glass of the Virgin's robe glinting dully as the sun streamed through the roof. He was about to step out when he saw an old man, fairly plump, hunched over the altar. Aguro turned the man over. He was dead, an ax splitting the back of his head in half and caked with dry blood. Crimson blended in almost imperceptibly with the black robes.
Aguro wasn't sure how long he stood there, staring at the dead Preacher. He observed long enough to note that the ax was a man made weapon, and not the crude kinds monsters usually carried. Its handle was covered with a rough cloth. And in the man's eyes there was no fear, no wide eyed expression of terror. Just an acceptance. A calm acceptance of facts.
"The cave monsters didn't do this," he decided. The murder was too clean, too careful. He released the man. "It was another kind of monster. The kind found in desperate men." He crossed himself and went out the way he entered.
Dan was shifting anxiously in the saddle. "I thought you was attacked," he said, scanning him quickly for signs of injury. "Find any monsters?"
Aguro clumsily lifted his weight onto the horse. "Nay," he replied, "not any of the sort we were expecting."
"You think they be gone then?" Dan asked, his tone nonchalant. His face looked half-relieved and half-disappointed.
"Probably. But if there's a few of them left, I wouldn't be surprised." Aguro gave him a mock glare. "Be ye ready, Lieutenant Dan?"
Dan suppressed a giggle. "Aye, sir!" He thrust a mock sword through the air. "I will fight to the death and if needs be, beyond!"
"Careful you don't take out your own eye, first." Aguro ruffled the boy's hair, the first sign of affection he could ever remember showing a child. A strange look overtook his face before he replaced it with his usual stoic one. What was he thinking, playing with the boy in such a situation? He never should have taken him along in the first place. So why had he?
His thoughts wouldn't settle.
The jovial mood vaporized into thin air as they neared the Trading Post. This was where the task givers resided, where all the adventurous souls in the continent at one time or another visited. There were several horses nervously pawing the ground outside, all under the not so watchful eye of the banner man. The Lorbenian army flag fluttered dismally in the wind, and Aguro fought a wave of revulsion. What purpose did the flag serve here? To proclaim to the few survivors how Lorbenia prospered, how much time the Lorbenian army had wasted by preparing a banner and pretty garments?
Aguro again dismounted and handed the reins to the startled banner man. Dan followed him, curiously surveying the fine pieces of horseflesh around them, and then the banner man himself decorated in deep blue finery. By the look of puzzlement on his face, Aguro could tell Dan was every bit as confused as he why such primping was necessary when lives were at stake. "Armies never change," Aguro thought grimly, and strode through the already kicked open door.
The front room was a disaster. Bookshelves tossed to the floor, the crates of newly arrived stock broken open and in shambles. Scorch marks lined the walls, but the floor held steady. Near the back where the stairs led to the basement a trap door had been flung open, and as they descended into the murky darkness Aguro noted the claw marks that had rendered the door useless.
He drew his ax, telling Dan to keep close behind him. He had no doubt the military had secured things, but one never knew. Being caught unaware was just as bad, nay, worse than not having any weapons or experience in combat. Even a boy like Dan, with the right sword, could lob off the head of a troll with the element of surprise in his cards.
There was a dim light at the end of the hall, looking to come out from under the crack of a poorly re-attached door. As they came closer they could distinguish murmurs, starting soft and then getting louder as the conversation reached its pinnacle.
Aguro frowned. It sounded as if a good many townsfolk had been saved. The damage outside and the number alive didn't match up.
"You have brought this destruction upon yourselves." Aguro clearly heard the voice of his Superior ring out. A furrow of confusion reached his forehead before he calmly cut the ropes binding the door with Dan's knife, and then, setting it to the side, entered the already cramped room.
Faces swerved immediately in their direction, followed by a few gasps of surprise and raised eyebrows. "Just what we need, another one," some voice in the back of the room said scathingly. A child complained about the heat and was rewarded with a sharp slap from his mother and a warning to be quiet.
Aguro met the hard look sent to him by General Barlington. "Stand down," the look was telling him. "You'll see soon enough." Aguro obliged and stepped aside to join the ranks of sweltering soldiers, keeping Dan close behind him. General Barlington's eyes swept briefly over the boy, then dismissively as he looked him over. He turned back to face the crowd.
"You kill your priest in cold blood, cast out his daughter, and still claim this attack a surprise?" the general said, his tone laced with disgust.
A man in the crowd, presumably the town leader, stepped forward. He looked to be biting the inside of his cheek. "That man was no priest," he spat, "but a demon who plagued us with troubles ever since his arrival!"
A few mutters of agreement met his statement. General Barlington held up his hand for silence. "Your accusations are treasonous without valid proof, Matthew Sparrow. Do not be so quick to speak!" He locked eyes with the townsman, challenging him.
Matthew Sparrow, it seemed, was the weaker man. He looked away, face flushing. "We have proof," he said, looking anxiously at his kinsmen. "Do we not?"
"There was a pestilence that raged from house to house not one month after he came," a short, wrinkled woman spoke contemptuously. "Took my grandson and his mum, it did, and for all that man's prayers it only got worse."
"He was no man of God! I saw him emerge in more than one drink on lonely nights," a stout man with a burly beard proclaimed. Raucous, coarse laughter followed his words.
"Aye, and you'd know, wouldn't you, Randy?"
Aguro was thoroughly caught off guard. The people of Grenoble had always before seemed a passive lot, even with all their freethinking and rough ways. They'd been kind to travelers, hospitable, and willing to share ale on any occasion. That they would be so callous to kill an innocent man- a pastor, of all things- and not think twice about it unnerved him. While he wasn't a man of religion, he respected it and knew a life was too precious to waste. Murder was a nasty business whichever way you looked at it.
Dan was uncomfortable. Aguro didn't even have to glance to know the boy was standing rigid, a thin line for his mouth and eyebrows lowering ominously.
"Enough!" a woman, whom Aguro calculated to be twenty summers or less, shouted over the din. "Our trials started long before Reverend came!"
The crowd turned to stare at her, baby clutched in her arms. She looked afraid, but nevertheless determined. She haughtily lifted her head higher, daring them to disagree.
"That may be so," Sparrow said slowly, "but he certainly did nothing to fix them."
"He was a man of God, not God himself!" the woman protested. Her eyes shone with a fierceness that suggested a temperament as wild and unruly as her frizzy red hair, now spilling bountifully out of the mop cap her child had tugged loose.
"Shut up, wench," Randy hissed, face beet red.
"If you were so against killin' him orf, why didn't you stay with your husband at the Inn?"
Aguro received a mental flashback of the hand underneath the fallen rafters. The man was forced to suffer too, all for standing up for good? The woman seemed to shrink, face falling with shame. Sparrow gripped her shoulder. "You know what I speak is true, brother," she whispered, then pulled away from his touch and moved to the back of the crowd to sit on a crate and rock her infant.
"This is revolting," Dan said. Aguro looked at him, but he continued to stare straight ahead, almost unaware he had just voiced his thoughts aloud. His fists were clenched tightly at his sides.
"From what I've heard, you killed Reverend Greer because you were lookin' for a scapegoat."
The room quieted, searching for the source of the voice. They found it in a thirteen-year-old boy.
"You were havin' problems, just like everyone does. Not enough money comin' in from the cave? Fevers spreadin' cos people don't wash enough?" Dan's words surged with emotion. He stepped up, quivering from head to toe but voice steady. General Barlington glared at Aguro, mentally telling him to put the foolish boy back in his place, but Aguro would do no such thing.
"What better target than your new minister? Nobody knew him. He was an outsider, not knowin' your ways. You condemned him for accepting the hospitality of your homes and drinks, for not bein' able to give you all a perfect life."
Several heads dropped guiltily, each person looking at another as if to say, "Not I!"
"You killed him with no thoughts for all the good he did for you, ungrateful as you were. You forgot 'bout the times he'd been nursin' those too sick to care for themselves, people who nobody else would touch for fear of gettin' sick themselves. What happened to the times you'd walk away from his sermons with a warm feelin' in your stomach, the kind that makes you smile all day like a fool, eh? What happened?"
Dan continued viciously. "I'll tell you what happened. You weren't happy with your lot. Didn't want to blame yourselves for it, so you used him instead. You used him! I don't know how you can live with yourselves."
"What would've happened if he hadn't been there? Would you have used her?" Dan flung a finger at the old woman who'd spoken earlier. "Or him?" He pointed at Sparrow. "Or maybe even a babe?" Dan's voice broke.
"But he was there. He was. So you plundered your own town a bit, torching the Inn because the man knew what you were doing was wrong. Then you killed him for it, sayin' he summoned monsters to you.. He was just a scapegoat to you. Not even a real person. And I know you did it because I can see it! And you all know it, too."
Dan's accusations hung in the air. He stepped back, tears in his eyes. But that was where the tears stayed. He sniffed once, then stood up straight. Aguro felt a warm rush of pride. "I underestimated the lad," he realized, thinking guiltily back to his earlier judgment. Dan, while maybe not tall and brawny, had a sharp mind and true bravery. He was ten times more a man than many of those in the crowd.
He'd underestimated many things, hadn't he? The evil in people. Dan. His army. Himself. Max. Jerin...
A flash of blonde hair drew his eye. With a jolt, he recognized the clerk from the cave. Wavy hair, huge glasses, green robes... right down to the last pimple. There was no mistaking him.
He felt sick. No matter how many times he saw it, the things people were capable of amazed and repulsed him. The pastor's face flashed before him in his mind. His eyes, dark brown, almost black. Acceptance. A death waiting to happen. He'd known all along he was going to die, and he'd done nothing to stop it.
"What's done is done," General Barlington announced, stopping in midstride to the door. "And since there are no witnesses besides your guilty consciences, you're free to go. Free to rebuild, and God forbid get another minister," he muttered under his breath. "And may God have mercy on us all."
General Barlington strode from the room, soldiers filing out behind him.
Aguro wasn't aware he'd left the room as well. He couldn't remember getting on the horse, riding back to Lorbenia. Dan later told him his face had been as green as his hair on the way back. But he did remember dropping Dan off at his house, the boy's worried mother rushing forward, first hugging Dan, then admonishing him, then thanking Aguro profusely for keeping her son safe.
Back at the stables, General Barlington had laid a calloused hand on his shoulder. Again, without speaking and in his gruff way he'd said, "I showed you what you needed to see." He then shrugged and gave Aguro two weeks leave, to "straighten things out."
The sun had almost set when he stepped outside again. Deep blues and a few scraggly bloody rays struggled against the night sky. Aguro looked away.
All across Lorbenia stores were closing. Candles dimly lit the interior of scattered houses. A few men here and there made their way to taverns, some already swaying drunkenly. Bawdy laughter rang out from the Lady Luck, one of the best-known gambling spots in town. Mothers peered out their window and called the last tykes in, taking no notice of the weary commander making his way home.
Home... Was it even home anymore? Aguro didn't know if he could take the stony silence, Jerin's determination to forget "The Accident" and yet to use it to keep a barrier between them.
"Damn it all," he thought. He was too tired to care. He trudged up the steps, took a deep breath, and opened the door. He'd expected a dark house, Jerin's absence, and the remains of a dead fire in the hearth.
Instead, he found his cheek, for the second time in his life, on the receiving end of Jerin's palm.