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Part Eleven: Veiled Comfort

==

Yuna pawed disinterestedly through the fruit bowl that sat atop the table that occupied one wall of her room, which, in truth, was more a cell, though is was decorated in the manner in which Yevon kept its guests. Plates lay discarded not too far away, the food they held barely touched. The meal had been too rich for Yuna's stomach, unused to anything but simple foods, and her post-poisoning nausea had not yet dissipated.

But the fruit was practically rotten; it had not had any attention from a maid in some time. Typical, Yuna thought, with faint disgust, of Yevon.

She eventually managed to find an edible bunch of grapes, and picked them up, taking them with her as she paced the room. Twelve steps she counted, one by one, pacing from the door (beyond which lay armed guards) all the way to the painting which was a false window. Fifteen steps between the other two walls. She'd had plenty of time to make the measurements. Strange, but she longed for a window. Perhaps she could deceive herself, and feel less claustrophobic, if there were wide open space outside.

Or maybe she could see if there was a way out.

Instead she was left to pace the room, memorising every nook and cranny, finding where the paint had begun to chip and peel, where there were burns in the carpet where the lamps had spat hot, burning oil, and having rearranged the bits and pieces (too light to be used as a weapon, and too sturdy to be broken into sharp shards) that decorated surfaces.

Frustration welled-up within Yuna's chest, but with no outlet for it, she rather viciously plucked a grape, reducing it to pulp between her thumb and forefinger before she finally deemed it ready to be put into her mouth. She found herself idly wishing there was a fiend or three. She felt like hitting something. Instead she just ate another grape.

The doors swung open with a loud creak, and Yuna was rather embarrassed to admit that she jumped, skittering backwards, at the noise. The bunch of grapes was dropped onto the floor, and she didn't bother trying to pick it up again. She was left with a pounding heart, a red-face, and only the vague comfort that she had not actually screamed in fright. She was rather determined not to embarrass herself while in captivity, and reacting so to a door opening would have been unseemly.

"I believe," she said brusquely, trying to regain a little scrap of her dignity. "That it is customary to knock."

The guards who had flung the doors open were unimpressed by her brief lecture in etiquette, splitting up to hold the doors open and give an unobstructed pathway to enter the room for the woman who entered the room now to confront the High Summoner. Ismene was flagged by two guards, not the ones who stood outside Yuna's door, as she could still see them standing warily outside, and lurking behind her, Yuna could see Isaaru, who was studiously avoiding looking at her. She decided to follow suit and proceeded to ignore him.

"Lady Yuna," Ismene greeted, with the air of one whose patience was straining, but not yet snapped.

Yuna bit back an irritated retort about her putting Ismene out. Instead, she simply bowed curteously and answered, "High Priestess."

"I thought we might talk."

Yuna wanted to laugh bitterly. "I have nothing to say to you."

"Then perhaps you will simply listen."

"Do I have a choice?" Yuna, after a long drawn-out moment finally nodded. "Very well then."

Ismene clasped her hands before her and raised an eyebrow. "You know what we must do."

Yuna hesitated, then nodded. One of the guards stepped forward; Yuna refused to look at him. He whispered a spell, barely a whisper on his lips, and Yuna sagged as she suddenly felt tired. The spell had stolen from her the strength she used to cast magic of her own. She knew that after a night's rest, she would recover, but it meant that she could not cast offensive, or defensive, spells that could incapacitate her enemies.

Yuna smoothed out her skirt, taking her seat carefully. Ismene's guards moved to stand on either side of the Priestess. They feared, perhaps, that Yuna would attack Ismene as they sat talking, the only recourse that Yuna had left to her now that she could not spellcast. They need not have worried. Yuna had resigned herself to the futility of such an attempt.

"Perhaps," Ismene began, reasonably, "We have not been communicating properly. I wanted to talk to you, to explain why you're so important."

"Because you certainly did that well in our last conversation."

If Ismene was insulted, she gave no sign. "Perhaps I have been unclear," she began, "And so I have given you an inaccurate representation of our motives in bringing you here."

"You called me a traitor and a child," Yuna said, sharply. "Such words I think are a very accurate representation of you."

Ismene frowned slightly, before shaking her head. "I will not retract their sentiment, though my words were ill-thought. Though perhaps you should think of the turmoil of Yevon, and indeed of all Spira, and perhaps you can forgive me a lapse in civility."

Yuna thought of the fact that Ismene was one of those who were trying to stop Yevon from splitting apart at the seams, thought of the stress that the woman must be under, and then grudgingly nodded. It was hardly forgiveness, but it was enough that they could conduct a conversation with relative grace.

"Also," Ismene said, smoothing away a wrinkle in her sleeve. "You did try to shoot me."

Yuna folded her hands in her lap and tilted her head, answering wordlessly with a 'what do you want' epression.

"We brought you here because you, and your child, are important." Ismene leaned forward earnestly in her seat. "Spira is in chaos, Lady Yuna. Surely you have heard the reports, even in such isolated places as Besaid. With Sin's final defeat, there was a brief honeymoon period. The people were happy, glad for their reprieve. But then the reports started to creep in. Bandits roam the places where fiends do not tread. Rioting has broken out at some of the Temples. When the ice started to thaw in the Macalania region, a group of young people threw themselves into the crevice, believing it to be the end of the world.

"With the threat of the retribution for their sins gone and never to return, by your words alone, Lady Yuna, Spira has reverted to the time which brought about Sin's existence. They sin, they maim and kill. A thousand years did not cure the people of this malady. Spira needs something to believe in, the knowledge that they are answerable to a higher authority. That was Sin, and, more tangibly, the Yevon church. We have been that higher authority for a millennium. Without it, the people feel they are answerable to no one, and so they descend into anarchy, and that anarchy is slowly turning to violence, and can not end well.

"It is in part by you actions, Lady Yuna, that this is so. There's no doubt that several of those in positions of power were corrupt, but it is foolhardy, and insulting, to judge all of us who live and pray within the confines of Yevon's temples to be equally corrupt. Those in power are gone now, but instead of a smooth transition to a new age for Yevon and the people of Spira, the church is abandoned. And so there is no core, no spiritual centre of the world. And after that is gone, what is left?

"You caused this, Lady, and so we need you to help us. I will not stand idly by while Spira tears itself apart. You must help us. You are the wife of a Maester, the High Summoner, and you know your word carries more weight than any other. Speak out in support of the church, appeal to the higher natures of the people. They cannot forget their souls, and the fact that their actions in this world have consequences for their lives on the Farplane. You, I think, do not want that any more than I."

Yuna was silent for a long moment. Several long moments, in fact, though in all the time she kept her thoughts to herself, Ismene did not move. It seemed to the High Summoner that she didn't even blink. "Did you write that yourself," she said, when she finally spoke, "Or did someone else do it for you?"

Ismene leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs as she did so.

Yuna continued speaking. "You kidnapped me! Please do not tell me you are altruistic and caring, and have my best interest at heart."

"I have the best interests of Spira at heart. Something must be sacrificed for the greater good. Your discomfort in exchange for the welfare of all the citizens of this world is a small price to pay, do you not agree?"

"You speak to a Summoner," Yuna said icily. "My death, and the deaths of other Summoners were all in the attempts to stop Sin were in the best interests of Spira. But such sacrifices were not the answer."

"No," Ismene allowed. "But that is the past. Why should we focus on a time of so much pain and death? Spira needs guidance to see it into a new golden age, into your Calm which shall be eternal. Yevon can provide that guidance, if the people will only listen. I do not desire your or your child's death, only your cooperation."

"My child," Yuna said, biting her lip. "You keep mentioning it. What is it to you?"

"A symbol," Ismene said softly. "The child of a half-Guado master and a Human High Summoner. Out of the trappings of the world before Sin's end comes something new, something pure. For the child to be raised up in the sight of Yevon's eye would be a sign to the people that the future does lie with Yevon." Ismene fixed Yuna with a firm look. "And it does, my Lady, or the future will not be a happy one."

"You really believe that, don't you?" Yuna murmured.

Ismene smiled, perhaps the only genuine smile that Yuna would ever see from her. "I'm a Priestess," she said, "Believing is what I do."

Yuna stared at the woman for a long time, trying to judge her, but her fatigue hampered her thought processes, and she finally just shook her head.

"I will do nothing for you. I cannot even leave my room, and thus feel no inclination to help you in any way as a prisoner."

Ismene gestured expansively. "You're free to move about the complex."

Yuna opened her mouth slightly in surprise, before narrowing her eyes. "There were and are armed guards at my door," she pointed out.

"Isaaru has pleaded your case. I'm afraid we cannot permit you to leave the island just yet, but it isn't healthy to keep you locked up while you remain in your condition."

Yuna turned her head to look at Isaaru. The former Summoner was examining the carpet weave with a great deal of interest, and wouldn't look up, so she turned back to Ismene.

"You presume no one is coming to rescue me."

Ismene just smiled, and otherwise ignored the statement.

"I am a patient woman," Ismene said, getting to her feet. "But, Lady Yuna, I would advise that you not take so long. Hybrid births, as you know, are extremely perilous. It would be a shame if there were complications during your delivery that meant decisions were left undecided, and, worse, your child without either parent."

Yuna felt cold, and a nausea that had nothing to do with rich food, or pregnancy. "You... you would kill me and take the child?"

Ismene tilted her head. "Now, Lady Yuna," she said, in the manner of a teacher scolding a foolish child, "We are not in the business of killing people. We have plenty of time til then to take steps to ensure your safety, and the future is never certain."

Yuna, thought, recognised the threat for what it was, however veiled Ismene made it. She stared after the group as Ismene swept out of the room, the guards falling into step behind her. Isaaru looked at her for the first and only time since he had walked into the room behind Ismene. But he couldn't hold her eyes for long, and turned away, following the rest of the group out.

Yuna ran a hand through her hair and sighed, glancing around the once more silent and too-empty room. She picked up her bunch of grapes and started eating them again, for a lack of anything better to do.

"That went well," she said with a sigh, and took another bite.

=



The hallways of the complex were always quiet, and even as Ismene and her entourage swept through them, there was hardly a disturbance caused by their passage. Footsteps were muffled by the carpet, and the walls absorbed even words. Two people could hold a conversation in these halls, safe in the knowledge that people only a few meters away would have a hard time hearing it. And it had been designed that way, of course.

"Stubborn," Ismene murmured, as she strode along at the head of the group. "Though she would have to be, to defeat Sin, and so creatively. Such certainty..."

Isaaru might have been the object of her address, but he had decided that Ismene was not looking for a verbal reponse, and so he simply nodded and followed along, half a step behind and to the side of the Priestess.

"Is it true, Isaaru?" Ismene asked suddenly, stopping to look at the ex-Summoner.

Isaaru looked surprised at the unexpected change in conversation, a surprise that wasn't helped by having to halt himself abruptly before he ran into the High Priestess's back. "Is what true, High Priestess?"

"The Maesters, Isaaru. Is it true? Were they Unsent?"

Isaaru opened his mouth to answer, then hesitated, confused for a moment, and cast his memory back to his time spent as the protector of Bevelle, a task he had undertaken at the request of the Maesters. "I... do not know," he finally answered. "Though from reports I have heard it seems likely."

"I see," Ismene said, quietly, after a moment. Then she turned and started walking away. Isaaru didn't need beckoning to follow. He knew that until he was dismissed, Ismene expected him to trail her footsteps like a lost puppy.

"I'll be returning to our headquarters shortly," Ismene said, as if she had never asked such an unusual question, the speed of her passage meaning that Isaaru had to hurry to keep up with her.

"I will be ready to depart within the hour," Isaaru said, bobbing his head.

"No," Ismene raised a hand to dismiss his words. "You'll remain here, and see to Lady Yuna."

This time it was Isaaru's turn to stop abruptly. "But, I thought-"

Ismene slowed to a halt, turning and raising her eyebrows. "You thought?" she prompted.

"This is not my task."

"I disagree," Ismene said smoothly. "There are few better suited to your task. Lady Yuna needs the support of one familiar to her. When she relaxes, and realises that our goals are in Spira's best interest, she will help us. This is your task, Isaaru."

Isaaru didn't answer for a moment, glancing away. He heard Ismene's footsteps as she crossed the thickly carpeted floor to his side, and when she gently touched his face to turn him towards her, he tried to force himself to meet her sympathetic eyes.

"You are so eager for the end of it all?" Ismene asked, gently.

Isaaru found he couldn't answer her, closing his eyes to avoid the Priestess's stare. Ismene drew him closer, resting a hand on the back of his head. "You were a Summoner, a loyal servant of Spira. In the eyes of Yevon, you have atoned. And yet you still think yourself so unworthy?"

"Atonement for a Summoner comes in death," Isaaru said, in a quiet voice. "I do not expect anything else."

"So selfless," Ismene murmured, and stroked his head reassuringly before standing free of him. "I will be leaving for the southernmost island in an hour, and you will remain to see to Lady Yuna. Her child will be very important to us all. This is your task. Do you understand, Isaaru?"

Isaaru nodded slowly. He had given his word that he would not give up until his task was complete, and Ismene had given him a task that might never end. And she knew it. She smiled at him.

"Go and find some food," she advised. "I know for a fact you haven't eaten today, and I will not have you passing out from hunger."

Straightening his sleeves, Isaaru walked away, trying very hard not to think about Lady Yuna and what Ismene was asking of him.

- End of Part Eleven