By Ktrenal
Chapter Eleven - The Other Side
It was the cave again, and yet subtly different. The walls of it rose in a high arc, forming a dome far above his head. The rock was smooth, but not flat, the stalactites hanging down glistening wetly as droplets of water continued their downward course, continuing the aeons old formation of the huge rock formations. Below, the stalagmites rose like shimmering cream coloured spires, their shape slightly globular and strange, yet elegant. The dripping of water was a constant sound, small droplets falling from high above and coming to land in a small pool directly below.
It was peaceful, perhaps, but not entirely. He looked around him, enjoying the warmth of the place, and yet his vision was broken by other scenes, brief flashes of something almost like memory, and yet oddly alien. It was the same place, every time; this dimly lit cave. Here was the sight of the dragon, coiled around its clutch with its tail in its mouth. And then there was the dragon, in its rage destroying its own offspring.
Other visions burned across his mind, alternating with the images of the dragon, and the cavern lying empty and desolate, but peaceful. There were serpents chasing their tails, catching them and devouring them, and occasional glimpses of butterflies, fluttering casually through the empty cave like some vast migration.
The visions flashed by more and more quickly, until they became an indecipherable blur, dragons and serpents and butterflies merging and mingling together, before vanishing, leaving him standing alone in the centre of the huge cavern. Before him there was now just one thing, the shining silver butterfly that had encountered him before. It watched him, softly conveying but one question.
Do you understand?
There were no words, no formal communication, but he felt that if the butterfly were able to speak, it would be asking him this. But understand what? What was there to understand? These dreams that plagued his mind seemed only to became increasingly strange, and more difficult to comprehend each time.
Do you understand?
The question came again, its manner patient and calm, as if it wanted him to realise something on his own, without having to tell him in any less cryptic way. These visions were a puzzle, therefore; something for him to figure out. He recalled the things he'd seen: the dragon destroying its offspring, the serpent devouring its tail, and the migration of butterflies.
No.
He didn't understand. This was beyond him, and entirely too cryptic. He needed more time, perhaps, or more visions to work with. This felt important though, as if the butterfly was trying to tell him something crucial. It was to do with his presence here, in the past, wasn't it? Never before had he received dreams like this, nothing quite so strange and exotic.
But he didn't understand it, not yet. This didn't seem to bother the silver butterfly, however. It seemed to understand him, at least, even if the feeling was far from mutual. It regarded him for a few moments more, and if there was any expression in its large antennae, it was a softly appraising one, and a hint of patient amusement. It was ready to wait, as long as it took for realisation to dawn on Reno's conscious mind.
A soft wark drew him back into the world he could understand, and he opened his eyes slowly to see the large orange shape of the chocobo's beak, flanked by the rest of its yellow head and bright blue eyes. It was staring at him from a position about two inches in front of his face, and when it sensed that he was awake, gave him what could only be termed as an affectionate peck, before backing away to allow him to get up.
He didn't do so immediately however, taking a moment to acquaint himself with the situation. It was a cold, damp morning, with mist hanging eerily around him, and barely any light filtered down from the sun that he guessed had risen several hours before. The air was cold, and even felt damp, the moisture hanging thickly on the air, making the grey haze around him seem more like fog than mist. Droplets of water had settled on the ground overnight, the dew gleaming oddly in the half-light; it had also conveniently settled on him too, effectively soaking his clothes.
He shivered, and pushed himself up into a sitting position. Even that minor movement sent ripples of pain through his chest, and he groaned softly by way of a response. Absolutely wonderful. Sleeping on the hard ground had only accentuated his problems, giving his muscles a chance to seize up and become painfully stiff. And he'd thought breathing was painful before?
It seemed too that the effects of the death magic had remained with him, although considering the chill of the air and the cold water that had soaked his body, it was entirely possible that the cold he was feeling wasn't associated with the death magic at all. Laying around outside all night with only his clothes to keep him warm would have the effect of severely lowering his body temperature.
If that was the case, then getting up and starting the journey to Midgar would warm him up. Once the sun had risen fully and warmed the air enough to dissipate the heavy fog, it would soon dry his clothes and allow him to regain his lost warmth. On the other hand, if it was the death magic, then no amount of activity would warm him up, and likely as not, such activity would only burn up what little energy remained in him, leaving him colder as a result. The best cure for the after-effects of such magic had always been resting and staying as warm as possible.
But either way he'd have to move; staying here would ultimately result in his death, whereas travelling, even with the injuries he'd sustained, gave him a better chance of survival. The best scenario was that he reached Midgar, and the heat of the sun banished the chill that seemed to penetrate right down into his bones. The worst was that he collapsed somewhere along the way, but if he was on a main road, rather than halfway up a mountain, he'd have a chance of being found.
Not that Reno particularly enjoyed the idea of being discovered unconscious and half-dead on the road somewhere between here and Midgar, but that minor blow to his pride was better than being totally dead. Besides, the butterfly had told him he wasn't allowed to die yet, and the least he could do was make the attempt to avoid dying instead of making the butterflies do all the work to keep him alive. They'd probably change their minds if he abused the fact that they seemed to want him alive.
A logical part of his mind suggested, almost tentatively, that the silver butterfly angel thing had only been a dream, and it wasn't actually a real butterfly. More a part of his imagination, which always had been very active and creative. If the butterfly wasn't real, then it wouldn't care if he died, and the 'not yet' had simply been his own mind rebelling against his impending death. Reno rejected this idea. Of course the butterflies were real.
That settled it, then. He'd just have to force himself to his feet and start the journey to Midgar, daunting as it seemed. This relatively minor action was one that seemed to require far more energy than it should have, however, and even once he pulled himself to his feet, using the nearby rock as leverage, his legs felt weak enough to collapse under him the moment he tried to walk, and every ragged breath he took into his lungs caused pain to flare in his chest so fiercely that it made his mind swim and vision blur.
What wouldn't he give just for a weak restore materia, or even a potion? While it wouldn't even come close to healing the ribs he suspected were cracked, if not broken, it would take the edge away from the pain. But he was here without any form of restorative magic, no way of helping himself save by pure strength of will and determination of mind. He hoped that would be good enough to get him to Midgar.
"Hey, come here," he called to the chocobo, and the bird, apparently a well-trained one, obediently approached him. It greeted him with a soft wark, and nibbled at his hair. Too tired to object to this overt sign of affection, Reno allowed the chocobo to do this, although couldn't help but wonder why the large yellow bird had taken such a liking to him. On the whole, he'd never really gotten on well with chocobos.
Reno thought about returning his backpack to his shoulders, but decided almost immediately that this would cause him a lot of pain, especially if he needed to get into the bag later on, which undoubtedly it would, since it contained all of his belongings, including those he would be needing soon. Instead, he undid the straps of the backpack and fastened them to the rear of the chocobo's saddle. Not an ideal position, but certainly easier than carrying it on his back.
With his belongings secured to the chocobo's saddle, Reno placed his hands on its back, ready to push himself up into the saddle. The bird was pleasantly warm, at least to the Turk's touch; either it had found somewhere to shelter overnight, or it had waterproof feathers. The complexities of the life of a chocobo left to its own devices had never really been understood, as wild birds were generally so shy that no one ever even saw one without using a chocobo lure. Nobody knew where they went at night, for example.
As his mind wandered to the question of how people in this time managed to capture chocobos without using materia, Reno pulled himself onto the chocobo's back, albeit with great difficulty. His muscles rebelled in protest at the effort of getting onto the bird's broad feathered back; they were weakened to the point where lifting his own weight, even with leverage, was unbearably difficult. When he managed to get onto the chocobo's back, he felt exhausted, and took a deep breath. He immediately wished he hadn't.
"Fuck..." Reno murmured, forcing himself to take slow, shallow breaths despite the instinct to breathe more deeply, to pull more air into his lungs in an effort to feed his tired muscles with oxygen.
After a few minutes of careful breathing, he carefully nudged the chocobo into a walk, allowing it to choose its own path down the side of the mountain. It probably had instincts enough to find the best route without putting either itself or its passenger in any danger. Its judgment was likely to be more reliable than Reno's at the moment, considering the fact that the Turk was having difficulty keeping his eyes focused for any length of time.
It seemed the chocobo was a fairly intelligent one however, fully capable of locating its own path down the mountain, choosing the easiest route to traverse, rather than the quickest, which would have resulted in several near vertical drops. The longer, winding path was easily the safest course, travelling between large boulders and around twisted, gnarled old trees.
In the dense fog, which remained reluctant to lift even as the sun rose a little higher in the sky, it was impossible to tell if they were travelling in the right direction, although down the mountain would likely take them to the marshes eventually. Reno couldn't help but speculate about the upcoming swamp, once again pondering the possibility that there would be Midgar Zoloms swimming sinuously through the murky water. He really hoped not, because riding a running chocobo would not be good for him, that much he knew even now.
It would be better, therefore, to take a slower course through the marshes, and hope they passed unnoticed, if indeed there was a population of the enormous snakes here. With any luck, there wouldn't be, and they would have no trouble passing through. But Reno couldn't feel particularly optimistic about this; his instincts told him that Midgar Zoloms were completely natural creatures, and so would definitely exist in this time.
By the time the chocobo reached the base of the mountain, where the stony path petered out into a narrow belt of verdant grassland before finally sinking into the mire of the swamp, it was already a few hours later, perhaps reaching the beginning of mid-morning. It was difficult to tell, however, since the fog had remained, stubbornly clinging to the mountains and staying suspended ominously over the nearby marshes, concealing the full extent of the swamp.
It was only prior experience that told Reno the Midgar Marshes took a running chocobo an hour to cross. It would be significantly longer for him, assuming that he and his chocobo could cross at a walking pace without being attacked. His mind cautiously focused on his materia, trying to detect which spells, if any, he was currently strong enough to cast. The range was pitifully scant, only the weakest magic was available to him in this state, and he knew already that he had the strength for perhaps one Neo-Turk Light. There was no way he could realistically take on a Midgar Zolom.
Reno gave the chocobo a brief pat on the neck, stroking the soft yellow feathers for a moment. "Okay, we're going to try and walk across the swamp, but if we get attacked, you have to run, alright?" he asked it, not really convinced it understood what he was saying. But it felt better to speak aloud, going over the plan audibly, rather than simply running it through his head. Whether the chocobo understood or not, it still replied with a little warble, perhaps responding merely to the sound of the Turk's voice.
With a soft nudge to the bird's side, Reno set the chocobo walking forward once again. The sound of its clawed feet splashing into the water seemed to echo hollowly in the invasive silence around them, and the fog only intensified this effect, isolating them from the rest of the world. Looking around as the chocobo walked through the shallow water of the marshes, Reno could see only in a short distance in all directions; the thick fog completely surrounded them.
Interspersed in an apparently random manner throughout the swamp were small tussocks of damp earth, coated with soft, oddly springy grass and strange plants that were completely foreign and exotic to Reno. The diversity of flora in the marshes was much greater than in his own time; only the most resilient species had survived the increased pollution that permeated the air of the future. It was remarkable how far from the cities such pollutants could spread, something Reno had never before realised.
The atmosphere was eerie, with no sound but the gentle rippling of the murky green-grey water as the chocobo waded through the swamp, and the soft, yet slightly laboured breaths of Reno. Despite the unnaturally quiet surroundings, this was more welcome than the noise caused by a rapidly approaching Zolom. The swamp could be as creepy as it liked if the other option was a forty foot serpent trying to eat them.
They continued on, seemingly unnoticed for a while longer before a worryingly familiar sound pulled Reno from his semi-conscious reverie. The water rippled with more force, with small waves coming at them from the left, swelling forward as if pushed by an invisible force. They were disturbingly similar to the bow-waves created by a large ship surging through the ocean, and there was only one thing in the marshes powerful enough to create such waves.
Reno didn't even hesitate before pushing the chocobo into a run, trusting that the speed of the bird coupled with the few moments of a head-start would be enough to keep them ahead of the approaching Midgar Zolom. The chocobo needed little encouragement however, since it too had sensed the oncoming predator, and at the red-head's command it sprang forward, leaping into a run.
Each pounding step it took jarred its passenger, and each such jolt forced Reno to take a sharp intake of breath, so that within a few of the chocobo's long paces he was panting in time with the bird itself. Each shuddering breath made his mind feel light, barely holding on to consciousness, but he forced himself, knowing that the moment he blacked out, he would likely fall from the chocobo's back. And he had no more intention of being eaten by a Midgar Zolom than he'd had of being eaten by the dragon. Reno was not a snack-food.
He turned his head to look back over his shoulder, hoping to be able to see well enough through the fog to detect if the Zolom was still in pursuit. There was no chance of that happening, since the fog had remained thick. He could hear it though, even over the sound of the chocobo's steady breathing and the grunts of pain that accompanied his own ragged breaths. But it seemed to be falling back, outpaced by the chocobo.
Reno turned to face forward once again, leaning down to hold tightly to the feathers of the large bird's neck, clinging on for dear life and trying to force himself to stay conscious despite the agony that tore through his chest with each inhalation. With this torment of pain in his chest, even the chill in his bones and the exhaustion of his muscles was all but forgotten, although it was only through sheer determination that Reno could keep holding on to the chocobo as it bounded through the marsh.
His awareness dimmed, until it seemed as if the whole universe was made up solely of himself, the flaring pain with each breath he took, and the yellow bird beneath him. These were the only things that were immediately important in Reno's world; even the pursuit of the Midgar Zolom faded now into obscurity as the battle to remain conscious became the sole purpose of his current existence.
It took him a few moments to realise that the chocobo had slowed to a walk, and he shifted his position enough to see the ground below. And it was the ground; they were on the smooth grassland that was, or would be, the extended pastures of the chocobo ranch. It seemed the chocobo had outrun the Zolom and brought them at last to the land beyond the marshes and the mountains. From here, the rest of the journey was simple.
Allowing a soft sigh, and bringing the chocobo to a halt, Reno slid from the bird's back, intending to sit down to rest. His body needed a few moments on solid ground to recover from the dash through the swamp. As soon as his feet touched the grass, his legs gave out from under him, refusing to support his weight, and he let gravity take over, laying on his back in the long grass.
The chocobo warked softly, and looked down at him curiously, evidently somewhat intrigued by Reno's behaviour. It remained standing nearby, watching him intently and not so much as moving an inch. It clearly was a very well trained bird, and the Turk recognised the chocobo's evident loyalty for what it really was. Many chocobos in his time were trained to stay with their fallen rider so that he could climb back on without having to chase a runaway bird, or in the eventuality that he was injured, the colourful plumage of the chocobo would act as an effective beacon to the rider's location.
But it was nice to think the chocobo cared about him, for some reason. Perhaps because Reno knew that in this world, he was completely and totally isolated, without anyone to call 'friend', and so it was somewhat comforting to idly consider the large yellow bird a companion. It was better than thinking too deeply about how alone he was in this time, and it was definitely better to talk to a chocobo than talk to himself. The former was a sign of affection and camaderie, while the latter was indicative of insanity. Reno would rather appear very attached to a big yellow bird than be seen to be insane.
"What you looking at?" he asked the chocobo casually, turning his head to meet its gaze. He wasn't even entirely certain if the bird was a male or a female. He didn't fancy taking a look under its tail feathers to find out.
The chocobo continued to watch him, and responded to his question with a quiet warble. Reno guessed that while it may be a fairly intelligent bird, it merely reacted to the sound of his voice. It was somewhat like having a conversation though, especially to one with an imagination like Reno's. He imagined the chocobo's response had been along the lines of 'you'.
"Yeah, well, of course you're looking at me. We really shouldn't be sitting around here for too long though," Reno told it informatively, feeling a little irritated at the slurring of his voice, due to the fact that unconsciousness still beckoned to him, even though the pain had diminished somewhat now that his breathing was more relaxed. Lying in the wet grass wasn't helping him to feel any better though.
"You know, you should have a name or something," he remarked to the chocobo, which answered him with a delicate wark, and a tilted head. "I can't really pronounce that though. How about... Butterfly?" he suggested after a moment of thought. The chocobo did seem to have more of a female attitude than a male one.
When the chocobo, now dubbed 'Butterfly', didn't object to the new name, Reno gestured to it, or possibly her. "Come here then. Help me up," he told it, although already suspecting the only word it would understand was 'come', which it would have been trained to respond to.
Obediently, Butterfly stepped closer to him, and Reno used the bird's wing to pull himself back up to his feet, noting how much stiffer his muscles were. All this exercise wasn't in the least bit good for him, not when the death magic had left him so drained and exhausted. He was pushing himself beyond his realistic limits, he knew that. But it wasn't as if he had a lot of choice. Getting to Midgar may well kill him, but as it stood, he would certainly die out here if he didn't get to Midgar. The city remained the best choice, despite the journey.
And Reno was beginning to feel that his mind was losing coherency. He felt certain he'd already considered his options thoroughly enough before, and now he was repeating himself. This really wasn't a good sign, not at all. He couldn't remember for the moment just how far Midgar was from here, nor how long the journey would take him. He decided instead he would prefer to concentrate on a nice, warm, comfortable bed at the end of it, and some well-deserved rest. And some beer, to relax. And then, finally, going home. All he had to do was get to Midgar, and everything would be fine.
With the remainder of his energy focused on that one, singular goal, Reno forced his body to comply with his wishes, pulling himself once again onto the chocobo's back and nudging Butterfly into a slow, peaceful walk. This time though, he had to remain alert, so as to guide the bird in the direction he wished to go. In this wide, open grassland, it was up to him to choose their path, although he wasn't entirely sure that he knew which way they should be going.
At least now the fog was clearing, perhaps because the sun had finally risen high enough, or perhaps because it didn't settle well in lowland areas away from the mountains. With the eerie mist gradually thinning, it became easier to see around them, although visibility still wasn't quite clear enough to indicate in which direction they should be travelling. For this, Reno decided upon using the compass, reflecting idly that of all the things he'd stolen from Maggie, it had proved to be the most useful.
Unfortunately, gaining access to the compass required that he turn around so his hand could rummage in the bag secured to the back of the saddle. He should have got the compass before he mounted, he realised. His lack of ability to think things through before he did them was proving to be a distinct disadvantage out here. This was something he would have to change once this particular adventure was over. As soon as he got home, he was going to start planning things properly.
He slipped his hand into the backpack, and searched through the contents. He smiled slightly as he felt the dragon egg, which was pleasantly warm. Almost a shame that having the bag on Butterfly's saddle meant he couldn't feel that source of heat radiating gently against his back. After a moment, his fingers closed around the now familiar shape of the compass, and he withdrew it from the bag.
Now then, if he remembered correctly, going north from the swamps would bring him to the end of the mountain range, and between the mountains and the steep sides of a plateau to the north, there was a pass that lead west. This grassy passageway would take him to the farmland situated around Kalm, and from there it was a simple journey to the south-west, taking him directly to Midgar. It was a simple enough journey, and should, in theory, be impossible to get lost.
For the moment, all he had to do was travel north, and so it was this direction that he looked for, using his compass to identify the direction. Until the fog cleared completely, he intended to keep the compass readily at hand, just to make sure they didn't double back on themselves or become lost. By midday, when the fog should have completely dissipated, it should be possible to orientate entirely by sight, assuming of course that the landscape hadn't significantly changed from what Reno knew. If it had, then he could rely on the compass.
And so, feeling that he had absolutely nothing to worry about, Reno let himself relax a little, enjoying the peaceful ride on Butterfly's back. As peaceful as it could be when every breath he took felt like fire in his chest, every muscle in his body seemed ready to disintegrate with exhaustion, and his very bones were chilled to the core from the lingering effects of the death magic and spending the night out in the open. Physical condition aside, the Turk felt optimistic; he was well and truly on his way home!
Disclaimer - In no way do I own Reno, something which very much disappoints me, because I'm really getting very attached to him. I also don't own chocobos, but this plot belongs to me, as do the various original characters used throughout the story.
Author's Notes - Looking back at the previous chapters, and particularly the author's notes, I realise that I promised Midgar in chapter seven. This is chapter eleven, and I have yet again failed to deliver. However, there turned out to be a lot more to the journey than I anticipated, and so the marshes did in fact have enough to become a chapter in themselves.
I toyed with the idea of letting the Midgar Zolom actually catch up with Reno and Butterfly, but that would have been excessively cruel, even for me. So instead, we have plenty of introspective and character development, and it seems to be turning into a fairly longish chapter. I fully anticipate actually reaching Midgar next chapter, in fact, Phoenix has warned me that 'bad things' will happen if I don't get to Midgar next chapter...
I'm pleased to actually have this chapter done a day after the last chapter though, and I'd like to be updating more than I have been recently (about once a week). Assuming I can keep up the chapter quality that is. I don't seem to have made any horrific mistakes in this chapter, but you never know. Just ask WrexSoul about commas...