FINAL FANTASY: POINT OF INTERSECTION
BOOK 1: THE APPROACHING STORM


CHAPTER 6


End it, warrior, Iseldra whispered, all trace of seductiveness gone from her voice, I have nothing left to lose except my life, and I care not for it.

Cloud steeled himself to do just that. He tried to remind himself of how dangerous the ice witch was, of the things she had done to deserve her fate. In his mind, he again saw the tentacle wrapped around little Miri's throat and the terror in the girl's eyes. He felt once more Iseldra's overpower sensuality as she had attempted to seduce him into betraying his wife, threatening him with Miri's life if he didn't comply. Cloud remembered all those things and told himself that the witch had brought this on herself, that her death would not have to be on his conscience.

As he gazed silently into Iseldra's blood red eyes, however, Cloud saw in those crimson irises not the hatred and evil he had expected, but instead emptiness, and fear. Not fear of him, he knew, or of the death that might yet claim her in the next moment. It was something else, something so terrifying that in her mind death was vastly preferable to encountering the object of that fear. In a flash of insight that he knew without a doubt was true, Cloud suddenly understood.

You wanted this to happen, he stated, knowing he was right.

Iseldra sighed. What does it matter? You have won, warrior, in either case. Finish me now and be done with it.

Why? I find it awfully convenient that my friends and I all managed to find our way here even though we had to split up three ways. And even when your pet attacked, once we were all here we were able to dispatch it with hardly a scratch to show for it. Tell me something, Iseldra. Did it really matter to you at all that we killed your sister all those years ago?

Iryana could have been torn apart by a rabid bandersnatch and I would not have cared less, Iseldra snapped, and that worthless little red bauble she always carried is nothing to me. My sister was a sadistic little wench who took pleasure in causing her mates as much pain as possible in the most creative ways she could imagine. I have never been averse to punishing a mate that would think to escape or do some other rash thing, but even I will only go so far.

Cloud raised an eyebrow. You're one hell of an actress, then, madam. I'll give you that much. But why do you want me to kill you so badly? If you want to die so much, why didn't you just kill yourself and save us the trouble of coming out here and doing it for you?

I tried, warrior, the witch looked away uneasily, her voice quiet, many times, but I could never go through with it.

Why, Iseldra? What are you so afraid of?

The witch slowly met his gaze once more, her voice a whisper when she spoke. A storm is coming, warrior, one such as this world has never before seen. I have felt it in my blood these past days, for I am a creature of magic and, like all such beings, I am far more sensitive to the ways of nature and the Planet than humans generally are.

A storm? Cid barked skeptically from behind Cloud as the others came near, You're all petrified cause you think some bigass storm's brewin' somewhere?

I do not speak of weather formations, but of a great darkness that will consume all in its path. A vast and terrible Shadow is approaching, warrior, a great and evil power from of old. There can be no escaping it, and against its might there can be no victory. The air grows frigid even for me, a maiden born of the ice and snow, for it is a chill not of nature but of the cold, black Hand of death itself!

Barret snorted. Cut the crap, lady! We—

No, Barret, Cloud cut him off with a sweeping motion of his left arm, I've felt something, too. When you spend as much time outdoors as I do, it's hard to miss. The woods have been too quiet lately, too still, and what little wildlife I do find is all skittish and afraid, like they sense a predator or a storm or something. Even the monsters aren't as aggressive as usual. I don't like it.

Iseldra nodded. So you understand, warrior. I would rather die now than live to see the disintegration of this world and its descent into nonexistence. It has already begun, for even this very night I have felt the Planet's reality begin to rupture.

Even so, madam, we've overcome dangers to our world before. We can beat this one.

Danger? Danger? Iseldra scoffed, Have you any idea of what you speak? What you call danger was the work of mere children, warrior! Petty vandals who knew not what they were dealing with, and a failed demigod who never truly understood the power he so desperately sought.

Barret grunted sourly. That failed demigod yer talkin' about damned near killed the Planet with that goddamn Meteor of his! Dangerous enough for me, lady.

The witch sniffed disdainfully. Had the Meteor struck, the Planet would still have recovered given enough time. It is far more resilient than you think, and far more complex. But the Shadow of which I speak will swallow the Planet utterly, piece by piece crumbling into the endless oblivion of the void. I feel the dark one's power reaching out even now into the very fabric of this world, and it will not be long before the Shadow becomes manifest.

How long? Cloud asked. He wasn't entirely sure yet that he believed her, but neither could he disregard her warnings out of hand. His warrior's instincts, finely honed over years of combat and countless battles, had been telling him lately that something wasn't right, and that sense of intuition had rarely, if ever, been wrong.

I do not know, warrior, Iseldra answered quietly, It could be days, it could be weeks. All I know for certain is that great evil is coming, and that none shall escape it.

Cloud stared grimly at the ice witch. So that's why you want to die

She nodded. Yes, warrior. End it quickly, and go back to your home for what time you have left before the veiling Shadow draws this world into darkness.

Tightening his grip on his sword, Cloud slowly pressed the weapon a little harder against Iseldra's throat and prepared to drive the blade home. Just a smooth, quick motion and it would be over. It wouldn't be the first time Cloud had ever killed someone, yet all those other times, it had been in the heat of battle, fighting to stay alive. Could he kill, now, like this? Take a life that was completely at his mercy, however deserving that death might be?

he replied softly, lowering his sword, I won't do it.

She stared at him incredulously. Why not, warrior? You have every right to do so!

That may be true, but I could never kill someone this way. Not even you, Iseldra. If you want to go and take your life, then do it yourself. I won't help you die.

His eyes never leaving the ice witch, Cloud slowly stepped away from her. In the dim light from his sword and Barret's flashlight, Iseldra's face was a pale mask of confusion and anger, and Cloud was willing to bet that she wasn't acting this time, that she had stopped acting the moment he had first pressed the tip of his blade against her neck.

I do not understand you, warrior, she argued. Killing is killing, whether hot-blooded or cold. It matters not how it is done, for the end result is the same.

Cloud shook his head. To you, maybe, but not to me. Maybe someday you'll understand.

I doubt that very much. Aside from the fact that you humans are far too complex to ever fully comprehend, I do not believe there will be time enough left anyway before the Shadow that is coming consumes this world utterly.

We'll see about that, Iseldra. I'm not about to give up hope just yet. Neither should you.

The ice witch sneered. Hope, warrior, is the denial of reality. I chose long ago not to be deceived by its false promises.

It must be a lonely way to live, Cloud remarked softly.

Iseldra blinked, momentarily caught off guard, but then glared angrily at him. I do not need your pity, warrior! Now begone from here! If you will not kill me, then take your little whelp and go!

Cloud sighed and motioned for the others to head out through the nearby passageway he and Cid had originally entered from. There was little else they could accomplish here, he supposed, now that they had saved Miri. He moved to follow his friends out of the chamber, but suddenly a soft, cold hand came to rest on his shoulder and he turned to find Iseldra staring grimly at him, her crimson eyes boring relentlessly into his deep blue ones.

Know this, warrior, she whispered, if you try to resist the coming darkness, the price will be higher than you can possibly imagine. You will watch as all that you hold dear is swept away.

The future isn't written yet, Iseldra, Cloud responded, but if this threat of yours is real, then I'm gonna fight it with all I've got.

Iseldra shrugged and stepped away. As you wish. By letting me live, even when I desired otherwise, you have placed me in your debt. Though I detest it, I must honor it. Call upon me when you have need, warrior, so that I may fulfill this burdensome liability and be done with you.

Cloud nodded, and the ice witch melted back into the shadows from which she had come. Alone for the moment, the blond warrior pondered her last warning to him. Though he had responded confidently, a shiver of unease had worked its way down his spine nevertheless. Whether she had spoken out of genuine foresight or merely to frighten him, Cloud didn't know, but as he headed off after his companions, her words lingered hauntingly in his mind.

Making his way stealthily through the trees, Vincent crept soundlessly across the snow. His keen eyes peered intently into the shadows ahead, at the bare skeletons of leafless oaks and beeches silhouetted in the dim moonlight. Around him, silence lay upon the forest like a blanket. No stranger himself to the ways of the outdoors, Vincent frowned and gripped his rifle a little tighter, his finger resting lightly on the trigger. He found the unnatural stillness of the woods more than a little unsettling.

For almost an hour now, Vincent had been scouting ahead through the forest to be sure the ice witch had left no further surprises for himself and his companions. Though Cloud seemed to believe she wouldn't interfere with them any longer, Vincent wasn't so sure. Perhaps it was his more savage nature, but had it been his choice, he would not have hesitated to kill the ice witch. It made little sense, after all, to turn one's back to an enemy that had already proven herself quite dangerous.

Vincent pulled his cloak a little tighter about his shoulders as a soft yet chill wind began to whisper quietly through the trees, nipping his earlobes and breathing lightly across his cheeks. Its chill, melancholy song, a joyless hymn of death and despair, echoed around him in a low, mournful wail. The voice of the damned, or so Vincent had always thought it to be. Fitting, he supposed, that he should hear in its forlorn rhythms a bitter reflection of his own heart.

So engrossed had he become in the winter wind's haunting melody that he almost didn't see the body.

The crumpled form of a young woman lay unmoving at the base of a gnarled old oak tree. Half buried in snow, the girl was soaked to the skin. Her short, dark hair lay plastered in unruly strands against her temples and forehead, and her fair skin had taken on an unhealthy bluish cast from the cold. Smears of blood stained her arm and abdomen and pooled in the snow beneath her as she lay on her side against the massive oak's wide trunk.

Vincent knelt at her side and gingerly took her swollen, broken wrist to check for a pulse. The girl's faint heartbeat fluttered erratically, like a wounded butterfly. Removing his thick outer cloak, Vincent tore strips from his crimson cape and gingerly bound the girl's wounds as best he could. It wasn't much, but it would have to do until he could get her back to town. He carefully took off her wet clothing as discreetly as he could, all the way down to the skin, and hoped that the girl's sodden garments hadn't completely robbed her of all her body heat yet. Wrapping her warmly in his cloak, Vincent gently lifted the injured girl in his arms and began to head quickly back to his companions a half mile or so behind him.

Before long, he saw the glow of Cloud's sword in the gloom ahead as the blond warrior led his companions through the woods. They kept their chocobos at a walk, as it made little sense to go any faster while still in the confines of the forest, and soon caught sight of Vincent as he made his way toward them. Cloud slowed his bird to a halt and motioned the others to do the same.

What happened? he asked grimly.

I do not know, Vincent replied. I found her lying unconscious not too far from here. She is alive but badly wounded.

Cloud dismounted to take a closer look at the girl in Vincent's arms. Her bleeding seems to have slowed a bit, but she'll still freeze to death if we don't get her back to town real fast. I don't think she has much time, maybe an hour at most.

But we are still much farther away than that, are we not?

Here, Vincent, Cloud held out the reins of his gold-feathered chocobo, take the girl and ride on ahead with Ayla. She's three times as fast as any other chocobo here, so she may be able to get you back to town in time to save the girl.

Vincent nodded and gently handed the young woman to Cloud before taking the reins and carefully mounting the chocobo. Reaching down, he took the wounded girl from his friend's grasp and set her in front of him in the saddle. Vincent brought his arms in front of her and gripped Ayla's reins firmly in his hands as he prepared to ride.

Cloud patted the chocobo's golden feathers affectionately. Ayla will get you there, Vincent. Just let her run and she'll do the rest. Bring the girl over to my place when you get to town. I'll call Tifa and make sure she knows that you're coming.

Often during the course of their journey years ago in pursuit of Sephiroth, Tifa had served as the team's field medic. Aside from the use of curative magic and items, she also knew a great deal of battlefield medicine from her martial arts training with her mentor, Zangan. At times when Vincent, Cloud and the others had run low on potions or magic, Tifa had always been able to patch them up enough to last until they could rest and resupply.

Vincent sighed gravely. I do not believe the girl will make it, but I must try to save her if I can.

Cloud replied firmly. Good luck.

Nodding grimly, Vincent rode quietly off into the night. He kept Ayla at a trot, as it would be too dangerous to let her run when the trees were still so close. A light snow began to fall as he went on, and the wind whispered softly in his ears. Keeping the reins in his good hand, he wrapped his other arm around the girl's waist and held her close to him so that she might absorb some of his body heat. Her skin felt as cold and clammy as wet clay, as though Vincent was riding with a corpse, and he wondered if the young woman wasn't already dead.

I am losing her.

Vincent could still feel the girl's pulse, but it had grown more faint since he had found her. She couldn't have much longer to live. If only he had found her sooner. If only he hadn't spent so much time talking to Cloud. If only Ayla could have made her way faster through the trees. If only, if only The endless stream of excuses and bitter recriminations piled up inside Vincent's head, exuding an almost physical pressure as the weight of this newest of his many failures pounded relentlessly within his skull until it suddenly became too much. His fingers tightened angrily on the reins, and his eyes narrowed as something within him finally snapped.

No! I will not let it happen! No more!

His gaze determined, Vincent pushed Ayla into a canter and concentrated on navigating his way through the forest. He let his instincts guide him, and although at times the trees came uncomfortably close, he made his way safely through the encroaching maze. Many times, he ducked clusters of low overhanging branches, swerved away from sudden dips in the ground, and guided his mount surely over gnarled and twisted tree roots hidden in the dark.

At last, the trees began to thin as Vincent neared the edge of the woods. Once he broke free of the forest and emerged out onto the open plains, he let Ayla run full out across the snow. The great bird seemed almost to fly, her legs blurring with speed as she ran mile after endless mile tirelessly through the night. His long, dark hair whipping out wildly behind him, Vincent leaned forward lower in the saddle and tightened his firm but gentle grip on the injured girl to keep her from falling off. As his body pressed closer against hers, she stirred slightly in his arms.

Do not be afraid, he whispered, although he doubted she would hear him. Death will not take you tonight. I will not allow it.

Vincent looked up to see the lights of Icicle Inn glowing brightly on the horizon. He was going to make it. For him, there was no other choice, no further contemplation of failure. Ayla sped across the snowfields like a streak of molten gold, a bright slash of color in the dark night. The great bird seemed to outrun even the wind, leaving its despairing, mournful song far behind. Glittering in the heavens like diamonds, the stars were the only witnesses to this silent, solitary race.

He passed into the smaller, lighter woods that surrounded the town, and the welcoming yellow glow of lamps and warm fires grew nearer. Still he kept his mount at a run, knowing that every moment was crucial, that the girl's survival depended upon getting her out of the cold as soon as possible. The dark shapes of homes and shops soon became discernable as he neared the edge of town, and within a few moments, he was hurrying desperately down the snowy lanes until Tifa's home finally came into sight. Vincent pulled back on the reins as he neared the house, and Ayla at last came to a halt as Tifa and Shera emerged from the front door almost immediately.

There you are, Vincent! Tifa exclaimed in relief. Here, bring the girl inside where it's warm. Shera can put Ayla in the stable for you.

Vincent nodded. The young woman still lives, but only barely. I bound her wounds as well as I could, but I fear she may yet still succumb to them.

I'll do what I can for her, Tifa reassured him.

Carefully releasing for a moment his grip on the girl, Vincent quickly dismounted and handed the reins to Shera before reaching up and gingerly taking the injured young woman into his arms. Her body was light enough, but because she was hurt in so many places, she proved to be a somewhat difficult burden as Vincent struggled to keep from aggravating her wounds.

He followed Tifa inside the house to the living room, where a fire burned brightly in the massive granite hearth that dominated one wall. In front of the long sofa, potions and bandages and other first aid supplies sat on the coffee table along with a stack of neatly folded thick blankets. Vincent gently laid the girl onto the carpet next to the fireplace and gingerly spread her arms out a bit to either side of her body.

She is still very cold, Vincent remarked quietly.

Tifa nodded, her eyes intent on her patient. Hand me those blankets on the table, would you? Let's see if we can get her warmed up first before I take a look at those wounds.

Of course, Vincent replied, retrieving the blankets and giving them to Tifa. Following her instructions, Vincent helped her bundle the injured girl snugly within the blankets. Before long, the young woman's body began to warm, and the color began to return to her skin. Vincent gently rubbed her arms and legs with his good hand to get the circulation going while Tifa examined the girl's injuries.

Let's see if this helps, Tifa said, withdrawing a small orb of translucent crystal that glowed with a faint green light.

Vincent waited expectantly as Tifa gazed intently at the materia orb and attempted to draw upon its magical energies to heal the girl. The curative effects of the Restore materia would help stabilize the young woman's condition and heal some of her less serious wounds. As his friend grasped the tiny orb in both hands, willing the magic to come forth, Vincent watched for the telltale green and blue sparkles of magic that would surround the girl's broken body.

Nothing happened.

Tifa stared unbelievingly at the orb. What? Come on, you stupid thing, work!

She tried once again to call forth the materia's magical energy, but the green glow within the orb sputtered weakly and died. Exchanging a worried glance with Vincent, Tifa struggled to bring forth the crystal sphere's magic, but again the cure spell failed to activate. The materia simply sat in her hands, as dead and lifeless as a lump of rock.

How odd Vincent pondered.

Tifa sighed, I guess we'll just have to do this the old-fashioned way.

She gently moved the young woman's left arm out from the blankets, and Vincent saw that the strips from his cape had grown dark red with her blood. Delicately removing the ragged strips of cloth, Tifa carefully cleaned the cuts with cold water and bound them with fresh bandages before setting the girl's broken right wrist with splints.

Turn around, Vincent, Tifa ordered.

He stared at her. For what reason?

Well, the girl's got some cracked ribs and some bad cuts just above her waist, and I'll need to wrap them, too. She'll be, um, kind of exposed while I'm doing that.

Will you not need my help? Vincent wondered, not quite understanding yet.

Tifa put her hands on her hips and raised an eyebrow at him. Nice try, Vincent, but no. I can do this myself. Just go outside and get some more firewood, okay? It's around the back of the house next to the kitchen door. Stay out there until I tell you it's okay to come in.

As you wish, Vincent replied.

He made his way quietly through the house and out through the back door. The bitter cold he had all but forgotten since going inside once again bit at him, and although the elements did not bother him as much as they did most other people, he shivered nevertheless. His breath steamed in the air, and his boots crunched in the snow as he made his way to the woodpile nearby. As he took a few of the logs in his arms, he turned to find Shera approaching him from the direction of the stable.

How is she doing? she asked.

Tifa is still treating her wounds at this time, Vincent explained, but I believe her condition has begun to stabilize.

Shera nodded. That's good to hear. Tifa started getting things together once Cloud called her to tell her you were on your way. Elmyra's been watching Marlene over at their room at the inn, and Reeve went with Mr. Wentwood down to that old fellow's store to get some more medical supplies for Tifa. They should be back soon, I think.

Hamfast knows his granddaughter is safe? Vincent inquired.

Yes, thank goodness! Cloud called once, before you had found that girl, to tell us. When will he and Cid and the others be back?

Vincent took some more logs from the woodpile as he pondered the question. Not for another hour at least, Shera, but I do not think it will be more than two. Their chocobos are much slower than the gold one Cloud lent me.

I suppose you're right, Shera sighed, but at least they'll get home safe enough. What are you doing out here, anyway?

The girl has cracked ribs and other wounds in her chest and abdomen, and Tifa sent me outside so she could bind them. I do not fully understand why, however.

Shera chuckled. You don't? How long were you sleeping in that coffin of yours before Cloud found you, anyway? The poor girl's been through enough already tonight without you staring at her while she's being undressed.

Forgive my lack of propriety, Vincent coughed, shifting uncomfortably, for as you have pointed out, I am long out of practice with such things.

That's quite alright, Vincent. I know you don't mean any harm to her.

The back door opened, and Tifa stepped out, Vincent's cloak grasped in her hands. You can come in now, Vincent. I've got her all bandaged and bundled up again. Put the firewood in the bin next to the hearth and then take the girl upstairs for me, would you?

Of course, he nodded, following her inside.

Making his way to the living room, Vincent set the wood down in the bin and then hesitantly turned back to look at the girl. She lay wrapped snugly in the blankets once more, and Vincent noticed that during his absence her twisted ankle had been wrapped with several layers of bandages and that Tifa had slipped a pair of pajama bottoms onto the girl's legs.

Picking the young woman up as gently as he could, Vincent followed Tifa up the curving hardwood stairs to the second floor, where she led him past the first bedroom and into the second. Gingerly laying the injured girl upon the plush double bed, he made her as comfortable as possible under the covers and tucked the pillows securely beneath her head.

Vincent rested his hand lightly on the girl's shoulder for a moment as he finally got a good look at the young woman he had traveled so many miles to save. Her short, brown hair hung like strands of dark, soft silk almost to her shoulders, framing a pleasant, attractive face, and her closed eyelids were lined with short, neatly curled lashes. Small, pink lips defined her curving, delicate jaws, and her soft, round cheeks bore the faint impressions of dimples.

What's on your mind? Tifa asked softly.

Vincent didn't look up, but instead let his gaze remain for a moment on the girl. Nothing, really. It is just that, for once, I did not fail. I had thought that I would.

Tifa smiled. You saved her life. She would have frozen to death if you hadn't found her.

suppose so, he admitted.

Come on, Vincent, Tifa urged him quietly, let's go. She needs her rest.

He nodded and followed her out of the room, but not before taking a last glance at the girl. Had he really saved her? Vincent dared not hope, for hope had abandoned him long ago, but still he wondered. Cursed always to fail, or so he had believed himself to be, yet tonight had apparently shown him otherwise. Perhaps it was only a fluke, yet somehow he found himself reluctant to accept it as such.

Closing the bedroom door behind him, Vincent sighed and followed Tifa downstairs.