Chapter 12

She woke them as promised: the first hint of dawn light rose with them. Caleb went to the back to collect his motorcycle, bringing it around to the front as Shera gave Angel a small backpack, smiling as though she weren't tired at all.

"Here's a bit of food for the road, and a few remedies I had collected over the years—you'll need them more than I do. I wish I had more…"

"This is more than enough," Angel smiled, hugging the older woman. "Thank you, Shera." She smiled back, returning the embrace. Angel pulled away and Shera caught Caleb's eyes.

"Your father left this behind. I think it was intentional, actually. Maybe he knew you'd follow him one day," she handed him a black ribbon. It looked well-worn, and it still carried the faintest smell of a summer sunset after rain—his father's scent. He knew it from the clothes in the closet of his bedroom. "I'm not going to hide anything from anyone," she continued. "But I do have a feeling you have to do this on your own."

"I can't thank you enough, Shera," he extended a hand to her. She took it, squeezing firmly and slightly surprising Caleb.

"Just do me a favor and come back," she smiled as she said it, but her eyes looked grave. "I don't want to see Cid as depressed as he was several years back."

Caleb returned to his bike. Angel was sitting side-saddle again, waiting for him patiently, the backpack secured tightly over her shoulders. "I will. I promise." He mounted the black motorcycle, rocking it into the upright position. Angel slid her arms around his waist. They both waved, and he jerked the throttle, and they shot off again, kicking up a cloud of dirt as they left the city and merged back up onto the highway. The sky was just beginning to slip on its yellowish-blue coat of early morning. Caleb paid attention to the road. He felt Angel's arms slip from him and then something tightened around his right bicep. He glanced down quickly: she had tied the black ribbon to his arm. Her hands settled on his waist again. He smiled to himself.

"This bridge is long too," she shouted against the wind, indicating the costal bridge they had reached. They began to cross over the ocean, and he knew Angel was looking at the dark blue water, covered in sparkles of white-yellow sunlight.

"You should see the Southern Road," he called back.

"The really long one? Have you been there?"

"Yeah, but I like this one the best."

"Why?"

"Because, there's nothing else like it in the world."

"What's so special about this bridge?"

He didn't answer, but instead, drove in silence for another minute before shifting to the farthest left lane and parking the bike. He let it idle as he glanced back at Angel and grinned, then turned his sights over the ocean. She followed his gaze.

The sun rose—a brilliant, perfect orange sphere in the crystal blue morning sky. Its shining face reflected on the dark blue water, a stark contrast with the light on its surface and the horizon. There were no clouds to obstruct the perfect scene; sunbeams reached across the dome of the sky and caressed it awake.

"People rise with it, the sun," he spoke up. "And even though they're heedless of it, it continues to wake us and greet us each morning. I think it's waiting for at least one person to appreciate it and embrace it back." He opened his arms and stretched, arching his back, letting the new-day sunlight envelop him.

"You're a unique person, Caleb Strife," she gave him an odd little smile. A secret smile.

"Unique just like everyone else," he looked back at her.

Angel looked at him; the way his hair shone with the sunbeams and the way his orange eyes were lost within the blaze of the daylight. He was a god. She reached forward and embraced the sun.

"Good morning," she whispered. He held her back, not questioning the odd look that had overcome her face. He merely enjoyed the feel of her within the circle of his arms, her scent filling his senses. After a few moments, they reluctantly parted from each other and started on their way again, her arms once more around his waist as his eyes kept to the road ahead.

No matter where, Cale, she thought, smiling to herself. No matter for how long. I am with you.

They reached the Northern Continent in the early afternoon, when the sky matched the blue of Angel's eyes. Together, they walked the bike to the entrance of Bone Village. Angel stuck her head into the pack Shera gave her as Caleb let his eyes explore the small mining town—there was nothing much to it, besides a few tarps, tents, and a shop that looked like it doubled as a working quarters.

"Can we eat?" Angel called from behind him, her gaze lifting from the pack to catch his. He smiled, taking a few steps back to return to her side.

"Do you want to? I'm not really that hungry," he shook his head.

"What do you want to do, then?" she asked him.

"Kiss you," he answered truthfully.

She grinned: "After that?"

"Kiss you again?"

"Cale!"

He laughed as she did, slipping an arm around her waist and pulling her close. "Let's eat a little bit of something before we continue."

"What about the kissing thing?" she pouted. "Did you suddenly want to forego that?"

"Methinks you had no problem with my original plan," he lowered his lips to hers.

"You," she kissed him gently, "are a dork."

"So you've told me," he grinned in reply.

"Excuse me?"

They looked up from one another and faced the originator of the voice, a young worker who was standing a few feet away, looking uncomfortable at his disturbance of the moment.

"Yes?" Caleb blinked, Angel still in his arms.

"Um… my employer sent me to ask you if you could give the Lunar Harp to us for a while."

"Huh? Lunar Harp?"

"It sounds pretty," Angel straightened within her companion's arms.

The man looked confused: "You mean, you don't have it?"

"I don't even know what it is," the blond admitted.

"My boss told me that you had it," he appeared both confused and apologetic now. "He said 'there's the spikey-headed blond that had the harp when he passed through here some years back'."

"Spikey-headed blond…" his orange eyes widened. "Where's your boss?" The man pointed over his shoulder, bewildered. Angel stood beside him, clutching the backpack in her hands still. The man the worker had pointed out was huge and burly, with graying hair and a moustache. He was darkly tanned—a bit on the burned side—from all his long hours of toiling in the sun. As Caleb approached him, he dropped his cigarette to the dirt and crushed it beneath one thick-heeled work boot and nodded to him.

"The harp," he grunted. "Can we borrow it?"

"I'm sorry," Caleb shook his head in response. "You're mistaken; I don't have the harp and I don't know where it is either." The man gave him a good looking-over, his eyes narrowing in critical analysis. Caleb let him—the man might have some information of the whereabouts of his father.

"Nah, I guess not," he finally concluded. "The other guy looked a lot like you, but his eyes were cold, like ice. You'd shiver just with one look of those eyes."

He'd heard his guardians say similarly: "Why do you need the harp, anyway? What's so special about it?"

"The Sleeping Forest is a haunted place," he motioned to the ledge above, where a dark entrance in the rock marked a pathway to another section of the area. "Its spell can only be broken with the use of the Lunar Harp."

"You'd want to go in there, even with the harp?" Caleb raised an eyebrow.

"Normally, no," the large man admitted. "But two of the local children wandered inside. We tried to send a few people after them, but none of them have returned. That was almost a week ago."

"I'll go in," Caleb offered.

"You need the Lunar Harp to pass through, Cale," Angel came up to them, her pack once more secure on her back. "Your father didn't think to leave it behind for us."

"I can do it. How hard can it possibly be?"

"Is there another way to go in, or around, without suffering the affects of the forest's magic?" Angel turned her eyes to the lead worker.

"Not that we know of," he shook his head.

"If I'm quick, I'll be fine. I'll go in, grab a few at a time, and come back out," the young mercenary assured. His old friend gave him a dry look.

"Have you tried sending someone in there with a rope tied around their waist?" she offered. "That way, the remaining people could pull them out at a tug of the rope, or when they've felt the person's been in there too long?"

The man blinked, turned to his underlings, and bellowed for rope. Only minutes later, Caleb had been secured at the waist with a thickly-braided rope and placed facing the entrance to the Sleeping Forest.

"Right, so, ten minutes, and if we don't come out before then, haul us back out," Angel gave the order, standing beside him, a rope tied around her own slender waist.

"And you're going where?" Caleb gave her a look.

"With you, of course." She saw him open his mouth to protest and cut him off: "You honestly don't think I'm letting you go in there all by yourself. Think again."

"But—" he tried.

"How many people are inside in total?" she turned to some of the other workers.

"Two children and four adults: three men, one woman, and a little boy and girl."

"Angel—"

"Hush, Cale. Remember: ten minutes."

They nodded.

"Angel—"

"Let's go." She grabbed his hand and dragged him inside. He rolled his eyes as they passed through the opening.