"Are you ready?" he looked back at her. The ivory and gold harp was slung casually over one slender shoulder, clashing violently with her rich dark hair. Angel grinned at him, flashing him the thumbs-up sign.
"As ready as I'll ever be," she assured, her hands tightening on his waist. He turned back to the looming tunnel entrance and twisted the throttle of the bike's engine. It roared in response, and he moved his eyes to the workers and their families surrounding the entrance.
"Be safe!"
"Watch out for the monsters."
"Thank you for helping us…"
"Look out for each other, please?"
He nodded to each of them, smiling slightly at the two children from earlier. They watched him and Angel with wide, admiring eyes, clutching onto each other's hands. He lifted one hand and they returned his wave enthusiastically, making him smile broadly. Angel squeezed his waist and he took the signal, rocking the motorcycle upright and kicking up the stand, placing his foot on the starter.
"Good luck, you two," the head worker nodded to them both.
"We'll be fine," Angel assured and Caleb gunned the motor. They shot into the tunnel entrance, the sound reverberating like an automatic gun against the rock walls as they zoomed through the short passage and entered the Sleeping Forest again. Caleb's head started to buzz, and he half-turned his head and opened his mouth, but Angel had been faster. The gentle trill that sounded from the delicate chords made him shiver in pure ecstasy. He closed his eyes and all of a sudden the music was guiding him. His hands responded to every imperfection in the dirt path as the harp sang into the magic aura of the forest, pushing it away from them, parting it like a curtain. Although Angel's hands were not around him, he knew she was all right. In fact, he could see her against the backs of his eyelids, her own eyes closed, her fingers strumming against the pearl-like strings of the beautiful instrument. She looked like a surreal goddess from ancient and lost times.
God, he loved her.
He knew the instant they were out of the forest: Angel stopped playing. Somehow, she knew, and he knew that she knew. His eyes opened, and he was facing a pure, endless white glacier that stretched as far as he could perceive. Her hands were on him again, and he swore he trembled harder still at her touch.
"Want to know the funny thing?" she called up to him. He glanced back to show her he was listening. "I've never touched a harp before. Hell, I'd never seen one before today." He grinned—that's just the way it worked, no helping it. Somehow, he thought it had something to do with the woman he had met within the Sleeping Forest. Had she even told him her name?
It was cold. He was glad Angel was fit tightly behind him; she would be warmer back there. He clenched his teeth together to stop them from chattering. His knuckles were white against the black handlebars, but they still trembled. His amber eyes scanned the area: if he didn't find some type of shelter within an hour or so, they'd be traveling in this weather all night. He briefly wished someone in Bone Village had warned them about this bizarre weather change. He didn't know—none of the highways passed through this area. This was all uncharted territory for him, and for some odd reason, he knew that had been done on purpose. In order to keep people from coming through. From finding this place. What was this place, exactly?
"Look, Cale, there!"
Her arm came over his shoulder, her finger extended straight on to the horizon. He narrowed his eyes against the cold harsh winds and tried to see what she did. At first, nothing but snow drifts caught his attention, and he shot a doubtful look back at her. But she looked convinced there was something there so he looked again. As they roared over the thick ice sheet, blowing up a haze of snow in their wake, something rose into his vision. He hadn't seen it, he realized, because it blended in with everything else—it was a white city. The long, twisting paths disappeared behind an overhang and trailed down into a ravine. He followed one of the narrow trails, wincing at the sight of the drop and the unsteady sounds his tires made on the slick stone. They dropped down into the ancient-looking city via the snaking pathway and for a while, they were riding adjacent to the huge turreted ice palace. Curved ice bridges spanned over huge gaps and wove in and out of spiked towers and descended into what looked like a huge crevice. Huge, white-barked trees enshrouded the entrie city; trees like the single one that grew in the cave at Nibelheim. Their leaves hummed faintly with pure mako energy, shifting colors from clear, to green, yellow, red, blue, back to clear and around again.
"It's very pretty, Caleb," she told him, picking him up clumsily and bringing him over to the glowing white-barked sapling. "See that? It's just like the big trees where the Flower Lady lives. Have you met her? She's really nice and pretty and her flowers always smell good."
Angel gave a little gasp and he glanced back at her. Her face, her entire front side, was bathed in soft white light; she was looking down at the sword strapped to his back—the material inside its eight slots.
"Which one is it?" he called back to her.
She looked back up at his face: "The white one."
He nodded. He had thought as much. They continued into the heart of what he now believed to be an abandoned city—he hadn't seen anyone or thing around to disprove it—and slowed to a stop at the center of a crossroads, leading back the way they had come, to the heart of the white city, a cliff on the left and a large community on the right. He motioned for Angel to get off and killed the engine. She did, looking up at the tall white walls and then down at the worn path descending into the center as he swung his leg over the back of the bike and stood, holding it up in place.
"Come on; let's find shelter."
She turned and followed him up the left-hand path. If Caleb had learned anything in his short time of being a mercenary, it was never to seek shelter in a public place. Ahead and to the right seemed to be the focal points of the deserted city, but, the cliff on the left promised to provide at least some shelter from the cold and prying eyes. He knew the others were still following them; they wouldn't be stopped by a few little distractions like an old acquaintance and a magic forest. These people had done it before—they'd be prepared. So, they trekked the uphill path and reached the top with no breath to communicate. But both pairs of eyes found the small alcove and the markings of a door and windows in the rock wall. Glancing at one another, they collected their breaths as they walked inside the dark brown earthen shelter and looked around for signs of inhabitants.
"Hello?" Angel cupped a hand to the side of her mouth. They both paused and listened for an answering cry that did not come. Caleb lowered the kickstand of his bike and left it there in the small foyer/living area, slowly making his way up the short, simple steps and to a loft and second floor area, where he saw a large white fur rug and a straw mattress bound tightly enough for everyday use, but loosely enough to be comfortable.
"There's only one bed," he announced. Angel came up the stairs as well, looking down at the crude bed on the floor.
"We've shared a bed before," she shrugged. He nodded back, half-turning to her and shrugging as well.
"You get to sleep; I'll be back in a little bit."
"Where are you going?"
"I just want to explore."
"That's what usually gets us both into trouble."
"Just a quick look."
"I've heard that line before."
He smiled, not feeling the confidence he heard in his own voice: "I'm a big boy. I can take care of myself." She opened her mouth to argue again, then shook her head and waved him off, dropping her small pack to the floor and beginning to pull out rations of food and water, as well as clothing. He didn't blame her—it was positively freezing. He watched her do this for a moment, then turned and descended the stairs, slipping out of the small door. In truth, he didn't want to go much farther than that. He had a lot—too much—on his mind, and he didn't want to keep her awake with his tossing and turning. Hands in pockets, Caleb began to pace the length of the slight overhang, his amber eyes occasionally falling to the white city below. Was this the City of the Ancients Shera had mentioned? The same place his parents had once journeyed to, fought in, continued their pursuit of the maniacal Sephiroth in attempts to thwart his plans for world destruction? "Mom… Dad…"
He stood outside for longer than he could keep track of, seeing his parents in his minds eye, traversing the winding paths, battling the remnants of monsters in this sacred space. He found himself wishing they were still alive and mentally cursed himself: it would never happen—he had to get used to that fact, no matter how many things he remembered or how many people he met that had known them, alive or dead. Feeling emptier than ever and tasting the bitterness in the back of his throat, Caleb retreated inside for the night. A quick glance around once again confirmed that no one had lived in here for quite some time, and a quick check let him know that Angel was asleep. He quietly ascended the staircase and looked down at her sleeping figure, lying beneath another fur that she had found somewhere to cover them both with. She had left out rations for him. Suddenly finding himself not hungry (not for rations, anyway) he crossed the short distance between them, silently kicking off his boots and unclasping his scabbard and sword from his back. The armor he had inherited from his father came off his shoulder and was placed on a small rock by the bed. He gently slipped beneath the fur coverlet beside her and felt himself unwind instantly: It's warm… Her warmth. He didn't know what he was doing until he had both arms wrapped tightly, almost fiercely around her slight waist. He felt the curve of one hip as she slept on her side and closed his eyes against the wave of longing that slapped at him. He lowered his head to the line of her neck, hidden beneath the dark curtain of her hair and inhaled her scent deeply: the smell of rain that fell when the sun still blazed—a sunstorm. He grinned slightly to himself. What better way to describe her? Brilliant, soft, exceptional, and awe-striking. He trembled, held her tighter, whispered her name. All of a sudden, he feared loosing her. He was afraid that he wouldn't be able to protect her when the time came. He had no idea where the thoughts and feelings were arising from, but they were coming in torrents that became silent, hot tears that soaked into her thick hair.
"Cale…?"
He moaned softly: her voice was like an enchanting melody that hypnotized him each time. She turned to him, lifting a hand to his face. Her touch blazed against his skin and he couldn't take it anymore. He rolled atop her, his arms still tight about her waist. She did not look surprised, only concerned. Her hand cupped his cheek, her thumb gently brushed away the pain leaking down his face. He lowered his lips to hers and her own received him willingly, almost submissively. When she gave a slight sound of pleasure he escalated the kiss, one hand coming from around her and stroking along the contour of her body, clasping at her breast, her hip, her backside. Every inch of her was velvety soft and supple, but so maddeningly firm, strong, powerful. He growled into her mouth and she moaned longingly in response. His hand came back up and snagged at her shirt, dragging it up along with his fingers, running them up the length of her arm, freeing one half of her and his palm fitting against hers. He propped himself up over her and his other hand reached down to complete the job of removing the top half of her clothing. She squirmed beneath him, her own free hand slipping below the cloth of his mercenary uniform and giving a soft, sensual brush of her fingertips. He arched his lower body against hers in response and was greeted with another loud, hungry moan. He couldn't remember when his mouth had left hers, but it had and he didn't like that: he pushed his lips to hers again, swallowing her moan and letting both of his hands traverse up and down along her sides and back and hips.
"Angel…" he gasped against her lips, trying to catch his breath and not caring either way. She was kissing him fiercely now, her own hands tugging impatiently at the blur cloth shirt still covering his torso. He raised himself over her and obligingly removed it and threw his head back as her fingers rushed over the angles and plains of his muscles. A half-pant, half-cry came from him as she grabbed at his waistband and he clasped her hips and practically dragged the material from her body.
"Cale…" she opened her eyes and looked up at him. The sharp blue of her gaze pierced into him and his rushing thoughts suddenly silenced and ebbed, leaving nothing but tranquility. She smiled up at him softly and now he felt he would go mad with desire for her; not her body, simply, her: all of herself, everything she was, whatever she would come to be. He wanted this woman—needed her—like darkness craved light. "I love you."
"I love you, Angel. I love you so much; I need you, all of you, everything, always."
Her hands came to either side of his face and she gently guided his lips to her own: "Ditto."