Disclaimer: Its still not mine.
Chapter Four
The Big Spooky Forest
"Who's that I see walking in these woods.
Why it's Little Red Riding Hood."
-Little Red Riding Hood, Sam the Sham and the Pharaohs
"One day, I will win. Really. Honestly. Though I might have to drug
you first, or drop a piano on your head or something." Kairi flopped back into
the sand and looked up at the stars. They seemed so far away
tonight.
"You're doing really well," Tidus collapsed onto the sand next
to her, folding his hands behind his head. "You're just not so good against
combos yet, but hey, you'll get the hang of it, they're hard to defend against."
He smiled easily. "Oh yeah, I talked to Selphie when you went home for lunch,
she says that we have to come on her picnic tomorrow, or we'll be disowned and
she'll never help me clean my room again."
Kairi smiled, leaning up on an
elbow, "Cool. Do I need to bring food?" It felt so good to have friends again,
like she was a part of something.
"Nah, she's providing, but I'd bring
stuff anyway, unless you wanna die the unglamorous death salt overload. Selphie
adds salt to everything. Even juice, I think." He stretched out in the sand
before standing up. "I gotta go home soon or my mom'll pitch a fit, she's been
weird lately. You gonna go in?" He cocked his head and smiled down at
her.
She looked out at the ocean, watching the waves lap against the
shore. She could almost see the yellow eyes there, hovering in the surf. "I'm
going in." "Good," Tidus grinned, "I'll walk you."
Kairi smiled
gratefully as she stood up and took his hand,
"Thanks."
~~~~~~~~
He struggled with the gauze, wrapping it
awkwardly around his bicep.
His body ached. What didn't ache burned. What
didn't burn throbbed. He glared at Anti Sora, who had finally returned from his
morning jaunt and was casually picking his shiny black teeth with a bit of
straw. Anti Sora glared back before sticking his tongue out at Riku, throwing
the straw at him, and wandering off to cause mischief and mayhem.
Riku
sighed. Anti-Sora, his creation, had a bigger attitude problem than all the
others combined. It broke things, sneered, and did exactly the opposite of what
it thought Riku wanted.
He twisted his head around, getting one end of
the bandage between his teeth and pulling the poorly constructed slip knot
tight. A red haze of pain floated in front of his eyes and he felt faint. God,
did it hurt.
He could always order the dark sora-copy to do what he
wanted. The power to control the heartless had not left him. He could force it
to be nice to him, force it to help him.
But he didn't. It seemed wrong
to use it as a slave just because it was under his power. It seemed
cruel.
Ansem would have done it. All of his heartless had been pawns,
forced to do anything he said because he was the master and they were the
worthless peons under his heels. He had made them, so they served him. That was
the way it worked.
Riku twisted the gauze strips together, trying to
manage a bow one handed. "I hate this."
The shadow in the floor moved. It
had been there, doing its best to be inconspicuous, the entire time. It always
hid when Anti Sora was about. Its antenna poked questioningly up from the floor
boards. The rest of it soon following.
Riku's fingers slipped and the
gauze slid down his arm. "Damn." This was not working. He left it, bowing his
head. He felt completely drained. He knew he should be in his element; battle,
blood, and brutality. Kill or be killed, fight to the death. Seriousness. Lost
heroism, the quest of a tainted knight. All very Riku. But he hated it. It gave
him everything he had ever wanted, adventure and power and knowledge, even
respect, and he hated it. It was just so hard. And recently he had begun to feel
strangely cold, as if ice was spreading throughout his veins. His eyes slid
closed, so tired.
Unnoticed, the shadow crept up besides its sulking
master and carefully reworked the bandage with its delicate hands.
~~~~~~
An axe isn't like a normal weapon. It's got a little magic in it, no
matter its origins, because it is an axe. A twenty year old hand-me-down with a
chipped blade and a rotting handle is no exception, in fact, if anything, it's
stronger.
On the same note, a woodcutter isn't like a normal man. He's
inevitably stable, kind-hearted and strong. Woodcutters were born to be heroes,
though princes are a touch more popular in today's literature. And heroes have a
little magic in them, too.
Lance was young for a woodcutter; he came at
the wrong time, with the wrong name, the wrong shape, and the wrong personality.
He was a sweet, hard working, cynic with an awkward balance. He was a teenage
Peter Wolf, too old for a popgun and too poor for a rifle, so he had a hatchet
instead, and that made him stronger.
But not strong enough to
win.
The dark wolf was old. It had lived a million years in a thousand
different lands. It had known both woodcutters and princes, maidens and
washerwomen, dragons and unicorns. It knew the way the worlds worked. Knew the
way they had begun, changed, and possibly even how they would end. And it most
certainly knew that no matter how strong, how kind hearted and stable a
woodcutter might be, without an axe he was no mightier than a normal man. And
the dark wolf wasn't afraid of men.
That was why, when it chose to attack
it did not go for Lance's soft human stomach, but rather aimed for the rotten
axe handle. And that was why Lance had time to scream.
The wolf turned,
snarling through the wooden mouthful. It had leapt clean over its young victim,
bearing the dangerously sharp weapon out of his hands to the soft pine needled
turf. The old wood cracked between those jaws, and the strong sharp iron fell
worthlessly to ground. The dark wolf grinned, splinters still stuck between its
gleaming teeth.
Lance kept screaming even as he tried to
run.
~~~~~~
Still in the medow, Sora snapped to full attention. He
had heard something, like a moan on the wind. The grass was whispering in the
slight breeze, brushing his clothes with a quiet rasp, speaking of softness and
safety and a dreamless sleep. He listened past it, straining to hear the fear
and pain that had woken him from a sound sleep. It was only a feeling, just a
hint of something wrong, the slightest tint of red raw blood floating in the
wind, but it was enough. He shook his head and leapt to his feet, catching the
keyblade up as he went. He sprang through the meadow, over the brush that marked
its edge, and into the woods, heels kicking high.
He ran like a
hart.
The instinct of a fighter took over, sharpening his senses,
deciphering the wicked muttering of a now live forest. They told him to turn
back, to climb, to fly away from it all, to hide. He didn't hide.
Instead
he raced forward, following the taste of carnage, jumping over the low brush and
roots that always seemed to be in his way. And for the first time he heard the
noise that had roused him clearly. It was some sort of panting howl, full of
hate and fury, mixed with the softer more human sound of terrified
screams.
Sora ran faster.
~~~~~~ The dark wolf snarled, face
twisting almost comically, and pawed at its muzzle. A long black tongue lolled
between parted jaws and twisted up, wrapping around the injured nose. Licking
off the blood.
No one had ever kicked it in the face before. No one had
ever been fast enough, no one had ever been lucky enough. Usually the attack was
over in seconds; the wolf would leap out from under a bush, destroy or steal the
weapon and be back in an instant, ripping across its victim's chest, lapping up
the dark heart blood as the face contorted and the body cooled. Even those that
somehow managed to stumble a few steps would find themselves borne down in a
moment and then they could not fight.
This one, this boy, this
woodcutter, only managed a single step before it was in the air, but a second
before the wolf's leap would have smashed into him from behind, shattering his
vertebra, Lance tripped and fell. The dark wolf went over him, the deadly
strength bearing it a man-length past its mark. It turned the moment paw touched
earth and sprang again in the same second, but, for the first time, it was not
enough. Lancelot was powered by fear, which was much stronger than the absent
hunger that motivated the dark wolf and while the beast was in the air he had
also turned, kicking out at his assailant.
The steel-toed work boot had
smashed straight into the wolf's nose, sending blood spraying from its mouth and
nostrils, two teeth cracked. And still the boy was screaming.
With a howl
of rage the wolf leapt again, but this time there was little precision and its
damaged teeth glanced off the young man's thick skull, leaving deep puncture
wounds but no death.
Lance curled into a ball on the forest floor, knees
drawn up to his stomach and hands gripping the back of his neck, he was an
elementary schooler during an earthquake drill, huddled under his desk, only
this time it was real. This time the sky was actually falling.
The wolf
shook its head, spit and blood flew in the slight breeze and spattered against
the tree trunks. It circled its prey, calming down and feeling the amusement of
the situation. Seeing this soft little boy huddled on the dirt, his choked
sobbing howls filling the air. Feeling oddly generous, it padded up beside him
and sat by his head. Wolfy smile in place, it raised its bloody muzzle to the
sky and howled as well, harmonizing with its victim.
It was a
mistake.
~~~~~~
At first Sora only saw the man. He was lying in
the dirt, sobbing and screaming. Then there was movement, something darker in
the darkness turning, leaping, savage, snarling.
He felt a burning pain
in his arm and watched with disconnected horror as the black monstrosity slunk
back, a bit of his sleeve and a bit of his wrist in its mouth. In an instant the
thing had swung back to the trembling mass on the ground. Lance had been
struggling to stand, to help, to fight, or maybe just to run away and never look
back. In a breath he was brought down again, leg opened from knee to hip, red
muscle showing beneath torn skin.
Sora didn't gape for long; he raised
the keyblade and brought it down in a hard, fast stroke while the wolf's back
was to him. But at this point the adrenaline was burning faster in the wolf than
in the key bearer. It twisted around in a maniac pirouette and clamped its
deadly jaws onto the brightly glowing blade. In a moment the weapon was torn
from Sora's hands and tossed with a human's casualty into the underbrush. And it
smiled at him, eyes glowing yellow, its mouth blistered and burned.
It
lunged, almost leisurely, going for the throat, only to stop half way with a
strangled yelp like a startled puppy and wheel around, snapping at its own tail.
Three of Lancelot Lavender Lawrence's fingers flew into the brush. The other two
held on.
Woodcutters are heroes.
It was just a moment's reprieve.
The weak grip of two damaged fingers compared to the strength of an ancient dark
wolf is like an ant trying to hold up the world. It only lasts for a
breath.
The wolf shook and the blood slicked fingers slipped off its
tail, silently hitting the ground.
Sora found himself staring at teeth
again, but this time there was nothing leisurely or amused about
them.
Still, sometimes a breath is all it takes.
Sora had grabbed
his keyblade. He cast Firagra. Again, and again, and again.
This time it
was the wolf who screamed, beer yellow eyes widening in pained surprise as its
hackles burned away and the blisters in its mouth burst. Blood poured along its
tongue and its ears smoldered.
With a wild shriek it ran, tail between
its legs and the reek of burning fur clinging to its skin, back into the forest.
Foul smoke lingered in the air. It felt like an odd ending, all too
sudden.
Sora stared after it for a moment before shaking his head and
attending to more pressing matters, like the woodcutter lying on the ground
clutching his ruined hand. 'Are you alright?' sounded like a fairly stupid and
pointless thing to say, but Sora couldn't think of anything better, somehow 'Are
you going to live?' just seemed too impolite. Besides, the boy probably wouldn't
know the answer. "Are you okay?"
A choking gasp and weak nod answered
him. There was a moment of almost silence, of heavy rasping breath and pained
whimpers before: "I-I-I- Cou-could you, maybe, get the rest of my-my," he nodded
his head toward a bush. His eyes were huge and glassy, and the skin surrounding
them a damp white.
With a bit of a grimace Sora kneeled down and groped
under the bush, wincing slightly as he picked up the disembodied fingers. They
were still warm.
"May-maybe my mom can put them back," Lance said, his
voice was desperately hopeless and tears shined in the oversized eyes.
"Maybe..." He tried to stand, pushing up from the ground with his uninjured
hand, only to fall back into the dirt. "Th-Thank you."
It hurt to look at
him. He was only a few years older than Sora himself. Maybe 17 or 18, and lying
there in the dirt in the dark with half a hand and covered in sticky
blood.
Sora shook himself and walked up to the felled woodcutter, shyly
handing him his lost fingers. "Hold them to the rest of your hand, so that they
line up right. I might be able to fix it." His own injury would just have to
wait. He closed his eyes and cast Curaga. He really didn't know how well it
would work; he had never had to... reattach things before. He could feel the
healing power flow through him and the keyblade, could see the green light in
his mind, surrounding the woodcutter, replacing bone and muscle, knitting
everything back together, strong and healthy again. He waited for a moment
before cracking an eye to see how it had worked. He couldn't try again if it had
failed, his magic was tapped and all his things had been left in the
meadow.
Everything relied on this one spell.
Lance was sitting up,
his face still pasty but registering absolute amazement. Sora watched as he
gingerly wiggled fingers that only a moment before had been dying under a
bush.
~~~~~~
Kairi felt unreasonably exhausted. Her arms ached and
she felt absolutely drained. Sure, she had run around all day, true, in the all
but blistering sun as well as spending a couple hours getting hit with a stick,
but that wasn't really out of the ordinary anymore. She really thought she would
have adjusted to her new life style by now, that it wouldn't wipe her out so
thoroughly. But then, maybe you never did. Maybe that's why Sora had always
seemed so lazy, falling asleep on the beach at every opportunity.
She
shook her head, trying to stop thinking about him. That was another thing that
she never seemed to adjust to. No matter how tired, or busy, or happy she was,
she always ended up thinking about them. Every road, every train of thought
seemed to lead back to one or both of her missing friends.
She had never
really realized how much a part of her life they had been. Oh, she knew that she
loved them, possibly even more than her own family, and she knew that she never
wanted to lose them, but she hadn't realized how much she loved them, or how
much of her they would take with them if they ever left.
When she lost
her heart Sora had found it and kept it for her. She knew that, but somehow she
had thought that when he freed it, it would be her's again to keep. She never
imagined that he would still take it with him. But somehow he had.
With a
tired sigh she drew the blinds and collapsed onto her bed. She dreamed about
heat and pigeons.
~~~~~~~
Sora's things were not, as he had
thought, resting peacefully, and uselessly, in the meadow. No, in actuality,
they were moving at a rather brisk pace down the path. Away from
him.
Well, some of them at least.
Anti Sora idly swung the
knapsack back and forth. Every now and then he tossed it in the air and caught
it again. Well, most of the time he caught it again. Occasionally it hit the
ground with a faint tinkling, but the bottles of potion and been carefully
padded with Sora's jacket, which had also been left on the little
hill.
Anti Sora had rediscovered the meadow after leaving the shack in
disgust. His master had been in a pissy mood and getting blood all over the
place and the doppelganger had been beginning to worry that he might be called
upon to actually do something. So he had vacated the scene in favor of a brisk
walk through the forest. He would rather mess with annoyed heartless than deal
with Riku in poor mood. It was only a little bit later that he had seen the
bright flashes of light coming from up ahead. They had been weak but
recognizable, and Anti Sora had headed toward them, hoping for something
exciting, like a battle, or a barbeque.
He had been disappointed. By the
time he had reached the little meadow the keyblade boy was gone. He had left
behind his backpack and few other odds and ends but nothing particularly
interesting. Still, Anti Sora dumped out the bag and poked around; it was then
that he had noticed the potions and an the accompanying moral
dilemma.
His master needed potions. Riku's magic was past drained. In the
last world jump he had dipped into his life force for the extra energy needed to
travel shipless. So there was no way that Riku could heal himself, his magic
wouldn't be strong enough for days, meanwhile, the cough was getting worse and
his breathing had gone from raspy to labored. Willpower had kept him going thus
far, but it couldn't make dead men walk. And very soon that's exactly what he
would be.
So Anti Sora was left with a choice. Take the potions back to
his master and have him live, or save himself the trouble of carrying the weight
and appearing subservient and let Riku handle the problem himself. He chose
option one, mainly because there was just the slimmest possibility that if Riku
died then the heartless went with him, and Anti Sora wasn't prepared to rejoin
the darkness just yet. Still, he didn't exactly exert himself; he just packed up
a couple mega potions and an ether and headed back to the shack. He hoped the
silver haired egotist was grateful.
~~~~~~~
The shadow was also
worried about its master, although its feelings were much more sincere. Riku had
fallen asleep, sprawled out on the dusty floor of the cottage, one arm curled
carefully around his stomach, the other lying on the keyblade. He twitched
occasionally. His brow was furrowed and his mouth was tight, making him look
terribly worried or dismayed. Every now and then he would shift, hand gripping
the keyblade so hard that his knuckles went white. When he relaxed again the
imprint of the hilt was pressed clearly into his hand.
Once or twice the
keyblade had even appeared to be accumulating power. The edges would glow and
there would be a low hum, it would stop after a minute or so, and the key would
slowly fade back to its usual silver color.
The shadow was afraid that
Riku would cast a spell in his sleep, it was afraid that he was responding to
some sort of danger, it was afraid that he would never wake up.
Shadows
don't have magic. They don't keep items. They're the weakest of the heartless,
the canon fodder, sent in first, called back last; expendable. They don't even
carry weapons. They fight with their claws and jump up from the floors and then
they're hacked to bits and no one really misses them because you can't tell one
from another and there are just so damn many of them. Like ants.
It
couldn't heal its master. Anti Sora had enough power to do it, just enough, but
it would be difficult and a little painful for him so he had opted to slip off.
The shadow wasn't really expecting him to come back.
It didn't know what
to do.
Its antenna curled with worry, making question marks in the air.
It just didn't know what to do.
~~~~~~~
Sora grinned broadly,
life was once again good. He was lying sprawled out on a soft bed with a real
down comforter in the guestroom of Lance's house while a super-sized breakfast
was fried up for him.
The woodcutter's mother was a little scary, but an
excellent cook. When the pair had finally stumbled onto the porch at midnight
she had been there, fury in her eyes and knitting in her lap. But after looking
them over she had silently gone inside and cooked them a large warm dinner,
before ordering one of the younger boys to put fresh sheets on the guest bed and
inspecting their injures. She didn't say a word about the keyblade, or Sora's
odd clothes, or the chipped iron axe head they had carried back, just hugged
them both, her eyes tear bright, and gave them extra blankets. Somehow she just
seemed to know.
There was a stifled giggle and then the bedroom door
burst open and two little girls and a littler boy tumbled into the room, across
the floor and onto the foot of the bed. Sora sat up, surprised.
"Are you
really a hero? Momma said you were," huge blue eyes looked up at him from
underneath soft blonde lashes.
Sora blushed pink, grinning sheepishly,
"Um, sorta. I fight monsters sometimes."
"Wow," true awe.
The boy
cocked his head to the side, thick black hair falling into his eyes, "do you
have a sword?"
"Uh, yeah, sorta. Its this." he lifted the keyblade from
where it sat propped against the bed.
"That's not a sword, that's just a
big key." The oldest of the girls rolled her eyes. "It doesn't even look
sharp."
"How do you know? You're not a hero," the other girl glared at
her sister. "Maybe it's a magic key." The boy suggested softly, "Maybe it
belonged to a giant or came from a dragon horde or something, then it wouldn't
need to be sharp."
"A giant's key? Yeah, it probably went to his cellar.
Or even more likely it's some novelty item. He probably got it at the
fair."
"He came back after dark! He has to be a hero. Besides, Momma said
so." His blonde defender snapped, before turning and smiling at Sora, blushing
slightly. "Do you fight lots of-"
"Hey!" Another boy, the one who had
prepared Sora's bed the night before, leaned into the room. "It's time for
breakfast!" He glared at his siblings. "So that's where you three are. Mary,
mom's gonna get you, you were supposed to set the table."
The oldest of
the girls shrugged. Obviously she was going through an early rebellious phase.
She looked to be about 10, had black hair to match her younger brother's, regal
bearing and a royal sneer obviously in the last stages of production.
The blonde girl gently nudged Sora, getting his attention. "I'll show
you dining room." She took his hand and smiled.
Sora smiled and followed
her.
~~~~~~
It was the sun that woke her. It was shining
cheerfully through the window and directly into her face. Kairi yawned and
stretched, rolling away from the early morning brightness. It was too early to
get up. Still, it wasn't long before the heat and the hunger got her out of bed
and dragging her feet into the kitchen.
Her mother was furiously
scrambling eggs. A sign that you really didn't want to approach her. Her father
was sitting on a stool and reading the paper.
"Hey, Dad?" She paused and
he raised his head, "Wheredidwecomefrom?" She almost winced in anticipation. She
hadn't asked that question in years.
Her mother stiffened at the stove
and her father hesitated, setting down the paper. "Why do you want to know?" His
voice was gentle.
"I just, I just want to know where I come from, I want
to know my heritage, I guess, my culture." She wanted to know who she was. "I...
I just," a shrug, "want to know."
Her father nodded, her mother left the
room. "We come from an island east of here." He stood up and crossed the
kitchen, clicking off the stove and lifting the egg skillet onto another burner.
"There was an earth quake, and a terrible storm. Part of the land fell into the
sea. People died. The storm was incredibly strong, but not terribly large, and
entirely centered on the land. The beaches flooded. Your mother and I, and many
others, went to the boats. The storm destroyed many of them early on. Ours
included. So all we could do was sit in the life boats and float away from each
other, praying that the storm would end, praying that we would find land. And
we, at least, did. Our boat landed here. On this island. So here we stayed." He
smiled sadly at her, carefully moving eggs from pan to plate. "Your mother
doesn't like to talk about it. She likes to imagine that it never happened, that
we've always been here and that these people have always been our friends and
family. Our only friends and family." He passed her a plate. "The island is
completely gone now. The mayor sent out a few people to look for it, and for
survivors. Neither were found."
Kairi poked at her eggs. "Why didn't you
ever tell me? Why's it always been some big secret?" She looked up, into her
father's blue eyes.
He shrugged. "You didn't need to know. After all, you
didn't remember anything. And your mother didn't want to have to think about
it."
"But... But this is my history. Shouldn't I have
known?"
"Why? What does it matter? It doesn't change you. You know,
people always talk about blood being thicker than water. About the past catching
up. Like that's supposed to mean something. What are you supposed to do about
it? Blood is thicker than water, I suppose, in a literal sense, but what does
that mean? Blood doesn't mean anything more than you want it to. And as for the
past, what happened once before might affect you again, but does that mean you
have to dwell on it? To think of nothing else? If you don't leave it behind you,
then where do you put it? In front of you? In the middle of your life?" He
shrugged again, and paused to take a bite of eggs. "Your history, it doesn't
really matter, it shouldn't change who you are. But, in case it does, in case
you want it to," he smiled at her across the table. "Now you know."
