The sun fell over Luca as Liss knocked on Paine's door. She turned around to admire the view: clouds catching fire over the blitzball stadium, the lamps around the town squares being lit for the night.
"Pretty, huh?"
Liss started at the sound of her cousin's voice -- she hadn't heard the door open behind her. "Yeah. I wish I had this view, but my room's on the wrong side. You can see it from your office, too, right?"
Paine crossed her arms and leaned against the door frame. "I wouldn't have it any other way. Something about looking out at the world down below you... it's the best way for me to think, or get some peace. Always has been." She smiled up at Liss. "Funny, isn't it, considering my hometown? No splendid panoramas on the Moonflow."
"Oh, but it's so beautiful there! I camped there one night on my way here. The pyreflies... I'd never seen anything like it."
"True." Paine straightened. "Come on in; dinner is just about ready."
Liss followed Paine through the open door into an austere living room, furnished only with a white couch, a wooden rocking chair, and a black and gray rug lying in front of the fireplace. Not a thing was out of place. The kitchen was on the other side of a bare counter and was similarly plain, although polished copper pots hanging on the wall over the cooking stove made the whole room gleam. The other spot of color was the man in the kitchen. He wore a multi-colored long vest over a white shirt and gray pants, and a shock of pure white hair was pushed up and out of his deeply tanned face by a sky-blue headband. He placed the basket of bread he was carrying on the table, then came over to greet the women as they entered.
"Liss, this is my husband Baralai," said Paine as he reached out and took Liss's hand. "Baralai, meet my cousin, Lissira."
"Welcome, Lissira, to Luca and our home," Baralai said as he bowed.
"Thank you. Please call me Liss; everyone does."
"Of course." He straightened with a smile and released her hand. "Take a seat; I'm just serving up the stew now." She did as she was bid. Paine pulled out a heavy earthenware pitcher and poured some water into the glass by Liss's place, then set a bowl of a thick soup in front of her. Liss inhaled the rich, meaty aroma. "This smells great," she said, picking up her spoon. "Did my mother teach you to cook?"
Paine laughed as she took her own seat next to Liss. "Are you kidding?" she said. "I can barely boil water. Pouring your drink and slicing the bread was about all I contributed to this meal. Save your thanks for Baralai; he's the chef around here. I eat in the mess hall when he's in Bevelle."
Baralai sat down across the table from Liss and passed her the bread. She took it with her free hand, but the mention of Bevelle had rung a bell. "Wait," she said, "you're Councilor Baralai? From Bevelle?"
"He is," said Paine. She cocked her head to the side. "I thought you knew."
Liss shook her head. She put down the bread basket, then looked back and forth between Paine and her husband in awe as she laid the spoon back on the table. "Gee. You're one of the most powerful people in Spira!"
Paine chuckled dryly. "High Councilor Winn might take issue with that statement."
"As would Cid. Not to mention the Praetor, and General Lucil." Baralai shook his head. "Don't be too impressed, Liss. I spend most of my days in boring meetings listening to people complain. And I don't really have any more influence than anyone else on the council -- pissed too many people off back in my New Yevon days." He dunked a slice of bread in his bowl.
Picking up her spoon, Liss stirred her stew thoughtfully. "It's just odd," she said. "All day, I've been meeting legends -- Lady Yuna, Sir Tidus, both of you. This morning, I was just some girl from a farm. And now I'm sitting in the kitchen of the former Praetor of New Yevon, eating his homemade stew? It's a lot to take in."
"Better get used to it," said Paine. "People will start treating you like a legend yourself, once it gets out whose daughter you are. And it will get out, after that scene on the Highroad today."
Liss cast her gaze down to the table. "I'm sorry about that. Maybe I shouldn't have said anything."
Paine reached over and touched her hand. "I'm glad you did." Liss raised her eyes and saw that her cousin was smiling, a look of quiet happiness on her face. "It's nice to have family again."
Liss smiled back. "Thanks," she said softly. Then a worrisome thought occurred to her, and she pulled back her hand. "Oh. Your relationship to my father is going to become public, isn't it?"
Paine shrugged. "Not much I can do about it now. But it's okay. It's wasn't a secret, really; I just didn't talk about it."
Baralai made a strangled noise and raised an eyebrow at his wife. "Oh really? Paine. You didn't even tell me until after we were married! And the next time you told anyone was, what, today?"
She shot him a glare, then cracked a grin, chuckling. "Okay, it was a secret. But it doesn't matter so much anymore. I didn't tell people at first because I didn't want anyone to think I was trying to ride my uncle's coattails. Then it got to be a habit -- how could I tell Yuna, especially, after keeping it quiet all these years? Really, I'm actually kind of relieved that the truth is out."
"Huh," said Liss, thinking of Maura's teasing about famous family. Maybe she'd only been half joking. "It never occurred to me that people would assume I'm trying to get special treatment."
"It's true, they might. But you can't control what people will think," said Baralai. "All you can do is your best. Then you'll deserve everything that comes your way, and no one will be able to say anything about it." He grinned. "Now eat! The stew is getting cold."
Obediently, Liss took a spoonful. "This is amazing!" she said. "Almost as good as my mother's."
"That's high praise," Paine reassured Baralai. "I don't remember a whole lot about Auntie Relle, but I do remember her cooking." She turned to Liss. "Is she still making that fabulous bread?"
Liss nodded through a mouthful of stew. "And her spiced porridge. Do you remember that?" Paine smiled at the memory. "She's tried teaching me to make it, but I don't have her magic touch."
"Sounds familiar," said Paine. "I remember this time she wanted to show me how to roll out dough..."
"Brr." Kinoc pulled the collar of his dark gray cloak up against the wind that whipped through the outdoor corridors as we walked back to our room after an all-day sword session. We were both dressed in the lightweight blue uniforms that signified our status as trainee warrior monks; they were great for sparring but no use against the cold of this impending storm. The cloaks helped, but I hadn't thought to grab mine when I'd left that morning.
I rubbed my gooseflesh-covered arms in a vain attempt to warm them and glanced at the sky. "Let's hurry -- looks like it could start pouring any second." My prediction immediately came true as a single drop of rain splashed on my nose. It was followed by a second, then a deluge.
Kinoc looked around through the downpour. "Over there," he said, pointing down the long corridor to a door at its end, and we sprinted in the direction he'd indicated.
"Please be unlocked," I muttered as I grasped the handle, my fingers numbed by cold and slick with rain. It was, and I pushed my way into the dark room, Kinoc on my heels. He shut the door behind us, then shed his cloak and started shaking it out. I took my hair down from the topknot I had taken to wearing and squeezed it, a sheet of water falling to the floor. Then I checked out our surroundings.
"Where are we?" I asked, hugging my arms around myself as I shivered. The room was huge, largely empty, and poorly heated. I could see paintings hanging on the walls, but most of the lamps were unlit; it was too dim to make out any of their subjects.
"Hey, you must be freezing. Here." Kinoc threw his cloak, now only somewhat damp, over my shoulders. I shot him a grateful look and wrapped it around my drenched body as he walked away. I heard a flint strike behind me, and a moment later he reappeared, holding a lantern. "Found this by the door," he said. I held my hands up to the panes in order to warm them as we walked over to one of the paintings. He lifted the lantern toward the image, and we took it in.
It was a portrait. The subject was a man of middle years, judging by the streaks of white in his light brown hair. He wore a midnight blue coat that fell nearly to his ankles and a forbidding expression on his lined face. In his right hand, he held an enormous sword, tip resting on the ground. His other arm was cradled in the folds of his coat, as if it were in a sling. There was a small plaque at the bottom of the frame, and Kinoc leaned forward to read it.
"'Sir Wendal.' Oh, I know where we are! This must be the Hall of Guardians." He straightened to look at the other paintings. "These are all portraits of legendary guardians. Look, the next one is Lord Zaon."
I glanced at it, but I found myself drawn back to the image of Sir Wendal. We'd all grown up hearing the story of Zaon and Yunalesca, of course. But this man I'd never heard of, and I told Kinoc as much.
"He survived a pilgrimage," said Kinoc. "Which qualifies him for this hall almost by itself -- he's one of the few people in here who might actually have been able to sit for his portrait. He was guardian to High Summoner Morain, maybe 300 years ago. Sin was defeated, and Lord Morain's other guardians didn't return, but Sir Wendal did. He spent the rest of his life as a lone warrior, defending villages from fiends and Sin. In his later years, other summoners begged him to guard them, but he always refused -- said he'd rather serve the people of Spira. He was a great hero."
"How did he fight with only one arm? That's a two-handed sword for sure."
"Oh, his arm wasn't injured. He wore his coat that way to signify that his leader was dead. It's a tradition from some ancient warrior cult, much older than Yevon."
"Huh." We stood in silence for a moment before I turned to look at Kinoc. "How do you know all this, anyway?"
"I pay attention during history lectures, unlike some people," he responded, poking me in the ribs. I chuckled; it was not a charge I could deny. "No, actually, my dad likes the story of Sir Wendal. It's a lot more dramatic the way he tells it, though." Then his voice turned serious. "Would you be a guardian?" he asked.
I considered the question. "You know, I've never really thought about it. Guarding a summoner is an incredible honor, of course. But to spend months journeying? I don't know. I guess it would depend on the summoner, whether I believed in him or her. I can't follow just anyone." I looked around the room again -- I was able to see through the dimness now, and I could just make out the faces of the men and women whose portraits decorated the hall. Almost without exception, their expressions showed a mixture of pride and sadness. It occurred to me then how hard it must be, putting so much effort into keeping your summoner alive on the pilgrimage, when the hoped-for outcome of the journey is his or her death.
I shook my head sharply to derail this maudlin train of thought. "How about you?"
"Well, we might not have much of a choice, you know," said Kinoc. "If a summoner doesn't have a personal guardian, sometimes the temples will assign a warrior monk or two. High Summoner Pala's guardian was a friend of my father's, sent on the journey by the Maesters. But if they asked me? Yeah, I'd do it, gladly. If nothing else, I've always been really curious to see Zanarkand."
I shivered, and not from the cold this time. "The city of the dead? I don't know if I'd be so eager about that."
Kinoc raised the lantern toward the painting again, almost in salute. "Sir Wendal saw it and lived to tell the tale."
"I suppose." My thoughts started turning from legends and guardians to my empty stomach. "Do you know the way out of here? If we stand around much longer, we're going to miss dinner."
He made a face. "Not that there's much to miss. How long until we go back into town?"
"Two more weeks, I think. But I'm not waiting that long to eat."
Kinoc laughed. The cheerful sound echoed through the hall, out of place in this dark and mournful room. "Okay. Unless I've gotten turned around, the exit should be that way." He moved to leave, and I turned to follow him.
We had taken about three steps when a door at the other end of the room opened. It admitted two warrior monks carrying lanterns, followed by Maester Brac.
"You there!" called one of the monks. We froze. "What are you trainees doing here?"
The Maester stilled his guards with a raised hand, then walked over to us. I had seen him upon occasion around the temple complex, observing a class or visiting the mess hall, but I had never come face-to-face with him before. Intensely embarrassed by my disheveled state -- recently drenched to the skin, wearing a cloak about six inches too short for me, my damp hair hanging in clumps down my back -- I traced twin arcs with my arms, brought my hands together in front of me, dipped my knees, and bowed more deeply than I ever had before. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Kinoc doing much the same.
"You may rise," said the Maester.
I straightened but still couldn't bring myself to meet his eyes. "Apologies, your grace," I said. "We were caught in the storm and sought refuge here."
"Don't fret, my son. This hall is open to all seekers; you have done nothing improper. Auron, isn't it? And you must be Kinoc."
I looked straight into his face, shocked that the Maester knew our names, then remembered my manners. "Yes, your grace."
He smiled kindly. "I make a point of learning all the trainee monks' names. You have chosen to serve Yevon as well as myself; knowing who you are is the least I can do in return. But I must say, the two of you are developing quite a reputation."
Kinoc and I exchanged a swift glance. I could see the question in his eyes: A reputation for what?
Something good, I hope, I telegraphed in response.
The Maester noticed our silent exchange and let out a soft chuckle. "Kinoc, I have heard many highly favorable reports regarding your agility and grasp of tactics as well as your ability to soak up knowledge." He turned those knowing eyes back to me -- my initial impression that they missed nothing was even stronger up close. "And Auron, you are already being talked about as a candidate for best swordsman of your generation. A bit premature, perhaps, after not even two months of training, but I have watched you during drills, and your raw talent is impressive."
It took all my poise to keep my jaw from dropping at such praise. The Maester had watched me drill? Best swordsman of my generation? Me? Surely he was exaggerating.
Kinoc recovered first. "Thank you, your grace. We both look forward to completing our training and using our skills in service to you and to Yevon."
"Yes, thank you." I quickly bowed again.
Maester Brac accepted our thanks with a slow nod, then continued. "Perhaps most interesting, though, are the rumors that the two of you have formed a partnership of sorts. To my mind, this may be your greatest achievement so far. Forging alliances will serve you well on the field and is the best way to rise through the ranks of the warrior monks. Your decision to work together, to choose a comrade whom you trust and whose skills complement your own, shows an understanding of battle and Bevelle politics well beyond your years." He smiled again, and bowed to us. "Kinoc, Auron, continue as you have been. Yevon is with you, and I will be watching. Gibson!"
One of the two warrior monks -- the one who hadn't yelled at us earlier -- hastened to his side. "Yes, your grace?"
"Please show these two trainees the shortcut to the barracks. Dinner is soon, and they will want to change from their wet clothing first."
"Aye sir. You two, with me." We followed him, but I could not resist a quick glance back at the Maester, who walked in the opposite direction with his other bodyguard. So, he would be watching. I wasn't sure whether to be excited or nervous.