Caution: If you have not read the second chapter, or if you have and don't remember it, please go back and read or reread it. This part connects with that one.
Song of Feet
I am human.
I sing that declaration with all that I am. I am human. I shout it in my biggest voice even though there is no one and nothing but rock to hear me. I am human.
This stone threatens me, and not for the first time I wonder why I chose this path. I have the talent, I could be a summoner and command these Fayth. So why am I becoming a Fayth instead? Aeons are bestial things, if my impression of Yunalesca's summonings is correct. I am not bestial. I am human. If I repeat it enough, maybe I won't become an animal when this rock absorbs my soul. These thoughts of mine, carefully trained to stay on course, burst out and scatter, so I have to wander and pull them in one by one, so I could place them in this statue, and if I examine them enough, maybe I will understand.
My most recent memories I gather first, the immediate events that placed me on this island lake temple, with nothing but a stone to give my last words to. I am sure that everyone in Spira knows of the Lady Yunalesca's pilgrimage and her setting of a tradition that will last to the end of time. Certainly everyone in this small town of Macalania knew, and when she gathered us in the main plaza asking for volunteers, hands waves and thrashed above the crowd begging for their owners to be chosen. None of them were mine, but when Yunalesca said that she would have to think about her decision, her gaze was on me and me alone.
Macalania always had a temple, no new one would be erected to honor the summoner's journey, but rather the old one would be converted from the worship of the Ice Goddess to the worship of Yu Yevon. As an acolyte of the Goddess, I resided in the temple, saying my last goodbyes to tradition for the inevitable sacrifice. Yunalesca sought me out there and cornered this poor woman. For some odd reason she seemed to have this idea that of all the people in Macalania, only I could serve as the Fayth of this temple.
I disagreed at first, even if I see it as inevitable now. Honor and glory were never what I wanted in life; my time as an acolyte was spent as a nurse for the wretched, the ill, and the foreign soldiers who defended Macalania from Bevelle during the war. That's as far from glory as a priestess-in-training can get. Nor am I the one for self-sacrifice. Those I've helped and tended, I did for duty and the eventual promise of a reward, not because I honestly cared. Caring is for the soft-hearted, the warm-hearted, and I was neither of those. Not particularly. Not at all.
We are all born for something, I believe. Born with certain characteristics that make us who we are, just like one might be born with blue or brown or swirly green eyes. Some people are born to love, to be loved, for love. I'm not one of those people. I was born on the fringes of the community, grew up the outcast, turned to the temples so that I could live how I wanted: alone and to myself. I was born for solitude and for duty. Duty is the reason I considered this position after Yunalesca showed me why of all the people in Macalania, all the lovers, the fighters, and the one's who would do this willingly, it was the most reluctant who had to become the Fayth.
All Aeons are people, even if their form gives the impression of mythical beasts. Through summoning those Aeons, Yunalesca showed me that. Valefor was gentle, graceful, calm and serene when Yunalesca summoned her. Ixion was wild yes, but when he had run that restlessness off, he trotted up proudly and imperially stood by Yunalesca's side. Ifrit... Ifrit was angry, powerful, and when I looked into his eyes, I didn't just see the impression of the man he used to be or the beast he became, but recognition. He knew me; I knew him, and for a time we stared at each other. In the border of a scene of woman and beast staring into the other's eyes, Yunalesca watched, patient and still, knowing that her victory required no more work than keeping this Aeon out and letting me know him.
The Aeon itself snapped and raved at me at first, struggling against the invisible ties that kept him from harming me. Claws scratched the temple floors where his limbs flailed, raising one of the most teeth-grinding noises I have ever had the displeasure of hearing. Still and silent, I watched, so transfixed on that rage that I never considered safety. Of course, as ready to attack as he might be, he was still unable to act without the word of a summoner, and Yunalesca waited so stoically and gave no command but that he let me see him.
Yes, I knew the man inside this animal, and somehow I knew I created this form of his. How many times did I call him an animal? How many times have I scorned him to prove to some imaginary audience that I never cared? How many times did I stand unresponsive to his touch to prove that I never needed him? And yet...how many times did I come back and make myself available for him?
I remember those months on the battle field, he the soldier, I the nurse. I remember those feelings, repressed for so long that expressing them seemed so unnatural, so painful to feel them come out, and yet feeling more complete for doing so. And yet...when we parted, I still hurt because I could no longer accept the solitude I still believe so strongly is my only birthright. How deeply I regret those times, but not for the reasons people imagine when they find out that the coldest woman in Macalania regrets a love affair. I never regretted my involvement with that soldier; I regret the doubts I had.
He and I together forever would have been impossible. We had different values, our ways of living different as a regimented northern town is different from a carefree southern island. A war can connect the places for a few sweet months, years if the world is unlucky. A storm, natural or man made, can force almost any two people together, but all storms must end. What is vital during the storm becomes unbearable in the clear light of the sun and moon. Those months on the Bevelle-Macalania front were the storm we caught each other in, but the sun always threatened to appear over the horizon even before Sin ended everything. And in the end, that wild southerner and I could never suit. He belonged in the warmth just as much as I belonged to the snow. Foreseeing that parting, I tried resign myself, tried to lock myself away, to never imagine what my future might be like, could be like, would be like, except that it could never change from how I'd gone on before I met him.
Those doubts were reasonable, always reasonable. They were also wrong. I could have asked him to stay up here, could have told him who I was, could have summoned up the courage to fight my weakness, if only I hand known what I had learned from looking at this pitiful creature he became. Thoughts snapped into place and I approached the raging Ifrit, much less afraid than I had the right to be. I created him months ago. Always, I mocked him, compared him to the animals and fiends that roamed the forests, just as he used to accuse me of being frozen. Can it be a coincidence that he chose a form so close to what I accused him of being? Logic says no.
Drawing closer to him, I watched as his frenzy increased momentarily and then died out completely when I placed a hand against him and touched my head to his chest, and let my tears flow into his fur as everything became as clear as a winter night. He did this, not because of the anger I drove him towards, not because of my accusations, my insults, or my last triumphant tirade, but because he wanted to see me, one last time. Witnessing that dedication now, why could have I not put my faith into him back when we could have both been happy?
The beast the fought and scrambled to attack stood still for me, and even appeared to return my embrace somehow as Yunalesca dismissed him and turned to the crying me. "Do you understand why it is you? Why you must be the Macalania Fayth?"
Honestly, when the tears dried, I didn't quite understand. Now that I knew what had happened to the one I could give up solitude for, I could see the possibility of being with him again. If only I could be a summoner. Doubtless, I had the aptitude, the connection with the temples, and the training to become one. Yunalesca herself is searching not only for Fayth, but for those who will learn the summoners arts, either to defeat Sin or to train future generations of summoners. Why sacrifice myself to a stone, when I could do important works as a human?
I asked that of Yunalesca, and I learned the core of the summoner's art.
A Fayth is nothing but their song, and their song nothing but the story that they will tell every summoner to ever step into their chamber. Every song is the same tune, with the same lyrics, but the voice always differs, and the singer will always convey a different meaning with their words. That is why the ones designated to become Fayths cannot do it for some imagined glory. History will forbid the writing of our names and our stories because our memories belong only in the heart of a summoner, not in the pages of a book. When summoners pray for a way to defeat Sin, they volunteer to carry our stories. "Weapons cannot save the world from Sin," Yunalesca said, "only memories can."
Ifrit and I have shared memories: Two sides to the same tragic story, the ones who committed two fatal errors. His story, probably told with the same gusto with which he did everything else was powerful, I was certain. Why else would Yunalesca choose him? Alone though, it was a tale of a lover scorned. Together with me though, it could become perhaps something more, a tale of two opposites, loving and doubting each other, sacrificing what they valued and not realizing what they had stolen in return. And then, for each other, ultimately giving up life and death just to have one last chance at a connection. At least, that's what I hope they glean from this.
This is why I have to become the Fayth of Macalania, so I can complete that story I wrote during my time as a woman: the one about the two lovers that will never really live for my doubts. I am human, though. No forced circumstances will take that away from me. This temple used to be dedicated to the local patron goddess, the goddess of ice. It seems a shame that the Macalanians will have to give her up to help fight an enemy that will most likely not attack this inland village. I shall take her name and her form.
I feed my thoughts to the cold marble beneath my hand, and I feel myself starting to freeze. The chill air blows through even my heavy robes, but it is only for a moment that I feel discomfort, for sensations grow distant as my being merges into the stone to carve out my new shape. Externally, my expression will remain solemn forever, but internally, I smile, satisfied that I shall forever be human.
Oh, but I'm not done thinking yet. I have one last thought, one more request of every summoner who will journey. I can no longer convey anything but through your will, so you will have to deliver this message for me:
Tell him, tell Ifrit, that Shiva loves him.
Author's Note: No, this isn't really a story in itself. Shiva's story is the other side of Ifrit's story, and so telling it twice would have been redundant. Also, I think it's important to explain why the Fayth have to tell their stories to the stones. I hope this does not contradict with the canon as much as it meshes with what's been given. Having the woman who is the Shiva Fayth encounter the Ifrit Aeon accomplishes this, I hope.
On a more technical note, this has turned into a main project of mine, so expect some regular updates. There are definitely two more parts, one from the viewpoint from Bahamut, and the other from Zaon. These will complete the stories of Yunalesca's original pilgrimage across Spira. If there's a request for more beyond that, or I just happen to feel like writing more, there will be 5 more parts detailing events happening after the original journey, detailing Yojimbo, The Magus Sisters, Anima, Jecht, and finally Yunalesca.
Any feedback is welcomed.