Rose tinted dawn gave way to the crisp blue of midmorning as the sun drifted far above the horizon. Cold rays of white gold light languidly draped itself over the scenery, making the tiny town below look very much like the perfect picture postcard. The trek up the small hills behind her home was well known to her. At one time it had been a challenging climb and Tifa could remember taking each step up that hill as if it were her last. Zangan had given her weighted shoes for her training and this had added to the difficulty. By now she was used to the climb and the extra weight, barely breaking a sweat as she trudged up the hillside.
The once thick wall of snow had melted, making the way up a bit easier. Tifa almost missed the thick drifts. Not only because they were beautiful but because they made the climb harder. When she'd first started, she'd whined incessantly about how difficult everything was. As the months passed, she'd stopped complaining and just accepted the fact that sometimes you just have to work hard. Nothing comes without a price, after all. Now it had become important to her to test her physical limitations. Not only because it was something that Zangan felt was important for her training, but because it was they only way she felt she'd improve. And she wanted very much to improve. She was already a good martial artist but she wanted to be the best. Tifa had never liked being second banana.
The argument with her father had receded firmly into the back of her mind, though her thoughts did stray to the Shinra contingent that would arrive today. Almost in passing, as if skipping from thought to thought, she wondered if Cloud had made SOLDIER yet. Truthfully, she didn't really care if he did. Hell, she'd be happy if he came home as a Shinra regular. Just as long as he came home.
Things had changed. She had changed. Titles didn't matter to her and she didn't care if he was poor. Didn't give a damn if her life with him would mean she'd be poor too. As long as they were together, none of that crap meant anything. It wasn't about how great the rest of the world thought you were. Great men are a dime a dozen, you can find one on any street corner. A truly good man, a decent man...that is hard to find. Cloud was a decent young man and she didn't care what he did. She'd love him no matter what and had even said as much in her last letter. Well, it was really more of a hint than anything else, but the sentiment was there. Tifa had always been a bit awkward expressing her true feelings and deepest desires.
These mental meanderings wracked her brain and she nearly missed a telltale twig snap off to her left. Her reverie was abruptly broken and she was at instant attention. She froze, dark eyes narrowing as she carefully pivoted, shifting her gaze as she turned to take in the area surrounding her, looking for the source of that sound.
The hairs on the back of her neck stood up and she spun around quickly in anticipation of attack. Trusting her instinct, she shot her arm out to block a blow aimed at her head. With a flicker of her wrist she caught her attacker's arm, twisting the wrist around with her right hand and using her left to shove him away. Her attacker was quicker, capturing her left hand and with little effort, locking it. Tifa fought the pain in her wrist as he pushed it backwards beyond its capacity to move, and she was nearly driven to the ground.
Twisting to the side, she rolled her wrist out of his grasp and using the momentum; she spun around and elbowed him in the gut. He staggered backwards, giving the young fighter an appreciative look. Without thought, Tifa went on the offensive again. Flipping she hit the old man with a series of arcing kicks. For the most part he blocked them with little trouble, though a select few did get through.
The form of her fighting was beautiful to look at, her legs spinning like the wings of a butterfly, in constant motion, as her arms moved with them, her entire body in harmony with the quick movement of her chosen form. Just as she swung out a leg for a particularly impressive strike, he anticipated the move and blocked it. Crossing his arms and catching her ankle in his hands, with a simple push he sent her flying backwards. She landed on the ground with an annoyed grunt, glaring up at the man who'd attacked her.
"You rely on that move too often." He said slowly, his voice was deep, with a heavy Wutanese accent.
"Yeah, well normally it can't be blocked." She replied, pouting as he helped her to her feet. "How did you block it anyway?" She was curious, as that particular kick had been designed to hide within the flowery flow of the form itself, hidden by the constant motion of her arms and legs.
"Because I do not daydream," the older man said, giving Tifa a pointed glance as he said it.
Tifa winced, feeling a lecture coming on. Zangan had often lectured her about her lack of attention to the world around her. He had told her that she must learn to feel the wind around her, to see without eyes, to hear without ears. Snapping his fingers in front of her face, she jumped. Guiltily blushing that she'd been drifting off in her own mind again.
"Your attention must be here," he said, gesturing to the scenery about him. "Not in here." With this, he jabbed a finger at her head. "You must learn focus, Tifa. I followed you for a full twenty minutes before you noticed me. Such mistakes are fatal. We will work on concentration today."
Tifa nodded wordlessly and followed her sifu out to into a small practice range they'd built together near the cottage where he resided. He started her out on a basic warm up routine, one that he'd developed to perfection over the long years he'd taught. It was actually excruciatingly difficult and Tifa considered it harder than the actual practice sometimes. There were the basic stretches to get the blood pumping that wound into the actual warm up or as Tifa liked to refer to it, her morning torture session.
The first series of warm up routines were designed to improve balance. It started out where she balanced herself on a very slender bamboo pole that had been stuck in the ground. The surface area of the pole was such that she could only manage to put one foot on it, with difficulty. She'd stand on this pole and gradually weighted buckets would be added to her extremities. The first bucket was always on the foot that she held aloft. She had to hold it out perfectly straight and balance a large bucket filled with little iron balls. Next would be a bucket of the same iron beads added to the ends of a thin bamboo pole, held milkmaid style. The last bucket was set on top of her head.
But that wasn't even the real challenge. She was expected to balance all these buckets for a full hour, switching feet every five minutes without dropping a bucket and without loosing a single iron bead. If she did either, she'd have to start all over again. When she first started it had taken her a full day to master it, just barely. And then, the buckets had hardly been filled.
Now she had the exercise down to a science. Able to complete it flawlessly and the buckets were nearly full, almost to the top. She was sure that sifu would soon change the routine because she'd become too comfortable. He always did that once she showed marked improvement. On one hand she appreciated the challenge but on the other, she wouldn't mind things being occasionally easier. Or at least less painful.
The next step was strength training. This involved her repeatedly punching a ridiculously large block of wood, strengthened by an iron bar that had been inserted into its middle. Meaning she'd be unable to break it and it would make striking it hurt more. This would go on twenty minutes per hand. Twenty minutes per foot. She'd bloodied her hands the first time she tried that particular routine. Her knuckles had finally healed over and she had the nice, ugly calluses to prove it, though she noted with pride that her hands no longer looked so girly or delicate. They were the hands of someone who'd worked hard for something.
After that, she'd have to take a series of punches from her sifu to her stomach without wincing. When she first started he wore foam gloves but that was a thing of the past. Now he had weighted gloves that hurt like a bastard. But she endured it, besides the bruises had nearly healed. Lastly, she had to hit a specially made martial arts training dummy. It was made of oak but the 'arms' and 'legs' had iron caps placed on them. She'd strike her shins and her lower arms against it to build strength, to make her arms and legs as hard as iron. So far she wasn't as strong as her sifu in that regard, but she was getting better.
The last group of exercises were by far the worst, at least in her opinion. He made her do a series of push-ups. It seemed so innocuous. So easy. And when he first told her to do a push-up, she'd gladly bent down and prepared to do what everyone else in the world regarded as a push up. For this she received a thwap on the back from his bamboo walking stick. Most of the world did the push-ups military style. With hands laid flat on the ground, arms out straight, legs extended fully--on tiptoe but not so far as to make it overly uncomfortable. It was easy.
Nothing her sifu did was easy, she learned this very fast. His push-ups were a test of pain tolerance. They required that you have your legs extended fully, as in a regular push up, except that you had to go completely on tiptoe. Your feet could not lie flat, neither could your hands, she had to hold her entire weight on the tips of her fingers and toes. Lastly, her arms had to be held directly underneath her, elbows in. Making the weight distribution less dependant on her arms and more dependant on her strained fingers. Doing even one at the beginning was impossible. She'd worked herself up to ten complete push-ups. A feat she was proud of.
Again, this was not the end of it. It was only the beginning. She had to do ten of these with both hands. Then another ten with her left and another ten with her right, sometimes he'd mix it up and make her hold a bucket full of iron balls while she did it. He seemed to enjoy making her hold the things and she wondered sometimes if it was just a sadistic thrill. Like he enjoyed throwing impossible tasks her way and was just waiting for her to give up. He'd be waiting the rest of his life for because there was no way she'd throw the towel in. No matter how many damned buckets filled to the brim with iron beads he threw at her. She warmed up with little effort now, racing through his cavalcade of torment in two and a half hours without even breaking a sweat.
Next came the actual practice, which after the morning warm up could be a blessing or a curse. All depending on what he felt she needed to work on. It always started with a short period of meditation, to focus her mental energy. After that she'd jump into the formal practice of her chosen forms. The most prominent of her studies had been in the Southern Butterfly style. It relied heavily on the fast movement of her legs and arms. The form was meant to keep your enemy guessing by keeping your extremities in constant motion, relying heavily on powerful kicks and less powerful, but viciously fast punches.
Though he preferred to teach the northern Wutai art of wu-shu, which Southern Butterfly fell into, he had also shown her various techniques from other forms. Even from other disciplines all together. Delving into weapons training as well. Lately he'd been drilling her on a sword form that complimented Southern Butterfly. It was called White Phoenix and as a form, it was rarely seen much less put into wide spread practice.
In fact, very few modern martial artists believed it existed. It was a fairy tale, as believable as the old fables told about the ancients. It was said to be the perfect sword form, it was a form of relentless strikes that were devastatingly fast and powerful, making the one who used it a force to be reckoned with. Blows so powerful it was said to break lesser men's arms. The strikes were hard to block, if not impossible. The stuff of dreams or nightmares depending on how you saw it, and to some, it was best that it remained this way. It did exist and it had been taught to others, but only to those who were worthy of it.
A small sect of monks deep in the mountains of Wutai was the only place that still practiced it and rarely taught it to anyone, Wutanese or not. The temple was on the very peak of Mount Daichi'san, called the Academy of the White Crane, home to many secrets as deadly and as pure as the White Phoenix. Most people were unwilling to make the trek, even more unwilling to go through the hellish tests set by the monks to test the worth of future students.
There was in fact only one other foreigner that had ever been taught there. Zangan remembered this clearly, as he was the one to teach him. But that was of the past. This girl was the future and he looked forward to see how far she'd go. So he saw to it that she was constantly challenged. For her improvement she was rewarded with a change of routine.
Tifa knew something was up the minute she'd arrived at his cabin. He'd started her on a series of rather simple stretches. That was on the regular schedule and she did them as per usual. It was the way in which he'd asked her to do them. Zangan never asked her to do something, he told her. Normally he would bark commands like a military drill instructor and if she didn't immediately obey there were severe repercussions. Most of them involved a swift thwack from the bamboo walking stick. But he had asked her nicely this morning. With a please when she began and with a thank you when she finished. The ramifications of his change of attitude meant only one thing. That he had a truly horrible bit of training planned and this was his way of apologizing.
"Meaning no disrespect, Sifu. But what's going on..." Tifa asked cautiously, demonstrating as much respect in her tone as well as a hint of suspicion.
Zangan said nothing, merely smiling in his own quiet way. He clasped his hands in his Wutanese style tunic, eyes sparkling the entire time. Then he just stood there and studied her, letting her wait as punishment for her impatience. When he felt she waited long enough, he made a loud barking noise. Tifa jumped, nervously standing at attention, her arms held out in front of her. She stiffly pressed her left hand into her right palm and bowed low, snapping her arms to her side, before lifting her head up to look at her Sifu. With great authority, he approached her with measured steps. Standing before her, his crinkled eyes narrowed as if considering whether or not she was worthy of his time. Tifa lowered her eyes quickly and bowed again, knowing that it was an expected bit of respect, as much apart of her routine as her warm ups and the practice of her forms.
A student of Wutanese martial arts was expected to be knowledgeable, obedient, disciplined and modest. Zangan had rigidly enforced these rules, inventing a few of his own as well. It was believed that such rules built character and many non-Wutanese had trouble dealing with them. Outside Wutai, too much importance was put on the individual. There was little regard for the good of society, for working as a group. The good of the many over the good of the few, a fact that, much to Zangan's bitter disapproval, had not been cherished by Wutai's own leader -- The foolish Godo Kisaragi, whom Zangan spoke of often and with ill concealed loathing.
It was his hope to keep the spirit of the tenets given to Wutai by the Cetra themselves alive. If it could not be kept in practice at home, he would try to spread it abroad. But he found foreigners even more immune to it than Wutai's stubborn leader. After a very short time, he rarely took on new students, preferring to survive by his work in the lucrative field of monster hunting. It had been one of the reasons he'd come to Nibelheim in the first place. He managed to keep the monster population down in the area, but not enough to make a difference it seemed. It was then that he first met the Lockheart girl and saw her potential as a future student.
Indeed, it had taken Tifa some getting used to but she had adapted to the rules well. Remembering how hard she'd worked to get Zangan to take her on in the first place. It had practically taken an act of divine intervention; despite the fact that it was obvious he needed the money. He was gruff and rude to her. Stating that he felt females made bad students. Especially non-Wutanese female students. They were flighty and indecisive, a bad combination, he told her, unable to strike with any force because they hesitated.
The minute he said that, Tifa saw red. She never liked being underestimated. Especially if it was in such sexist terms, her being female had nothing to do with anything. She punched him in the stomach for his trouble. To this day she was unsure if he had let her punch him or if she'd landed the punch on her own. She had a sneaking suspicion it was a bit of both. After that, she followed him around. Whereever he went, she followed always demanding that he teach her. Even when he'd make as if to attack her, she'd fiercely stand her ground. Dark eyes clear, devoid of anything resembling fear. She'd always been agile and though she lacked skill, she was mostly able to dodge the stones he threw at her. Tifa grinned to herself, silently glad that those gymnastic classes she hated as a child had been good for something.
Finally came the day when he just gave up out of sheer frustration and accepted her as his new student. He was always hard on her. Tifa knew that it was because he expected a lot of her, not because he disliked her. Sometimes she felt as if he was tougher on her than any of his other students but in his stoic demeanor she detected a note of pride as he taught her. The occasional appreciative smile would flicker on his face and he'd make a pleased little grunt when she exceeded expectation. Which was often.
She expected of herself more than he did. She was by nature a perfectionist, setting insanely high expectations for herself. There was no point in doing something, she felt, if you didn't do it well. Less point in doing it if you didn't try your best and she was willing to push herself as far as it took to reach her own personal brass ring. Her goals were high and if she were to reach them, she'd never get there by half-assing it.
Zangan never knew where her determination came from and he didn't much care. He only saw a resolute martial artist, willing to give everything she had in pursuit of her art. The girl was disciplined and her willingness to do as told impressed him. Her grace, speed and strength added to the quality of her character were a combination that made for an excellent martial artist. She was his best student and he was proud to have the honor of teaching her.
Tifa waited with her arms held stiffly at her sides, watching her sifu as he paced back and forth. It was nerve-wracking and she wished that he would just get on with it. With nervous anticipation she stood there and thought of all the previous times he came up with spontaneous changes in the routine. He called them special practice routines. She hadn't given them a name yet, only despising the prospect of a new one when he felt like she wasn't progressing fast enough in one area. It was for the best, she knew, but it didn't lessen her hate of them.
Her sifu, seeing that he'd waited long enough to make her squirm, waltzed up to her with a bright smile on his face. He unclipped the wooden practice sword that rested in a sheath on his back. Throwing it, sheath and all, at Tifa, who caught it quite easily. Without waiting for instruction, she clipped the weapon on and waited. Surely, this wasn't the end of it. Another mysterious smile spread across his face and from the sleeve of his jacket he pulled out a long sash, whipping it out with a flourish as if he was pulling out a prize at the end of a magic trick. Tifa nearly groaned, holding it back because she knew to let it loose would result an increase in difficulty for whatever task he'd set ahead.
"Again?" She asked, trying to keep the uncertainty from her voice.
Zangan winked and started to walk off towards the mountain. This was as close to a yes as she'd get. With a sharp nod of his head, he indicated that she should follow. No words were necessary and Tifa followed without question.
A good twenty minutes later after a brisk hike, they arrived at their destination. The peak they'd arrived at was called the Devil's Backbone and Tifa knew the spot well. There were many who tested the long winding peak that crested and fell near the main peak of Mt. Nibel. It wasn't as dangerous as some of the others but it had its own reputation for breaking the bones of those fool hardy enough to climb her. Most of the non-fatal injuries incurred in these mountains were from those who tried to best this peak. Cloud had broken his arm in elementary school trying to climb the sheer walls of the Devil's Backbone. He'd done it to try and impress her. It had, but it had also worried her terribly.
Tifa looked up at it, eyes wide in alarm. The rock walls around the Devil's Backbone were dreadfully sheer, with hardly any handholds or footholds. Sweet Shiva. She wasn't afraid, she was petrified. This part of the mountain required a massive amount of equipment to climb and they had nothing but their own hands. Nothing at all. With horrifying clarity, she realized that he expected her to climb it bared handed. And just the other day she thought that he might run out of impossible tasks for her. While she stared and gapped, he wordlessly clamped himself into a harness. Testing the lines, he shoved the blindfold into her hands. She blinked a couple of times, watching her sifu as he effortless climbed up the slope like he was taking a Sunday stroll.
"You waiting for mountain to come to you?" He called after her, dashing up the rock face with easy grace.
Tifa scowled and glared at the sash in her hands. Her stomach sank at the idea of trying to climb a difficult peak blindfolded but she wouldn't endure his endless ridicule if she refused to do it. With a very deep breath, she approached the wall and readied herself. Clipping on the harness, she glanced up at the mountain, studying it for a few minutes before tying the sash around her eyes.
Her hand reached out and tentatively touched the wall, fingers searching above her until she found what she was looking for. A handhold. She pulled herself up and slowly began to climb. It was hard work, her fingers constantly scanning the rock for holds, all the while trying her best to find that inner world he told her of. That place where you could go to and see the world without your eyes. Where everything fell away and all that stood between you and creation was the limit of your own mortal soul. It was then that the rock struck her straight in her forehead. She lifted a hand up to her now bleeding hairline and grimaced.
"TOO SLOW!" Zangan shouted down to her, "I could do this all day. Gravity must hate you!"
Another rock whirled down at her and she only missed it by half an inch, twisting to her left to avoid it. Then another fell and another and another and another, until it seemed like it was raining stones and with the stones came a litany of slurs and taunts that were meant to motivate out of sheer irritation. She knew this but it didn't stop her anger from rising. As much as she tried to control it, it leapt forward and she knew she'd have to accept it or surrender to it.
Zangan had warned her about her quick temper and had taught her ways to control it. Unable to continue to tolerate his verbal assaults, much less the rocks he kept throwing at her, she focused her anger, drove it into a pinpoint as she reached out with her other senses. The rocks continued to fall. Sometimes she'd evade by pure luck but most found their mark. Zangan stopped for a moment, watching his student as she did as she was taught. He only hoped that this little exercise would finally work before pelting the girl with more rocks.
Her heart thudded in her chest like one of the enormous drums that were brought out and played on festival days. It beat a tune that the gods themselves could hear. Tifa struggled to find this place, struggled even harder to keep herself there. In the deep black, were all creation met and she could feel the world as it moved around her. Everything here was still and she was not. It was a part of her condition, a part of who she was. Nervous and unsure about herself and her place in the world, if she was still then she'd have to think about the past. If she were still, she'd have to think about how much she'd lost. Her mother. Cloud. If she were still, what else would she lose? But what would she gain?
Surrendering to her heartbeat, she let everything go and felt the stillness and accepted it. Her mind quieted, pushing away all useless thought and concentrated, letting the world seep in through the beating of her heart. Her breathing slowed, as did the world that gradually came back to her. The air stilled, the sounds, the feeling of the world rushed in and suddenly, she could feel it. Above, her sifu smiled to himself, glad that the girl had finally found her center.
A breeze stirred above her and she turned her head slightly, determining its position. It was coming closer. Closer....Closer....Clo... She could feel the air as it parted and with lightening speed, she withdrew the practice sword. Side swiping it, she knocked the stone her sifu had thrown at her away.
Multiple rocks fell and a small smile appeared on her face. Pushing off the wall with one foot, she twisted in mid-air, flicking the rocks away with short swipes of her sword. Another barrage flew and she swung left, then right, finally pushing off the wall again. Swinging out and away from the wall, preparing herself as she flipped and caught the wall with a hand. She batted away the rocks as they flew at her with increasing speed.
Planting her foot, she pushed off and up this time, using her powerful leg muscles to leap forward, allowing her to scale several feet in a matter of seconds. Flipping, she smacked away a few more rocks with her sword and spinning, she caught another with her foot. Lifting it up and out, letting it connect and sending it flying upwards, towards her sifu. Crazy old bastard....she thought to herself with increasing humor. She could hear the swish of his walking stick and knew that he'd sent it back at her.
What followed was a strange mid-air tennis match between walking stick and sword. Each leaped back and forth across the rock wall, sending the stone sailing back with determined strokes from their weapons. With a downward swing, Tifa nailed the stone, whipping it up, aimed for Zangan's head. He swiped sideways, knocking it back, aimed at her sword arm. She struck. Then he struck. Then she struck back. And all that could be heard was the hollow echoing chorus of stone striking wood.
A good twenty minutes went into this game and though both were enjoying themselves, it was hardly challenging anymore. Intending to end it, Zangan struck out with his staff with as much power as he could muster. Unbelievably, the girl not only dodged it but sent it flying back at him with such speed that he just barely managed to block it. He bent its trajectory so that it fell far to the left of him, thus ending the pleasant ping-pong match. Zangan was far from done, however.
The mid-air ballet began anew. She avoided the carefully thrown projectiles and formed a loose plan. She'd been on the defensive too long and was itching to take the fight to him. Four more stones fell and she spun, batting them away like they were nothing more substantial that flies. They pelted her sifu with surprising speed, hiding her true intent. The last was sent hurtling upwards with one powerfully precise stroke. It sailed at him with such speed that he barely had time to catch it one handed. Had he not been on the level he was, that last rock would have hit its mark with little effort...which seemed to be his head. He grinned a little. She was getting out her frustrations, which was good. The girl held in her emotions too much, she needed the release. The effort she'd made impressed him, that and her eerily precise aim. Her accuracy when blindfolded was almost better than without.
Tifa pushed herself to catch up with him and for a critical moment, her concentration wavered. A rush of wind blew back her hair, startling her back into attention. She just barely managed to dodge it before another blow nearly caught her in her stomach. Desperately, she blocked this one as well. Her sword just catching the cane before it slammed into her mid-section. The old man had descended on high, perhaps anticipating her attack.
She heard the swish of bamboo and swung her sword up, turning the wooden blade as the cane connected so that it batted his arm away, exposing his mid-section. Thrusting her sword forward, she was surprised when it met empty air. He'd flipped out of the way, behind her. She realized this too late to prevent the kick he landed on her back. Tifa grunted in pain as she went flying, her fingers digging into the solid rock for purchase.
Gaining control of her momentum, she swung back, blindly kicking and punching at her opponent. Zangan harumped in displeasure, and rewarded her inattention and bad form with several more brutal blows. One particularly nasty strike to her arm was sure to leave a bruise. Tifa shrugged the pain off, focusing on blocking his constant barrage of blows.
She pressed her hands against the rock wall and pushed herself off it, swinging her leg out, she kicked him. Hearing his attempt to recover himself by the scrabbling sounds of rocks falling, Tifa allowed a small smile, which dimmed shortly thereafter. He came at her again, cane raised and with impossible speed, he struck at her, the constant motion of the cane once again keeping her on defense. She was forced to constantly block blows that threatened to smack her in the face. He drove her upwards and she grimaced in frustration, wracking her mind for a move that would end his dominance of the fight.
There had to be a way to disarm him or at the least temporarily halt his flurry of strikes. She flipped away from him, landing a palm on the rock surface before going airborne again. Sheathing the sword, she decided to stop relying on a weapon she wasn't that good with anyway. She'd always preferred her fists. The close range would disadvantage her but if she could get close enough..
Tifa bounded around, never staying still enough for him to land a blow, moving just outside his striking range. She hoped to disorient him, experience told her otherwise but she could hope. Tifa moved upwards, darting over her sifu's head. She listened closely for the tell tale sound of bamboo, coming close enough for him to strike. She evaded two blows, a third caught the same arm that had been bruised before but she ignored it. Bamboo whistled and she caught his wrist and slammed it into the rock face. Not hard enough to break bone, but with enough force to knock his precious cane out of his hand. She felt, not so much as heard his dissatisfaction at losing his favorite weapon. Tifa wasn't concerned; he had about fifty of the damned things.
His interest in the fight piqued. Up until now he'd been playing with her. He let loose, no longer holding back. The girl felt the change and responded in kind. Zangan smiled, knowing all the time that she'd been holding back as much as he. The fight ranged over the small mountain peak, blows landing with blinding speed, like the furious lightening strikes seen on the choppy waters of the ocean during a hurricane. Hands and feet, arms and legs were blurred to blobs of swiftly trailing color. Until they were nothing but two small figures, whirling like dervishes as the morning turned to early afternoon. The only sound on the peak was the soft scrabble of rock as it gave way with each push off the mountainside or the accidental strike that was meant for an opponent but missed by chance or deliberate plan.
The summit was soon reached. A climb that normally took eight hours or more to complete was finished in half that. Most of it spent in focused combat. Had they not been fighting, it probably would have taken two hours, probably less. Zangan reached the summit first and prepared a last surprise for his star pupil. Tifa followed, dark hair whipping behind her, lapping over her still blindfolded eyes. Frequently she abandoned climbing all together in favor of flipping upwards with almost supernatural grace. She reached the summit shortly after her sifu and was greeted by another stone thrown at her face. Tifa spun around, whipping the sword from the sheath in a spinning arc. The sword connected, smacking the stone squarely and sending it hurtling back at her sifu with frightful speed.
"TAKE THAT OLD MAN!" She shouted as she heard the crack of the stone against her sword, completely absorbed in the moment.
Zangan was surprised as the rock smacked him straight in the forehead. Shaking his head and grunting before tentatively touching the wound. He grinned at the bit of blood he'd wiped off his forehead. Impressive, very impressive. Tifa waited, holding her sword out and ready for an attack. She realized she'd let herself enjoy the battle a bit too much and had possibly disrespected her Sifu...but she couldn't help it. Finally being able to do what she felt was impossible was a rush....and she'd one-uped him. That happened...never. This was the first time. And she beat him with a sword, she hated that sword. She sucked at it. But the practice with it had done her good and she was excited as she felt she'd improved.
She stood there breathing heavily as she waited for the verdict and the inevitable repercussions. Tifa tensed as she heard his approach. She was so dead. Gods above, she hoped he didn't make her do something ridiculously horrible. Envisioning having to transfer a huge bucketful of tiny iron beads from one pail to another, Tifa gulped apprehensively. He pulled off her blindfold and she opened her eyes, blinking away the bright corona of light that nearly blinded her.
Zangan studied her, frowning the entire time, his dark eyes narrowed. The deeply gouged wrinkles in his face stood out while he looked down at her. She winced, she hated that look. That look meant she was really in for it. Unconsciously, she began to stretch her fingers in anticipation of the agonizing chopstick fun-time she was about to have. He let out a low, sharp grunt. Tifa snapped to attention, wondering if that was an appreciative sound or one of disappointment. She couldn't tell. The vast rainbow of his grunts were so varied, it was hard to tell one from the other. Her form had been perfect, not that she was arrogant about it. She just knew, she hadn't been sloppy, that wasn't her style. Her only mistake had been the last little bit where she kind of, sort of insulted him. His eyes went cold and Tifa bit the inside of her lip, waiting for him to cuff her soundly on the head. Zangan grinned and let out a loud, braying laugh that echoed over the mountains.
"Sifu?" Tifa asked, warily.
He clasped her on the arm, "Big improvement today. The rest of practice is cancelled."
"W...W-w-w-what?" Tifa stuttered in disbelief. Practice was NEVER cancelled.
He laughed again, "You did well...A break is well deserved and you have earned it."
Tifa blinked in amazement. Had he actually complimented her? She looked up to see if the sky was falling. Was it the end of the world...had hell frozen over? She was tempted to ask who he was and what he'd done with her real sifu, but decided against it. A quiet thank you was given and she bowed respectfully to him.
The way down was quiet and quick. Tifa sensed that there was something on his mind. Something he wanted to discuss with her but he was unsure of how to begin. She'd let him speak in his own time, rather than prying. He was sensitive about his grasp of Midgardian, and it always took time for him to choose the right words.
It wasn't long before they touched solid ground again. Wordlessly, they unclasped their harnesses and picked up the equipment. Theirs was a relationship of unspoken requests. Needing no words of agreement to make it work, it just did. They made it back to his cabin without incident and put away the equipment.
Abruptly, in between the cabin and the small storage shed, Zangan stopped. He turned around, stared Tifa straight in the face and bowed deeply to her. With quick movements, he straightened his back and pulled out a scroll from the inside of his sleeve. Zangan hadn't made her aware of how terribly lucky she was. He didn't want her to get arrogant, not that he thought she would. He berated her enough so that there was little possibility that she'd become overconfident. She would be surprised to know that he was actually impressed with her progress. She went from a mere novice, barely able to punch her way out of a wet paper sack, to an accomplished fighter that he would feel confident in matching against any of the best Wutanese fighters in the business. This girl was unique. Blessed with talent and he had done all he could to make sure that it blossomed. And it certainly had.
He held out the scroll to her in offering, perching atop his flattened palms, a classic Wutanese gesture of respect. Tentatively, she took the scroll, holding onto to it like she didn't know what to do with it. Zangan straightened his back and shoved his hands in his sleeves, staring at her expectantly. With a curt nod, he indicated she should open it. Tifa frowned and took a deep breath before hooking a finger under the wax emblem that sealed it. It broke with a brittle crack.
Her fingers were now numbed with cold as she fumbled with opening the scroll. Rolling it outward carefully, the interior portion of the scroll was revealed. Long lines of neatly drawn Wutanese calligraphy decorated the page, set with a large read seal at the bottom. Tifa examined the seal, as she was unable to read the writing. She recognized the decoration. It was the standard of the White Crane. Her mouth went dry and the air let out of her lungs in one harsh gasp.
"Sifu....is this?!"
He smiled with quiet pride and nodded, "You have been accepted. This letter is but a formality."
"H-how?"
He chuckled and clasped her on the arm as he lead her out of the mountains, speaking as he walked.
"I will go today to make everything ready. In two weeks, you will meet with elders. There will be a test...if you pass, you will be student at White Crane."
"W-wait...wait...What about my father? Isn't this all a bit premature?"
"Already asked your father. He gives his blessing."
Tifa stopped, forcing her Sifu to stop as well. Tears welled in her eyes. She'd never been so happy and sad at the same time. Her dreams were coming true. She'd miss this town. Her father. Cloud. But the chance to study in Wutai was too good. Tifa reached out and grabbed the brass ring. Pressing her palms together, she held them up to her forehead and bowed very, very low. It was a gesture of deep respect, bestowing honor on the one it was given to. A soft smile drew over Zangan's weathered features. When she stood up, she saw that there were tears in his eyes too. He strode up to her, clasping his hands over hers and looked at her with almost fatherly pride.
"The honor is mine to have such a student. Come."
He let her go and walked towards the town entrance. Tifa felt tears prick her eyes but she held them back. A warrior reserved their emotions, and she would be a true warrior in every way. There was a brief discussion before they entered the town. He recommended what she'd need to pack for her trip and when she should be ready. Giving her the date when he would be coming back for her.
They entered Nibelheim proper to find large military trucks parked in the town center. Zangan narrowed his eyes and looked towards the mountain peaks.
He spoke to her carefully, "Shinra comes, I see. Be careful, Xuétú An ominous aura rises in the mountain. It is best to keep your eyes and ears open."
Tifa had no idea what it meant but was loath to question him. Her Sifu was fond of such cryptic warnings. Half the time they were out of genuine concern, but he didn't want to appear obvious. Hence, with the cryptic non-sense speak. The other half of the time, they turned out to be nothing more than practical jokes that were meant to keep her constantly guessing. She shrugged it off. He was probably just worried she'd get caught up in the excitement of having a celebrity in town. Like everyone else was. He should know her better than that, but she wouldn't let it bother her. Nothing could ruin her good mood. They parted ways, and Tifa trotted into town, floating on cloud nine.
The day was bright and clear, and nothing at all seemed wrong with the world. It was all right and wonderful. She smiled broadly and she broke out into a flat out run, whooping with joy as she went. The house was empty when she arrived. Not even the maid was there to share her joy, and dammit she needed someone to share it with. She skipped out of the house, deciding to check the travel agency. He might be at the office. Stranger things have happened, she thought, still grinning. It seemed like she might never stop.
Bursting in through the employee entrance, she went straight to his office. Turning the nob, she peeked in only to find him not there. Obviously, strange things didn't happen.
"Damn..." She whispered quietly, wondering were the hell he wandered off to this time.
Her footfalls echoed heavily in the narrow hall. Leaving her father's office for the cash room, what she considered her office. She pulled off her gloves and set them down, looking around for a note that might indicate where he'd gone. Tifa frowned, her good mood slowly dissipating. Sometimes he was like a little kid. How hard was it to write down where he was going? A fricking five year old could do it, why couldn't he?
Tifa sighed, there was no changing her Dad. Even though he annoyed her sometimes, she kind of loved him for his irritation factor. There was no note, but there was paperwork left on her desk. She rolled her eyes. He'd left his paperwork. He always left his paperwork. On top of the fridge, in her office, anywhere but where it actually belonged. Honestly. She flipped through it, not really looking that closely at the clutch of paper held together by a large black clamp. The Shinra logo popped out amongst the papers. It was their contract, ready and waiting for their arrival at two. Tifa glanced at the clock above the door. A quarter after one.
She puttered around a bit before picking up the Shinra contract and transferring it to her father's office. Half hoping to catch him sneaking in. He still wasn't in. Closing the door behind her, Tifa decided to ask their secretary. Ismeta Buric had been with them for the last four years and she was a dream employee. A transplant from Gongaga, she didn't always speak perfect Midgardian but she did her job very well. She was efficient, on time, and trustworthy...not to mention a damn hard worker.
Striding forward towards the main office, Tifa called out to her, "Ismeta? You here?"
The sound of a chair moving came from the break room, followed by soft footsteps.
"Miss Lockheart?" Ismeta's heavily accented voice asked as she came into view.
Tifa stopped and gave the woman a warm smile but before she could get a word out, the secretary started to babble at her in broken Midgardian.
"I am so glad you cames back here. I am in office all by myself and Shinra cames...and I can't find you father. He say he go for coffee, but that was one hour ago and now...Shinra is here. No Mister Lockheart. Tell me, what do I do?"
Tifa held up her hands to stem the onslaught, "Wait....Shinra...is here?" She asked, looking down at her watch, "It's barely one thirty."
Ismeta scoffed, gesticulating wildly as she spoke, "Is only one thirty. I know. This is what I say to rude soldier...Then...he cames."
"Who?"
"General Sephiroth." She replied, her voice dipping down as she said the name, like it was some kind of terrible curse.
"Oh, for God's sake..."
"Whaaaat?" Ismeta challenged huffily, "Oh, you so brave. Then you tell him to cames back at two. I won't."
Tifa frowned and closed her eyes briefly, "Where is he?"
"In waiting room." She nodded, shaking a finger at Tifa, "You will see. He is scary man. I hope he leave soon."
"You and me both, sister." Tifa replied honestly, looking back at the secretary with a heavy sigh.
She pushed open the door to the main office, a nice little space that included a rack with brochures and Ismeta's small desk. To the left of Ismeta's station was the waiting room, which was not so much a room as it was a set of chairs and tables set up in the lobby. It was a cheery little place. From the warm mauve carpet to the hideous, bright orange chairs--that she loved and hated at the same time. They were appalling to look at but she took comfort in them for their familiarity. Sometime, this office felt more like home than her actual house.
In the middle of this comfortable scene was the tallest man she'd ever seen...or maybe it was just her perception. Either way, his presence loomed over the room, like a god on high. It wasn't his height that intimidated her. She was beyond making assumptions based on a relative thing like height. It was...everything about him. The whole package. From the long, silver hair, to the midnight black coat. It was an aura that swirled around him, one that spoke of danger and ill omen. He looked out of place, a cold block of ice in the middle of her warm little lobby.
His back was turned to her and he didn't move, didn't look around. Like a normal person would. He stood completely still, his hands clasped behind him. Looking for all the world like he was waiting for the latest troop reports...or enemy movement or whatever.
Tifa shivered, feeling very wary with Sephiroth in the room. Somehow, even saying the name in her head intimidated and that aura she felt hit her more forcibly. It was black and ominous, and nothing good could come of it. This man was strange...unnatural. Alien. She remembered her Sifu's warning and now she realized his words had not been an idle thought. He'd said what he had to with purpose...he was worried and he had reason. She clutched the scroll he'd given her tighter. Fear was useless but to deny it was greater foolishness. She was afraid of this man but she wouldn't flinch. Summoning every last bit of her strength, she put on the air of professional confidence that now came so easily for her.
Forging ahead, she greeted him brightly, "Hello. What can I do for you today?"
She even managed a smile. The General turned around, fixing his gaze on her. Her smile faded a bit and she hurried to cover it. His eyes were so cold. So inhuman. It was like looking through an opaque piece of glass. Nothing there but what was reflected. His eyes were vacant, a soulless, dark void that consumed itself from within.
"And you are?"
"S-sorry." She said, clearing her throat and holding out her hand, "Tifa Lockheart. I'm the assistant tour director and the senior guide here."
He glanced down at her outstretched hand before grasping it for a quick shake.
"You've got red on you." He stated blankly, pointing at her head.
"OH." She said, smiling with embarrassment as she wiped it away.
"I was looking for Mr. Lockheart. I have some questions for him."
"Well, if you'd like to step into the office, I'd be more than happy to answer any questions you have."
He regarded her for a moment before nodding curtly. That was permission enough for her and she turned around, making for the door. Holding it open for him, she directed him to the office's location. Just as she walked past the break room, Ismeta caught her eye. Mouthing to her, 'Told you. Scary.' Tifa scowled at her good naturedly before following the General into the office.
Once inside, she gathered up the Shinra paperwork and puttered around gathering what she needed before sitting behind the desk, across from him. He leaned forward, propping his elbows up on the desk and steepling his long fingers.
"How old are you?"
Well, that wasn't the first question she thought he'd ask.
"Fourteen."
"Awfully young for a tour guide."
She feared the man, but she wouldn't put up with an insult, "And you're what? Nineteen? Twenty? Awfully young for a general, don't you think?"
His face remained neutral. He seemed to be considering her words. She was tempted to ask him if that was all. Maybe he'd like to know her star sign...or her blood type. But she held her tongue. This was not a man to loose one's temper on. Carefully, he watched her.
"You study the martial arts, don't you?"
"Whoa, how'd he know that one?" she thought, answering slowly, "Yes. I do. How did--"
He interrupted her question as it was of no consequence to him, "What school do you study?"
"Northern Wu-shu."
"Thought so. Butterfly style?"
"Yeah."
Without even asking, he picked up the scroll she'd set down on the desk and opened it. Tifa was about to protest, but decided better of it.
"You've been accepted to White Crane. Impressive. I went there. It's a difficult school."
"So I've been told. Well then, are we done with the chit-chat portion of the meeting or can we get onto business?"
He didn't even seem phased, "Point taken. I apologize for the questions...I just wanted to make certain for myself that you're as prepared as you say you are."
"No apology necessary." she said with a plastic smile, inwardly fuming, "So, what can I help you with, General?"
"You may call me by name. I dislike titles."
"No problem...anything I can help you with?"
"Yes, I have questions regarding the route you've decided on."
Tifa nodded and pulled the route map out and flattened it over the desk's surface.
"What's your question?"
"I have studied aerial maps of this region. I am not convinced that this is the safest route. I was hoping you'd be able to offer alternatives."
Tifa almost laughed out loud. Was he for real? Repressing a smile, she spoke, "There are plenty of alternatives." She pulled out the initial itinerary she'd submitted, "This was the route I choose. Your superiors nixed it. They sent over this one instead...much to my horror." She thumped the map underneath for emphasis.
"Do you have their orders?"
"Sure." Tifa replied, obligingly pulling out and handing them over.
He took it from her hands and immediately began to read it. She noticed he still wore his gloves. Why wear gloves inside? Fascinated by this odd detail, she watched absently as his fingers flipped through the pages. His right arm moved sharply and his sleeve pulled back. Tifa noticed a flash of pink that was wrapped around his wrist before he pulled his sleeve back down. In the brief glimpse she got, it appeared to be a ribbon. Probably from a girlfriend. Whodda thunk? Tifa smiled inwardly, pretending she hadn't seen a thing. Inside, she was jubilantly satisfied that all the mooning twits in town would be disappointed at this bit of news. She didn't ask him about it more directly, as he seemed pretty quick to hide it. But, god, did it make her day. Still, none of her beeswax. She waited quietly while he read and reread the orders about a dozen times. After a good twenty minutes, he slapped them back on the desk with disgust. The General stared into space for several very long, very uncomfortable moments, his brows furrowed. Tifa sat there as well, trying not to fidget. After a few more minutes of this, he sighed deeply and massaged his temples with one hand.
"So...This route we're taking. How long will we be on the mountain?"
"Three hours in total. More or less."
"Is it safe?"
"Honestly?" She asked, not wanting to appear to be overly negative about things. He nodded, his fingers making a real go of massaging his temple. "No."
"Will you be able to lead us up it?"
"Yes."
"Fine. Meet us at the town entrance, O-five hundred."
"Huh?"
"Five o'clock in the morning."
"Oh, right. Sure thing."
They both stood and shook hands.
"Nice to meet you Miss Lockheart."
For a moment, she panicked. What the hell was she gonna call him? Mister Sephiroth? He didn't like his title...damnation. "Nice to meet you too...Sephiroth."
She said it so uncertainly that it sounded more like a question. God, of all the times to be her usually dorky self! He didn't seem to mind and left without a word, closing the door with a sharp slam. Five minutes later, Ismeta poked her head in and smiled.
"I told you he was scary." She taunted as she entered the room.
"Yeah. Well, he left didn't he? Mission accomplished."
Her father chose that moment to enter, coffee cup in hand. Tifa pointed at him accusatorily.
"You owe me!! HUGE!"
"Hey, what about me?" Ismeta piped up, semi-indignant.
"You owe us...HUGE!"
The three of them argued amiably amongst themselves, until Mr. Lockheart agreed to buy them donuts and coffee to compensate for their emotional trauma. Meanwhile, the sun set behind the mountains, turning the dusky sky a deep purple. The small town beneath those peaks was peaceful and unaware of the danger in their midst. As fate pushed forward, towards that which would change the town forever.
Author's Note
Sifu--Chinese for Teacher
Xuetu--Chinese for Apprentice.
HA! I bet y'all thought I forgot about this one. Well, I didn't. This chapter took a hella long time to write as it's heavy on action...and it's hard for me! But I think I did well, all things considered. A little note on the OC--Ismeta Buric. She's actually based on a real person. One of my Bosnian co-workers. She's a gas and I love her to death. So much so, I put her in my story. And before you throw large objects my way for making her talking like that...I have to say. She actually does talk like that, one of the many reasons I had to write her in. Everytime I read this, I can hear her voice echoing in my brain. Also, hopefully I did good with the marital arts stuff. I'm not experienced, so I really had to do a lot of reasearch for this chapter. But I'm okay with that. Right. Onto more updates.
Ciao!
Noa!