Note: All Suikoden elements belong to Konami.

Rebirth

Chapter 2: Perplexity

by ArchFaith

So you were just going to go like that? Without even telling me? Without even saying why?

Her hands shook as she brought her slender white fingers to her sweating forehead, desperate to beat back the intense migraine that once again had arrived to plague her.

You're selfish, old girl.

I am, she thought, her mind swirling in the aching haze that almost engulfed her, caused her to lose balance, to falter down upon the hot, dusty road.

Please…just stay. Don't just go by yourself.

Curse him, that presuming, naïve boy.

"Mmmm," she moaned as she slowly sat up, her pale hand quickly moving to her pounding forehead. She gingerly shifted her legs into a kneeling position, raised one trembling arm to prop herself up off the dusty mountain floor.

Fainted once again, she observed, both confused and disturbed at the same time. She studied her surroundings—familiar territory. The old mountain pass, a main route for merchants traveling into Caleria. The dusty trail hewn into the rough granite, the rocky walls that could collapse upon travelers at a single misplaced hand, the twisted, ugly trees that sprouted from dry cracks within the earth.

She hated the place.

The pounding was beginning to cease—she let her hand drop from her forehead and slowly struggled to stand, her legs almost giving out beneath her as she stood, her normally immaculate skirt and cape covered now with a dirty brown film. Oh god, she thought as she attempted to skim the dust off her clothes.

This is what I have come to.

(-)

Six months from the night she bid her Nash goodbye. Six months since she had seen that familiar face so grieved and disturbed, seen the shadows flickering on his tanned skin as she stood watching her, leaving Caleria and his life for what she thought was for good.

For two weeks she had traveled—trudged, actually—far and wide, stopping at small villages and sprawling cities, walking through deserted forest trails one day and noisy crowds of people the next. Wandering…looking. Searching. But for what? An answer to a question….but which question? She had told herself that it would be for the best; that a True Rune bearer did not belong with a lowly Harmonian spy, that the boy should be free to marry someone of his own rank and intelligence. Yet, as she walked through scene after scene, witnessed thousands of faces and view upon view of beautiful landscapes—she could not name the one question that had so plagued her from the beginning of her relationship with Nash.

Finally she found herself standing in the familiar little clearing, walking over the fallen planks, pushing open the rotting doors, tracing the old gravestones with her delicate fingers as she allowed herself to cry—the old, overgrown ruins of the very town that she herself had held so dear. The Blue Moon Village—the world she had created, the destiny she had given to those who came to her—her masterpiece. The only thing she felt she had given to the world.

Destroyed, like so many of her precious ventures.

For five wretched months she had tortured herself; her shelter was the very cabin she had shared with Rean, the old dwelling in which she had waited and watched for so many years. A skeleton of a house now—its frame eaten through by termites, the logs scorched by the long-ago destruction. And yet she forced herself to stay there; she had laid her cloak and shoes down upon the broken logs, and stretched out her lithe body upon the cold, dank floor.

This is where I belong.

That was where she stayed. For months she had kept the same pattern: to lay all day upon the floor of the memory-filled cabin, wishing and thinking and pondering about many things—her life, her adventures, the battles she had fought and won. And him. Always him.

Damn your idiotic eyes, Nash Latkje.

(-)

She finished dusting the dirt off her clothes and straightened herself out before she continued onwards. Her once fine silver hair was now slightly-tangled; her skirt, though mostly intact, bore some tatters on the hemline. The soles of her shoes were beginning to wear through from all the traveling she had done; to any merchant or traveler passing by, she might have seemed to them a pale gypsy, a down-on-her-luck vagabond heading for Caleria to find some profitable vice.

I wonder who's more to blame for this fix—him or I, she thought as she resumed her steady hike along the path, grasping protruding rocks and tree branches for support as she continued the deep descent down into the desert valley, her shaking legs every now and then almost giving way under her. After a few close scrapes with the cracked mountain trail, the once-dignified vampiress found herself gratefully walking under the large archway that greeted visitors into Caleria. It was twilight; the purple sky was streaked with pink, and the faraway sun was winking as it started its departure into night. The few market stalls that were still open were now beginning to roll up their wares.

Her hand reached for the counter of one of the booths—in an instant, her entire body swayed, and she found herself falling to her knees, the rough rocks scraping her legs and hands as she tried in vain to stand once again. The deep shame welled beneath her heart as she quickly caught sight of the few men and women who still wandered through the great plaza, their curious eyes trained upon her as she pressed her hands against the pebbly earth, slowly pushing herself up.

The merchant who had been standing behind the counter was immediately at her side, putting his hands on her shoulders and slowly helping her to rise. "Are you alright?" he demanded. "You look a little sick, miss."

Her sour expression quickly killed any question of her being sick in his mind. "I'm fine," she replied stiffly, pushing his hands off. But she could no longer hide her true frustrations—a single red tear had now fallen from her cheek, landing with a tiny splash upon the dry, cracked earth.

"You're bleeding," the merchant exclaimed, quickly reaching for a handkerchief within his pocket. She shook her head as he offered it to her; she could tell he was slightly offended as he tucked it away. It was fortunate the man didn't know the old vampire legends—Calerians knew only the silly, false tales of fatal sunlight or the handy silver stake. Vampires, such as herself, could walk in the sun unharmed, though slightly less agile than at night. Silver stakes and all other sorts of supposedly religious weapons could probably not even penetrate her skin.

She quickly wiped the red trail off her cheek and thanked the gods no one knew vampires cried bloody tears.

"If you will," she began, her voice cracking, as she brushed the blood off her cheek. "I am here seeking to speak with an old friend by the name of Nash Latkje. Would you happen to know him? He is a member of the Southern Frontier Defense Force, and at the last I heard from him, he was stationed here." Normally she would not ask such a question to a mere stranger; usually she would seek her goal out by herself, watching and waiting and gathering information until she finally found the person or thing she was looking for.

But this was not a usual time; her temper was extremely short, and her frustration quickly called for an easy way out.

The merchant cocked his head and looked at her thoughtfully, the beige headdress he wore over his curly brown hair fluttering in the light evening breeze. "Nash Latkje," he repeated, rolling his tongue over the boy's last name. "SFDF, huh? Is he Harmonian?"

"Yes," she answered, blinking. "Pure-blooded, blonde hair, blue eyes…have you seen him around?"

"Well now, somebody like that's hard to miss around here," the man chuckled, scratching his head. "He has a little red bird, right? That always sits on his shoulder?"

"Yes," she repeated. Dominguez, that annoyance of a pet that continually nagged her during the brief moments Nash allowed him to stay around his house.

"Ahhh…I know him! Yeah, he buys snake frog oil from me all the time…we talk a little bit sometimes, and he tells me he just got assigned to a new house in the eastern plaza...it would be that way." The man indicated the direction with his arm.

Finally, a break. One that was sorely needed, in fact. "Thank you," she replied. Slowly she put one foot in front of the other, forming a relatively steady walk. It was much easier to keep on balance now that she was on level ground; she strode now with dignity and confidence, and tried, with success, to hide the fact that she was silently suffering on the inside.

The twilight was quickly darkening, the streaked sky melting away against the thin backdrop of the dark blue sea of stars. The market was completely gone; the wares had all been folded away, and the merchants had gone home arguing with each other over who had made the most money. A few children still played, tapping the ground with their roughly carved spears made of tree branches, and playing mother to old dolls constructed with straw and linen.

Here and there the wandering eyes of the townsfolk alighted on the ruby-eyed maiden, watching her refined yet anxious gestures, their friendly smiles turning to frowns as she gave them obligatory scowls. It was not a pleasant time, and she did not want to be pleasant to anyone, nor have anyone be pleasant to her.

It was not a long walk to the east plaza; an old sign marked the fact that she had reached her destination, and she eyed the buildings that composed the large square. Ordinary, residential-looking houses, with adobe walls and sturdy desert paint—an average neighborhood, only slightly better than the one Nash had lived in before.

Now…where exactly could he be?

The question had barely touched her mind before her ears detected a familiar swooping noise high up above her head. She raised her eyes to the now-starlit heavens, and spied there a small red bird with a pack strapped its back, its wings flapping energetically as it neared the small plaza, a small wrapped-up note clutched in its right foot.

Quickly she scanned the area, and hid herself behind a pile of old boxes that were leaning up against a corner of the city wall. The bird gracefully swooped down into the square, and circled a few times before alighting on the windowsill of a small house in a corner of the quadrangle. It tapped on the closed shutter a few times before they opened—she glimpsed a tanned, white-sleeved hand reach out to take the bird in, and a second later the window was shut.

She stood up from her hiding place, once again beginning to feel the symptoms of a new migraine coming on. How much more of this would she take? Pain after pain after pain—it had been a long day. Perhaps she could see him tonight, perhaps she could rest in an actual bed, with a soft mattress and a blanket instead of the cold, hard ground once more.

And she would see him again, be near him again—yes.

Rapidly she walked towards the low building, the rapid banging in her head becoming more pronounced with every step she took towards the wooden door. She felt a stinging slowness in her legs and hoped she would be able to reach his doorstep in time.

To think it should me asking him to forgive.

(-)

She did not know exactly when the illness had started; only knew that one day she had woken up to a slight pressure in her head, as if some unknown force were giving her brain a gentle squeeze. She had regarded it as nothing at first, had lived her restrained life in the ruined village day after day—until nothing quickly escalated into something. The mild annoyance quickly turned to a frustrating nuisance—instead of being gently squeezed, her brain now felt as if it were being crushed into a meat grinder.

But her head was not the only victim of the mysterious sickness—quickly her legs followed suit. It was as if someone had taken a sledgehammer to her thighs and had done as best a job with it as they could—oftentimes she felt her legs give way under her, leaving her to scramble around miserably in the wet, dewy grass.

Embarrassment—shame. Misery as she rose yet again, to the headaches and shaking legs that greeted her every day she awoke, adding to the whole awful remembrances of the hot, Calerian nights, her pale body gracefully leaning against his, the sound of the breeze as she pressed her lips to his warm mouth…

And finally, it was evident to her, the path she had to take.

No matter how much she slapped him, called him names, and continually acted like it was a privilege to have her around…

I can no longer survive without you.

(-)

"Hey there pal," the blonde boy greeted as the red bird hopped into his hand, his small claws tightly grasping the tough fingers. "Got something for me?"

Dominguez shifted from one foot onto the other, his bright eyes staring up at his master's face. "Yes," the engineered animal replied, ruffling its feathers. "From Wang."

Nash nodded, wisps of blonde hair falling into his eyes as he gently untied the message bound to the bird's leg. "Thanks Dom," he said, giving the bird a pat on the head. "You tired, boy?" he asked as he stepped away from the shuttered window, his eyes barely focusing on the message he grasped in his hand.

Dominguez squawked in response, and gracefully leaped off Nash's hand to swoop around the living room, circling twice before he settled down into a small, nest-like box that rested on a small shelf in the corner. He flapped his wings contentedly and then settled down for a long rest.

Nash smiled absently, then came around the back of the large red sofa and sank down onto the fluffed cushions, the unread message still in his hands. He stretched out and yawned, the message slipping from his hand down onto the rug that lay beneath the sofa. Whatever it was, it could wait—for now he was too tired to read any more notes.

What I need is a break.

"Heh," he chuckled to himself, half-closing his eyes languidly. "Like I'll ever get one. Eh, Dom?" The bird did not answer. Nash looked over to it and saw that its head was tucked underneath one ruby-red wing. He sighed. How Sierra had hated that bird when she first came to live with him; how it teased and bothered her every time she began to complain. Fortunately, Dominguez had missions of his own to complete; and they mostly been alone during the few weeks she stayed with him.

An uncomfortable emptiness suddenly welled up beneath his heart as the image of her pale silver hair danced into his mind, and he briefly pondered what caused it—the absence of nourishment in his body or the feeling he had when he turned over every night to find no soft, sleepy girl next to him.

You'd think that after six months I'd be through with this.

The new house was nice—he had to admit it. Promotions come with advantages, and this was a sweet prize. Living room, bedroom, cellar, even a small kitchen; just more room to stretch out. The living room he was presently sitting in was a warm, cozy area, with its comfortable sofa set in the middle of the room, in front of the oft-used fireplace. Large Calerian tapestries had been hung from the brown stone walls, and two small tables in the corners held the oil lamps that he used to read by.

Too much for me…but it would have been enough for the both of us.

He got up and let his feet almost sink into the plush blue rug that lay across the hard stone floor. Resolving to go take care of the emptiness inside him, he crossed the room and was about to enter the kitchen when he heard a faint noise at the door.

He raised his eyebrows as he turned back to stare at the wooden door. A low knocking sounded from outside, a low banging that started out at the middle of the door. As if the person outside were slowly sinking down, the knocks quickly turned into a dull thumping, their sound muffled as the noises rapidly slid down the door and ended up at the very bottom, near the floor.

Who could it be? He hadn't been expecting anyone—his commander only came to see him about missions, and he had just completed a month-long expedition into the Outlands; surely it was early to be reassigned…

"Nash…" a thin, tired voice whispered.

No…to think…he did not dare to think it…

"Let me in…"

The familiar whisper sent a tremor of shock through his system; he barely had time to reason before he hurriedly bolted to the door, unfastened the latch and turned the knob so quickly the door almost flew off its hinges.

"Sierra?" he demanded, looking out into the dark plaza. "Sierra?"

"Here," she whispered, and he looked down to where she had collapsed at the threshold, the bloody tears flowing freely down her cheek as she struggled to raise herself up from the dusty floor. Her wispy hair collected against her face as she looked up at him, her ruby eyes blinking in vain to keep the anguish she felt inside from showing.

Relieved yet puzzled, he automatically knelt down and threw his arms around her, squeezing her in a tight embrace as she closed her eyes, humiliation and euphoria mixing within her suffering soul as she lay, still shaking, in his arms.

"I've returned…" she whispered before the world—the stars, the dust, his eyes—melted into a shapeless universe of black.

To be continued…

Note: I hope you all like that! Well, this story is folding out rather slowly…I had hoped to get to the meat of the tale, but first the proper atmosphere has to be laid out. So enjoy the side-trip into the Suikoverse! Teehee…

In the next chapter, Nash will discover the source of Sierra's mysterious illness…c'mon, you know you're dying to know what it is! Ohhh...and please remember to review! I love reading all your responses...they're what keeps me going strong!