Chapter Four: Into the Canyon
Several hours later, the camp stirred with excitement as the men came out onto the plain, eager to hear the plan of battle. Barret looked down at them with a scowl. Two hundred. Less than two hundred men, to fight an army more than twice their size. It was an impossible battle. But he had to keep up the morale of his men. Yuffie and Arapat were standing by his side, awaiting his command.
"Alright, everybody, listen up," Barret called out, and the crowd fell silent instantly. "We're gonna hit these bastards in the back as they head into the cliffs. They won't expect a back attack. We'll crush 'em completely." A cheer went up from the men, and it was all Barret could do to maintain a straight face. Don't they know we're all just gonna die? hethought angrily. He looked over at Arapat and saw only solemn determination in the other man's face. He knew the odds they fought against. But Yuffie looked almost impatient. Impatient? Barret thought incredulously. The girl must be insane! How could she be eager at a time like this?
Again, Barret contemplated the disadvantages they had against these masked warriors. Not only were the Harad-Zun more numerous, they also had the advantage in skill. Barret suspected they must have undergone years of rigorous training, while many of his men had no experience in battle. They were armed with light assault rifles, which, while powerful, were useless in a hand to hand fight. The Cosmo Canyon men used spears and axes of various kinds, but they were not accustomed to warfare, and could not match up evenly to the warriors of the Harad-Zun.
Barret checked the stores of ammunition in his gun arm and found it properly loaded. He scowled at the sight of the materia orbs fastened into the sockets of the gun. They had been provided by Yuffie, who seemed to have an endless supply of the things, to himself and Arapat. But as much as Barret preferred a fair fight and disdained the use of Materia, he had to admit that they needed all the help they could get in this battle. Yuffie carried her large shuriken in one hand and a spare materia orb in the other, and Arapat clutched his spear tightly; both were ready for battle to begin. Barret sighed. He might as well give the order now.
"Everybody ready?" Barret asked, and was answered by a roar of enthusiasm from his audience. "Let's go then."
And they ran up the slopes, into the canyon.
Nanaki growled impatiently as he stood in the narrow pass that opened into the great caverns beyond. Ninety-three men stood nervously behind him, grasping their spears and axes tightly. Young Jorm from Gongaga was among them. Farther behind them, huddled in corners of the cavern, were the people of Cosmo Canyon and Gongaga: the very young, the very old, and those who could not fight. Mothers huddled their small children close to keep them from crying out, but the adults seemed on the verge of tears as well. They had been forced out of the town for the first time since it was founded, forced back into the caves once inhabited by the savage Gi tribe. The deepest caverns were still too dangerous to retreat to, leaving Nanaki and his men trapped. Now, it was only a matter of time before the Harad-Zun entered the caverns and found them. What worried Nanaki was that even after forcing them back into the caves, the Harad-Zun had not attacked. Why don't they just finish it? Nanaki wondered. They must have found the passages by now and yet they are not attacking. It doesn't make sense.
Nanaki looked up once more, up at the ledge where a creature stood, encased in stone, head tilted up towards the moon. His father, Seto. Seto had given his life to save the town from the Gi warriors, holding this same pass long enough for Bugenhagen to seal the passage. And now Nanaki had failed his father and his people. Cosmo Canyon had fallen. But there was one last chance at redemption. He could hold the pass as his father once had, against hordes that vastly outnumbered his forces. Nanaki's crimson eyes flashed with an almost demonic fervor.
"I will not let you down, father," he whispered.
"Why must we fight so?" came the thin voice of Trogor, the elder of Gongaga, from beside him, and Nanaki spun around, startled. "They will overpower us; it is simply a matter of time. Why must we continue to shed blood?"
Nanaki looked over at him. Trogor was well over ninety years old, and an experienced leader. In his arms he clutched a huge blue crystal, and three more, these ones red, yellow, and green, were nestled in a small satchel slung over his shoulder. The huge materia, which Nanaki had given to Trogor for safekeeping. He would not leave them behind to be taken by the Harad-Zun. Nanaki turned his attention to what Trogor had said. The elder had a point. No matter what he did to prevent it, the Harad-Zun would kill them and take the materia. But he could not accept Trogor's reasoning.
"We want them to remember us," he replied. "They may kill us all and raze our homelands, but we will give them a fight to remember. By fighting, we make it easier for others to defeat them. I am not asking you to fight, elder, but we will not surrender our homeland."
But here Nanaki stopped, for he heard thuds in the distance. So they've come at last, he thought. None of the other men had heard yet; his ears picked up what others could not.
"Back to your positions, men. They are coming!" Nanaki yelled. They have entered the cliffs, he thought grimly All we can do now is wait.
Bursts of gunfire were the only sounds that reached Barret's ears as he blasted away at the enemy, empty shells falling to the ground from his gun. Although they had hit the forces of the Harad-Zun suddenly in the rear, the enemy regrouped quickly, and Barret and his men soon found themselves in a fight for their very lives. Gastor stood close by, firing away at the approaching enemies and slashing at those who came close. Barret had lost sight of Arapat and Yuffie long ago.
Not only did the Harad-Zun outnumber and outfight the invaders, they had some of their best riflemen perched on roofs and ledges, picking off Barret's forces one by one. Scowling, Barret focused on a materia orb in his gun, and shards off ice appeared in midair, transfixing three of the riflemen. But repeated materia use was taxing on Barret's energy, and he doubted he could keep fighting much longer.
Green-clothed warriors were everywhere, ripping through cloth and flesh alike with their massive blades. They were dropping like flies, mowed down by rapidly moving machine gun bullets or transfixed on spears. But at the same time, Barret's men were dying, hewn in two by the cleaving strokes of the cruel steel of their adversaries or picked off from above by the one remaining sniper, whom Barret could hit with neither magic nor bullets. The man darted nimbly out of the way of oncoming gunshots, returning fire from seemingly unreachable locations. And he never missed his mark. With each shot he fired, one of Barret's men fell to the ground dead.
Sweating heavily, Barret suddenly noticed that his gun had stopped firing. No more ammunition. And two Harad-Zun warriors, swords crimson with blood, had seen this, and charged towards him, blades whirling in a mesmerizing, deadly pattern.
"Damn!" Barret swore out loud. Pulling his heavy, useless gun arm backwards, he considered the situation quickly. I'll just have to improvise, he resolved, and hurled himself, steel fist first, at the nearest attacker. There was a sickening crunch as the man's jaw splintered, and he was on the ground dead in an instant. But the second attacker had now reached Barret, who had no time to react. At the last second, Gastor turned and fired away in Barret's direction, and the Harad-Zun warrior fell dead only five feet away from Barret. Thinking quickly, Barret picked up an axe from a fallen warrior and jammed the end of the shaft into the barrel of his gun. Roaring angrily, he turned and swung his improvised weapon at a nearby enemy, who fell dead with one blow.
Barret could now see the tide of the Harad-Zun thinning, and the finishing blow came to the enemy when, in the midst of the battle, a woman appeared with a flash. Eight feet tall and slender, wearing flimsy silks robes over her pale blue skin, Shiva was clearly not human. As she spread her arms wide, fierce arctic winds whipped up around her, and many of the Harad-Zun died where they stood, their very blood frozen in their veins. This was all the prompting the remaining warriors needed, and they scattered, heading towards the cliffs. Shiva, her task completed, vanished as quickly as she had appeared. Yuffie walked casually over to Barret, with Arapat behind her. She held up a small red materia orb and winked at Barret, then said cheerfully,
"Well? What do we do now?" Barret had the sudden urge to strangle her. From what he could tell, over two-thirds of the men had been killed, and she was happy? But he refrained, and instead counted the remaining warriors, who were grouping around him. Forty-five, and Gastor was not among them. It was madness to continue, but it had to be done. Barret turned to the men wearily.
"There's bound to be lots of tunnels leading into the cliffs around here. Nanaki's in trouble, and we don't got time to wait. We're goin' in."
Nanaki's great fangs closed around the warrior's arm, and he collapsed on the ground with a howl of pain. Fresh gashes now marked his flanks, some bleeding heavily, but Nanaki fought on heedlessly. He could only see three of his men around him, fighting furiously against the enemy hordes, and then saw two of them go down. The battle would be over in minutes at this rate, and not for the better.
They had been overwhelmed completely by the Harad-Zun, pushed back into the main cavern in the first twenty minutes of the battle. Nanaki's men had soon disappeared in the swarm of invaders. But the crushing blow dealt to the warriors of the canyon was not what surprised Nanaki. No, it was the stroke of lightning that had appeared seemingly from nowhere and ripped through the chests four of Nanaki's men, killing them instantly. The Harad-Zun had somehow learned to use materia! With their apparent lack of technology, Nanaki would have deemed that impossible. From the rate at which the magic was being cast, Nanaki concluded that only one man could be using the materia. And he knew who that one man was.
Nanaki tried his best to defend against the attacks of the Harad-Zun leader, using walls of earth to counter lightning bolts, and bursts of fire against frozen projectiles. But doing this gave Nanaki no time to use offensive magic of his own. He was growing more exhausted with each spell he cast, and knew that he could not keep fighting for long. With each passing moment, he felt exhaustion seeping into him; his legs were on the verge of collapsing. Turning, Nanaki saw that he was completely surrounded by his enemies, who were cautiously closing in around him. They had seen what he had done to many of their companions, and were not willing to take any chances. But seeing his weariness, one warrior leapt forward, swinging his blade closer and closer. Nanaki knew he was finished.
The full moon shone brightly overhead, illuminating the petrified form of Seto. As Nanaki saw his father's silent form, his resolve hardened once again. Father never gave up, not even on the verge of death. He held the canyon pass as long as he could, giving Bugenhagen time to seal the gateway. I can still stand and fight, if only to give Trogor and the others time to get away, time to hide. Without a pause, he hurled himself at the man's ankles, ripping flesh and muscle away with his fangs and claws. The man fell, and died instantly, transfixed on his own sword. The other Harad-Zun warriors backed away warily, and that was all the hesitation Nanaki needed. Two small green spheres behind his ears suddenly glowed brightly as Nanaki did what he had never done before: he concentrated on both the fire and earth materia simultaneously and wove them together in his mind as one. All around him the ground surged and exploded in flames, sending dozens of enemy warriors flying into the air.
Nanaki saw some of his own men, about twenty, still alive and fighting, and the sight gave him strength. But suddenly, he felt immense pain as a shard of ice struck his right hind leg, burying itself deep beneath his skin. He looked up to see the Harad-Zun leader standing over him, laughing contemptuously.
"You never give up, do you? Can't you see the end is inevitable?" the man said. Growling, Nanaki tried to lunge at him, but the ice shard had speared directly above his hamstring, forcing him down. Instead he wove webs of fire around the man and drew them in, expecting even a colossus like him to be consumed by the flames. But as the inferno closed in around the man, he simply laughed, and emerged unharmed seconds later, crimson scales shinning brightly.
"I'm afraid it will take a little more than that to defeat me, Zarkhan, greatest warrior of the Harad-Zun. You really are quite blind, aren't you? Thinking you are the last of your race and a brave defender of this wretched hole you call home. But your biggest mistake was that you could not see the fate the only a blind man could miss. You are dead, Nanaki, you and your canyon both."
He paused though, for he too now heard the sound that had given Nanaki hope. The firing of machine guns, which none of Nanaki's men carried. Zarkhan turned to see many of his men, taken by surprise, being shot down from behind. Arapat must have arrived with some reinforcements, Nanaki realized, and, while his opponent was distracted, he launched himself forward with superhuman effort. The icicle inhibiting his leg's movement shattered as he pushed against it with all his might, and he flung himself onto Zarkhan, who hit the ground with a heavy crash.
"No," Nanaki growled at his fallen adversary. "It is you who made the biggest mistake. You brought your forces here, to the canyon, and tried to destroy us. For that you will die." Zarkhan grasped his blade tightly, and the green materia in one of its sockets began to glow brightly.
"This is not over," he said. A flash of blinding light filled the cavern and every living Harad-Zun instantly vanished. Nanaki blinked in astonishment. The spell that the man had just cast would teleport the user and a few others to a predetermined location. But Zarkhan had just used it on almost two hundred warriors. That was impossible! Nanaki had very little time to think about such things, for Arapat was approaching him with two others hurrying after him. Nanaki's eyes widened in disbelief at the sight of them.
"Hi, 'Naki," said Yuffie cheerfully.
"Good to see you made it," Barret remarked gruffly.
Nanaki shook his head, his mind filling with questions. They would have to wait.
"Let's go back to town," he said. "I'll hear all your stories there."
An hour later, Nanaki sat by the Cosmo Candle with Barret, Yuffie, and Arapat. Again, he went over their magnificent victory in the Canyon. So many small events had allowed him to live, but each was so crucial. If Yuffie had not been attracted by the glitter and allure of the Gold Saucer, for instance, both he and Barret would be dead.
But their victory over such stunning odds was not entirely a happy event. Of his three hundred Canyon warriors, only fifty-two still lived, and Barret's one hundred Corelian fighters now numbered twenty-three. No, it was not a time for rejoicing. Both the Canyon and Corel had suffered grievous wounds, and it would be a long time before they healed.
The Harad-Zun, however, had escaped, and the battle was not yet over. Zarkhan still had at least two hundred men, and, according to Barret and Yuffie, some kind of sniper. And Nanaki suspected that not all of the Harad-Zun had come to the canyon, and that Zarkhan actually had around five hundred warriors. But defending would not be enough this time. In order to truly vanquish the enemy, he had to strike at their base of operations, which meant a trip to Gongaga.
Barret was grimacing as he stared into the flames; apparently, the same thought had occurred to him as well. Nanaki cleared his throat and broke the tense silence that had settled over the group.
"They are not defeated yet. I have to strike back at them before they can regroup. And there's no need to get the men involved this time. I will go alone. With the aid of the huge materia, I should be able to defeat Zarkhan and find out what he wanted. Arapat, you and Trogor can watch the town while–"
"Whoa, hold on a second!" Barret interrupted suddenly. "You can't just take off like that, leavin' me behind! You gonna get killed! I'm coming with you, like it or not. When are we leavin'?"
Nanaki was about to reply, when Yuffie burst in angrily,
"You think that you two can just go off and have all the adventures and all the fun without me? Not while I have a say in it. I will accompany you, even if it costs me my…my…" Yuffie paused, trying to think of a word strong enough. "Materia!" she finished finally.
Nanaki sighed with resignation as he realized there was no way to convince them otherwise.
"If you're sure about your decisions I will be honored to have you accompany me. However, I must warn you that it will be very dangerous."
Yuffie's contemptuous snort at the word "dangerous" was affirmation enough, so Nanaki continued.
"I suggest you all get a good night's sleep now. We will depart for Gongaga tomorrow." Not that there was much of a good night's sleep remaining; it was already around three in the morning.
As the others made their way back to the rooms he had provided, Nanaki gazed into the Cosmo Candle. He had grown up by it, listening to children's stories. He had decided to follow Bugenhagen into the haunted Gi caves by it. Even during the brief occupation of the town, the same flame that had burned for generations had not gone out. And now that he had stopped what was possibly the greatest threat the canyon had ever faced, here he was again. But it isn't over, he reminded himself, remembering the rage and hatred in Zarkhan's eyes when he had knocked the man to the floor. And it won't ever be until one of us is dead.
A rat scurried back and forth on the cold stone floor of the long, rectangular hall. This rat, although it was not aware of the fact, was about to experience the most awesome spectacle a member of its species had ever observed. Huge shinning beams of light suddenly arced across the chamber, and, when they dissipated, one hundred and ninety masked warriors stood in the center of the hall. Squeaking with fright, the rat darted into a small pile of sand in the corner of the room. A trickle more fell from a crack in the roof, thirty feet above, and settled on the floor.
Zarkhan strode angrily down the hall, leaving his warriors to their own devices. He had thought that a third of his warriors would be enough to finish the Canyon and its pathetic defenders, but it seemed he had been wrong. Five hundred men, nearly a quarter of his army, had been killed, and he could not strike again, for the defenders would surely be ready. But he would make them pay. The blood of five hundred warriors had painted the rocks of Cosmo Canyon, and for it, he would have the blood of a thousand of his enemies.
Zarkhan stepped through a stone arch, pushing aside the curtains, into his private quarters. He could think in there without being disturbed by his underlings. It was not that he felt this horrible defeat to be a threat to his authority. The men accepted him as their leader, knowing that he could outthink and outfight them all. It was his pride that had been injured. But he would redeem himself. He would be the one to slay Nanaki, one of the enemies of the planet. He would stop at nothing to slay the killer of the great Ruby Weapon.
Sighing, Zarkhan contemplated how he had ever got himself and the Harad-Zun involved in this. The foreigner had simply wandered into his quarters one day, and offered him a proposal. How the man had managed to find the fortress or slip past his guards, Zarkhan had no clue. But the offer seemed simple enough, and the rewards were substantial. They were to attack Cosmo Canyon and kill the defenders, who, as the outlander said, included one Nanaki, murderer of Ruby Weapon. Nanaki's appearance had surprised Zarkhan, for he had thought that Razak had been the last of his kind. It did not matter, though. Razak would be dealt with too some day. Once the defenders were dead, said the foreigner, who went by the name of Maxwell, the Harad-Zun were to bring back what he called "huge materia." If they served well, he would give them many materia crystals, including some which no man had ever used before. He had shown the truth of his word by supplying Zarkhan with one such materia already, the one that had just saved his life. Zarkhan doubted that Maxwell would be content to give him a second chance, though. We'll just have to see, he thought with resignation, and sat down to await Maxwell's response.
Several hours later, the curtain over the door was pushed aside again as the Marksman entered, followed by Akhamir, Zarkhan's most trusted lieutenant. The Marksman's jet black battle scarf now hung loose around his neck, but he still wore his strange hardened leather armor. Few men had seen his face, and those who did were surprised at its youth, considering the skill and profession of the man on whose shoulders it rested. His slim build and brilliant blue eyes made it clear that he was not of Harad-Zun descent. In fact, he was the only outsider ever accepted into the tribe since its formation thirty years earlier. Nobody knew how he had found their base. It had been eight years ago now that he had entered the stronghold, bleeding heavily. He had muttered an unintelligible warning to Zarkhan himself before lapsing into a comma. Zarkhan was unsure what the fifteen year old lad had meant, but had been suddenly called into battle against a small patrol of blue clad soldiers who had stumbled across the stronghold. And Zarkhan realized that, without the boy's warning, members of the patrol would certainly have escaped to their superiors.
The boy, who never gave a name, was adopted as one of the Harad-Zun and introduced to their customs and ways. All they learned of his past was that his small tribe, in the nearby jungles of Gongaga, had been wiped out by a powerful empire called Shinra. He never said how he had found the Harad-Zun fortress, but nobody ever asked, primarily because of the weapon he brought them. The lad called it gunpowder, and the large black tube a rifle. Zarkhan had been skeptical at first, but after seeing the brute force of the things, had asked the boy to train his men in rifle use. Thereafter he had simply been called the Marksman for his extraordinary aim.
The Marksman's appearance also differed from the Harad-Zun in the hardened leather armor he wore. The common warriors of the Harad-Zun fought unarmored, the most rational way to fight. Normal armor, as every Harad-Zun warrior now knew, simply inhibited movement; one bullet to the head killed all men. The only exception was the armor of Zarkhan himself. He smiled as he remembered Nanaki's futile magic attack against his glistening plated armor. The beast may have killed Ruby Weapon, he thought. But as long as I live, the legacy continues. He had made the journey alone, to the middle of the desert, to pay homage to its former king. And he swore that he would continue the legacy, continue to fight against the killers of the Weapon and the enemies of the planet. He had crafted from the gargantuan corpse a full suit of armor, nearly impervious to physical harm and immune to the effects of magic. Zarkhan snapped out of his memories at the sound of the Marksman's voice, which came without the Haradin accent he was accustomed to hearing.
"Maxwell came down by Helicopter to speak with me. He is not pleased by your failure, but says that you have one chance left. And he told me the plan. You must…"
Zarkhan's eyes widened in surprise as he listened to Maxwell's plan. He had no idea how the foreigner had learned so much about the origins of the Harad-Zun, but he had to admit that although the plan assumed several key events would occur, it could work. And if it did not, so be it. Zarkhan was willing to sacrifice all to avenge the death of Ruby Weapon.
"Are the warriors ready to leave?" he asked the Marksman, who nodded, and turned to leave the room. "By the way, Akhamir," Zarkhan continued, an idea popping into his head. "You will take the opportunity to visit our old friend Razak, won't you?" And the businesslike nod from his lieutenant made Zarkhan suddenly sure that the plan would be a success.
Shake squeezed through the crowded plaza and into a small alley between two houses. He sighed with vexation as he emerged onto a bustling walkway above a tranquil pond. As he struggled to move against the flow of the crowd, he often had to yell upwards at passerby to get their attention. By the time he reached his house near the Da-Chao gates he had almost collapsed with exhaustion.
"This would be so much easier if only I were taller!" he said aloud in frustration.
At age nineteen, Shake was still a mere four feet eight inches tall and looked about thirteen years old. He had been appointed one of Wutai's five great warriors at age twelve, and even now, seven years later, nobody took him seriously except for Godo, who went to the other extreme. Godo worked him as hard as all the others, although they had trained for much longer than he had. But none of them, try as they might, could ever hit him. Dodging blows was Shake's specialty.
Whenever he went to dine at the Turtle's Paradise, Shake had to shout at waiters before they would take his order, which was precisely why he had decided to dine at home for a change. He pulled out of his backpack the small paper tray in which the simple rice meal he had ordered to go was packed. God, I'm hungry, Shake realized as his stomach growled audibly, anticipating the meal to come. And he proceeded to gulp it all down.
With a contented sigh, Shake flung himself back onto his couch, then frowned, for he suddenly felt a slight tingling in his arms. As he tried to determine what the matter was, it only got worse. Shake decided to go to the kitchen and drink a cup of water, and then perhaps lie down for a while. Pushing himself off the couch, he walked a few wobbly steps before collapsing suddenly on the carpeted floor. His stomach churned incessantly and his legs felt swollen and rigid. He tried in vain to cry for help; the window was open; somebody was bound to hear. The words never left his mouth, though, trapped inside by a parched and swollen throat. Shake struggled to reach the door, groping across the floor with his hands, as his remaining energy began to seep out of him. He gasped for breath as his throat blocked up and his consciousness began to dim. Shake's last thought was that somebody must have poisoned his food in the crowded restaurant. But who? he wondered. And why?