Legendary Guardian – Heartache
Youke was a stark green point of focus amidst organized chaos. One hundred men checked their weapons, secured their armor, and made their peace with Yevon in the misty morning air. The serene and seemingly unflappable man that was now Bevelle Temple's Second-in-Command faced five division commanders. A matching set of umabari jammed a tactical map to a fallen crystalline tree. Using his katana, Youke pointed to locations on the map and gave instructions to his men. The two Warrior Monks and three Crusaders nodded their heads in assent and turned toward their assigned troops. It was time.
The Calm Lands had become decidedly un-calm in the last twenty hours. A frightened pair of Al Bhed had set the entire temple talking when they rode up to the high-bridge on a machina seeking assistance. A pair of anacondaur had destroyed their shop. To make matters worse, someone had been running a fighting arena in the area. The fiends, including some rather nasty flyers of the owners design, had broken loose to feed on local chocobos. The terrified heathens had barely escaped with their lives. Maester Umaro signed the orders for the sortie, and within an hour the Lord Commander and First of the Bevelle Guard, Sir Farrell, had entrusted his Second with the operation. The cadre of elite guards had marched swiftly to the edge of Macalania Forest, posted a rotating watch, and camped until sunrise.
Youke knew that both the Maester and the First were worried. Over the last several cycles, increasing fiend activity in an area had inevitably ended in a rapid confrontation with Sinspawn. History told a warrior what came next. Fiends would become bolder and move toward areas with higher populations. Clashes with Sin would not be far behind. Soon, all of Spira would be praying fervently for the appearance of a Summoner strong enough to obtain the Final Aeon.
"All right men. This is it." Youke's voice carried easily on the morning air. He exuded confidence and serenity. "If you find survivors, assign escort. Division four will take the first defense watch at base. The healer and alchemist should arrive any time now, so do not be concerned with conservation of resources. Those of you with the skills should be prepared to assist with healing and restoration during your defense watch. Thanks to this lunatic arena owner, we have no idea what kind of fiends we may encounter. As a result, the order from a division commander to withdraw will take priority. Period."
Youke turned from the group, retrieved his umabari from the tree and folded the map into a small square. His green robes billowed as he stuffed the map under a breastplate strap and strode to the center of the group. Youke took a deep breath and closed his eyes. The men became still. Performing the Sign of Prayer, he dropped to his knees. The group followed his example.
"Yevon, preserve your faithful children this day as we go forward in battle," Youke intoned. "Each of us, an imperfect being, calls upon you in his heart to forgive our transgressions. We ask that our blades be true in the defense of Spira and its people. When we go forward in your name, we will kill no living thing. We will seek only to deliver death to the dead, and to release these tortured souls from bondage to Sin. May we be filled with compassion in our task and manifest your glory in our courage on the field."
The response of the men echoed through the forest. "Praise be to Yevon!"
Youke rose soberly to his feet. "Move out."
The company had begun to move out when a chocobo came speeding into their midst from the forest. Youke turned from the head of the formation to see what the commotion was about, and prepared to rebuke the rider. What he saw startled the reprimand from his lips.
"Lord Commander!" Youke bowed low and performed the sign of prayer to his superior officer. "Forgive me, but..."
"Why am I here? Is that the question you have, Youke?" Sir Farrell dismounted and swiftly moved to his Second. His yellow robes of office, almost identical to Youke's, had been augmented with a full compliment of battle gear. "I am here to relieve you."
Shock registered on Youke's face. What could he have done? "But Sir, I..."
Farrell didn't wait for Youke to finish. He thrust a scroll at the younger man. "I do not have time, and neither do you. Read it."
The scroll was sealed with blood red wax and the sign of Maester Umaro. Youke ran a thumb swiftly along the edge of the vellum. The wax snapped cleanly and he unrolled the message.
Youke had seen the Maester's languid flowing script on many occasions. Umaro took pride in his calligraphy and elevated it to an art. It was obvious the man had written this note in great haste. Stray ink drops and the feel of sand betrayed the hurried manner in which it had been composed. The letters were short -- the words brief.
Youri is in labor. It goes badly. Come home immediately.
Farrell had known Youke most of his life. For the first time, he clearly saw the man experience fear. "Take the chocobo," he said. "It's a well trained mount. I picked it for speed and stamina."
Youke could only nod, dumbfounded. The note fell from his hand and fluttered to the ground. Then, in an awkward motion, he willed himself to move. Without a word he mounted and fled toward Bevelle.
Youke gave the bird its head. The crystalline branches of Macalania became a blur. It seemed the world had gone silent. All he could hear was the hammering in his constricted chest. He forced himself to breathe. Suddenly he realized that he was experiencing panic. In his twenty-six years, Youke had been frozen, burned, shocked, drowned, blinded, poisoned and turned to stone. He had taken wounds that might have killed another and lived to tell the tale. A part of him lived to fight. He had stood alone against fiends five times his size and felt nothing but pure joy. He had experienced battle frenzy and gone berserk. But, in all that time, he had never experienced panic -- had never felt terror. Confronted with this new sensation he finally sympathized with those whom he had seen run from the battlefield. How could one function like this?
Closing his eyes, Youke fell back on his training. Trusting the chocobo to get him to the Highbridge, he began to breathe slow rhythmic breaths. He detached himself from sensation and divorced his mind from emotion. He focused all of his attention on the moment at hand. He floated, isolated and peaceful, in a calm sea where nothing could touch him. He began to take control.
What had happened to his sister? Youri was not due for four more cycles. There were no indications of abnormality in the pregnancy. She had never mentioned any discomfort. Of course, she had not looked well when he had said goodbye yesterday, but she had been pale and quiet ever since Aurik had died.
Aurik. Had it only been five cycles since his friend had met his end? Memories came flooding back -- small pieces of pain and sorrow.
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Youke stands on the bow of a ship. Water spray dampens his hair and robe. He smiles absently holding a recording sphere in one hand and a cloth wrapped box in the other. His reverie is shaken by a shout. "Sin to Port!" bellows the lookout. Concerned, he confers with captain. They are far from land. "We see Sin more frequently now, but it does not yet attack us. I'll not risk passengers." Youke nods.
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Ghost boots strike the memory planks of the dock. There is no one here to greet the boat. How strange. He will have to wait to give Auron the name-day gift.
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His sister sobs in a heap on the cushioned floor. The crone comforts her. Aurik's fishing vessel has washed up on the shore in pieces – attacked by Sin. There have been no bodies for a sending. All eight men are lost. They are now fiends. "There now dear," he hears the old woman say. "You have the boy, and the child within. It is more than many can say." Auron's tiny form sleeps, exhausted, in a corner. The tracks of tears still stain the child's innocent face. There will be no name-day celebration now. Youke is ashen stone.
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"Sister, come home to Bevelle with me. There is nothing here for you now but sorrow. Shana still cares for our home. There is room and help for you. I will aid you in raising the boy."
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Youri and Auron stand beside stalwart Youke on the dock. Workmen load two chests of belongings on the boat. "I loved him," Youri says sadly. "I was never so happy as I was here with him, my brother, and I never will be again."
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Shana, the housekeeper who raised the twins after their mother's death, waits in the doorway. "I will stay at the monastery. Auron may have my old room." Youke kisses his sister on the forehead. "I will ask for reassignment to the temple guard so I may be close at hand."
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Youke sighed and pushed the memories aside. They will not help him. Maester Umaro had been generous and kind. The position of responsibility Youke had been given was a surprise to him, but a welcome distraction. In his own grief he had thrown himself into the work. Had it blinded him to his sister's condition?
His head snapped up. Now was not the time for these thoughts. He had to maintain some form of control. He must be strong for his sister and nephew.
The chocobo came to a halt before a Temple guard. He leaned forward to pat the bird and whisper thanks for delivering him swiftly. The bird chirped in reply. Wasting no time, he dismounted and tossed the reigns to the confused watchman. Without speaking, Youke left the mount behind and sprinted for home.
Shana and the Maester stood in middle of the darkened common room when the door burst open. Wild-eyed Youke stopped in his tracks at the sight of them. He didn't need to be told. A choked noise escaped his lip as he fell on his knees in the doorway. "Oh,Yevon, no. No!"
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