Chapter Six - The Awakening
The egg sizzled gently in the pan. Haru watched with drowsy eyes as the yolky mixture slowly firmed. He slid his spatula under and rolled it over. Sizzle. Roll. Repeat. Making tamagoyaki was soothing. Grandmother had made it whenever the weather turned rainy. She'd plop the yellow roll down on his plate, warm from the pan, and then he'd have to spend the next ten minutes cajoling her until the omelette was evenly split between them.
Haru seemed to have the kitchen all to himself this morning. It was past nine, and the others were probably off at work. Too bad. He had hoped to return Maliki's favor by making her some breakfast. Like he used to tell Grandmother, the sweet egg omelette was a little big for one.
Haru had never been much for constant conversation, but something about the emptiness of the kitchen suddenly struck him as unbearable. Even Atalanta's frenetic buzzing would have at least filled up the silence.
It would be good to see Damascus again. Spurred on by that thought, Haru showered and dressed. A half-hour later found him walking briskly up the dirt road towards the Mirage Desert laboratory. Haru knew he was getting close when his mouth dried out and his eyes began to sting. The arid weather here was definitely going to take getting used to.
The lab had a modern design, all white curves and wide glass windows. Haru wondered how expensive the upkeep was, what with the fierce desert winds and continual dust storms. Finding the door locked, Haru pressed the buzzer. Once. Twice. No answer. Just as he was holding it down for the third time, a gruff voice crackled, "Deliveries go round the back."
Haru cleared his throat. "Not a delivery, sir. My name's Haru Watanabe? I'm starting as an intern here on Monday. My cradily's already arrived and I heard it would be possible for me to check in on her briefly today."
Haru waited, shifting his weight from foot to foot as the intercom voice digested this. If they had been in person, he would have punctuated his introduction with a formal bow.
"Watanabe?" the voice finally rumbled. "Ah, yes."
Haru pushed when the door gave a buzz. The long entry hall was flanked by two alcoves crammed with hangers of protective suits and more everyday clothing stuffed in the back. The floor was coated with fine sand. Further in, Haru found a wide lobby, with a broad window that looked out on Mirage Desert. The day was calm and bright, and the desert seemed deceptively still, the flat, dark yellow sands stretching as far as the eye could see. But Haru knew that rock formations, pits, and crumbling towers lay out there as well, obscured for now by a trick of dust and light.
"A marvel, isn't it."
Haru jumped at the voice. He turned to find an older man—Galarian features, bushy orange mustache and balding hair—had come up behind him. The man stuck out his hand.
"Doctor Ogletree, head researcher."
Haru took the proffered hand uncertainly. Up and down they went, twice, before he was released. The doctor's grip was firm and slightly sweaty.
"Lab's empty today," he continued. "Everyone's out on expedition. Would have joined, but my damned lungs are acting up again. Follow me—"
Haru trailed after him, down a long corridor. The doors on either side were shut and the doctor was walking too quickly for Haru to read the nameplates.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Doctor. I enjoy your work," Haru added half-way down the corridor—extremely belatedly, he realized. He felt slow this morning, like he hadn't fully woken up.
The doctor glanced briefly back at him. "You're familiar with the despeciation problem, then?"
It sounded like a test. Luckily, Haru had never had a problem with those, even half-asleep. "Yes, Doctor. Simply put, Hoenn is growing less diverse on the level of species. It's not just that some species are on the verge of extinction, but that the rate of their long-term evolution seems to be slowing."
"Correct," the doctor said gruffly. "Now, how does one go about studying such a long-term phenomenon, when our own scientific records run back only a scant few centuries?" Doctor Ogletree plowed on before Haru could attempt an answer. The question had clearly been rhetorical.
"I study baltoy and claydol. The most fascinating pokemon, from a purely anthropological perspective. Uniquely, we have cave drawings of baltoy and claydol stretching back a millenia. And if you showed a child those drawings, and then showed them a modern baltoy, the kind you might encounter anywhere out there in the desert, they wouldn't hesitate to tell you these pokemon are one and the same. They have hardly altered at all across the many centuries. If we can understand the baltoy—the role they played in ancient civilizations, why they didn't evolve over time—we may find the answers to the national downturn in evolution patterns. Or as some call it, the despeciation problem. Is it normal variance, on a time scale greater than we have the current means to track, or a product of human action? This is by no means a simple question—as it is sometimes portrayed in the popular media. But what answers we can find will begin with the ancient, unchanged patterns of the baltoy."
Doctor Ogletree paused to draw in a breath. He'd halted in the middle of the corridor to deliver his impromptu speech. Clearing his throat, he resumed walking. A few minutes later, the corridor dead-ended at a thick door with a circular observation window.
"The Terrarium," Doctor Ogletree announced.
Stepping inside, Haru was hit at once by a rush of hot, dry air. He was standing in an enormous, high-roofed room. The walls on two sides and the ceiling itself were constructed out of glass, amplifying the heat of the mid-morning sun. The ground was all sand dune, interspersed here and there with patches of flowering succulents and prickly pear. Rock formations lay scattered across the sands and in the distance light glinted off a small oasis. Looking closer, Haru spotted the telltale signs of trapinch digs and caught the buzz of vibrava somewhere out of sight. Several sandshrew were sunbathing on the closest slab of rock, seeming content to ignore the intrusion.
"The cradily keep close to the oasis," Doctor Ogletree said. He made his way heavily through the sand. Haru followed, stopping occasionally to stare at a particularly intricate succulent, or the red flash of a baltoy spinning by. He couldn't begin to imagine the cost of maintaining such an impressive space. Safe to say, this research center was well-funded. He wouldn't have to worry about his stipend being delayed.
A few lileep peeped up their heads as they neared the oasis.
"Damascus?" Haru called out. A high whine sounded from behind a thick outgrowth of cacti. An instant later, a familiar green head poked out.
Haru smiled as the pokemon inched closer, reaching out to feel his face with one sensitive pink tendril. Satisfied by whatever information the examination had conveyed, Damascus let out another whine, this one pleased.
Damascus herself wasn't a fossil resurrection. She'd come from a breeding colony, a decades long attempt to build back up the lileep and cradily population in the Mirage Desert. Species restoration was very trendy these days, in popular media as well as the scientific world—restoring Hoenn's ancient glory, people said. As the colony stabilized and became more well-known, they'd announced a fellowship-contest—a few lucky trainers would be selected to travel with a lileep, logging its daily habits and growth. When he'd caught wind of that, Haru had thrown up training for his gym battle and spent the rest of the week locked in his cramped pokecenter room, laboring over his essay submission. The work had paid off: he'd been one of only seven trainees chosen. The months that had followed, diligently logging his lileep's diet, emotive responses and battling progress were the first time he'd seriously considered a career in research. And the fellowship was probably what had made the difference for him in landing this internship.
"How're things treating you here, Damascus?" Haru asked softly. Her tendrils retracted and widened, a sign of contentment. One reached out to trail questioningly up his face. And you?
Haru swallowed, staring down at the yellow swirls on the cradily's face. They weren't actually eyes, only their simulacrum. Cradily lived in a world of sound vibrations and touch sense. So she felt the tension in his jaw as he struggled to form an answer. Damascus, with her solemn way of listening, would have made the perfect confidant. But Professor Ogletree was standing just meters away, observing their interaction. Haru couldn't say anything that was on his mind.
"I'm good," he said aloud, for the professor's benefit. Even if she recognized the sound-patterns, Damascus was unlikely to believe him. "After all, I'm here. Do you miss battling, Damascus?"
The cradily considered this, her tendril wavering. At last she raised her right tendrils up and lowered her left tendrils down. Haru huffed a low laugh, recognizing Damascus' imitation of a human shrug.
"Take it or leave it, huh? Same for me."
Damascus extended a second set of tendrils to roam his body. Haru knew she was checking him for injury, attempting to locate the root of his distress. He hoped Doctor Ogletree knew less about the behavior patterns of cradily than he did about baltoy.
"This terrarium is amazing," Haru said to the head researcher, before he could comment on Damascus' actions. "How many cradily are here?"
"Just yours at the moment. They're a tad large for the space. When the lileep evolve we send them out to the colony."
"Would you like to go to the colony?" Haru asked Damascus. "Maybe you could find a mate there, just like—"
Heconilia. He clamped his mouth shut before the word could escape. Heconilia wasn't supposed to have a mate.
The silence hung awkwardly. Damascus' tendrils were now latched on to each of Haru's pulse points.
"How big is the colony now?" Haru pressed on desperately, turning back to Doctor Ogletree, who shrugged.
"Big and growing bigger. That's Bingqing's project, though, you'd have to ask her. Very admirable, I'm sure, and of course, the physiological knowledge can't hurt, but for anyone with an interest in social conditions the setup is completely untenable. Far too many external factors." He huffed in a breath, clearly irritated at the thought. "There, you've seen your cradily now. I do have work to do, I'm afraid—can't babysit all day."
Haru fought back a rush of indignation at the word 'babysit.' This man was the head of research, possibly the most important person in the entire station. He probably wasn't accustomed to spending his time with interns. And though Haru considered himself a careful person, he hadn't had a lab orientation yet. He could see why the doctor didn't want to risk him wandering alone, near all the expensive equipment.
"Of course, Doctor, thank you for your time," Haru said. He gently unlatched Damascus' tendrils from his body, wincing at the cradily's confused whine. "I'll see you again soon, Damascus."
.
Evening found Haru sitting awkwardly on a lumpy pillow. When Maliki had mentioned a Friday night dinner, he'd pictured something intimate—the housemates squeezed around a table, getting to know each other.
Instead, Maliki had led him down from the kitchen to the shrine room, where a long table was groaning with a mismatched assortment of food. Haru had quietly set down the plum-stuffed onigiri he'd made on one end. There were at least twenty people gathered in the room, of all ages and nationalities. Some had drawn into clusters, laughing loudly together as they ate. Others, like Haru, kept their distance. They sat around the room, withdrawn and silent, as if they were waiting for something.
Haru found out what when Maliki and a few others dragged some prayer mats together at the center of the room to fashion a makeshift stage. The conversation fell off as Maliki stepped up, a microphone in her hand.
"Thanks everyone, for making it out here." The microphone gave her voice a low, resonant quality. "For taking that time. I know it's not much, but I think it's really important to get together like this, where we can meet eyes like human beings, and hear each other speak from the heart. I hope to hear from everyone tonight, but I'll start us off, if that's all right with folks."
An unorganized murmur of assent rose from the crowd.
"My name's Maliki. When I was just a little thing, my mam and pap took me out to the edge of our lands. And together we laid down a bowl of milk, fresh from the udder. 'That's for Mew,' my mam said, so I asked her, 'What's Mew?' 'Mew's the one we all come from,' Mam said. So I say, 'Mam, if Mew made us all, why does she need our milk? Can't she make milk of her own?' 'And my mam laughed and said, 'My heart, of course Mew doesn't need our milk. It's us who needs to give it.'
Maliki paused for a moment, letting her words soak in. The crowd had come to a complete hush. Haru found himself leaning forward to catch every softly spoken word.
"Yes, it's us who needs to give it. We need to remember this land we till is Mew's and so's the land of our neighbor. She made it grow first and we must rise and we must sleep with that gratitude every day. You gotta live in gratitude, Sweetheart."
The audience nodded their agreement. "Gratitude!" shouted a craggy-faced man in the front.
Haru shivered. Gratitude, he thought, suddenly cold.
Grandmother had passed a few months after they left Johto. Pneumonia, he'd overheard, come on suddenly from a cold left untended. It has been clear to Haru, even at the age of nine, who should have been there to tend her.
They hadn't gone home for the funeral. The timing was just impossible, his father had said, with the company retreat coming up. If they didn't show their faces, they would be marked forever outsiders in this new firm. Grandmother would understand, Father added. She had wanted success for her children.
Hearing that, Haru had bitten his tongue, swallowed down his anger, and said nothing. Said nothing for days, not that anyone noticed. He had always been a quiet child.
When he was fifteen, he'd traveled back to Ecruteak, spending his savings on the trip rather than trying for the Evergrande Conference that year. In the basement of the old dance hall, he'd come across Grandmother's tapestries packed away in a cardboard box. They were ragged and dirt-stained, completely beyond his skill to mend.
And then he had come back. Back to Hoenn's dense metal cities and wild woods. Taken the anger, taken the hurt, and stuffed them in a box of his own, somewhere dark and out of the way, where he wouldn't trip over it.
Gratitude.
Haru realized his eyes were stinging wet.
Father had been wrong. They'd owed her something more than their own success. There was a price to pay, for knowledge, for guidance, for the gift of birth into a beautiful, ever-renewing world.
Haru stood. Up on the stage, Maliki met his gaze, her own eyes dark with understanding.
"That's right," she said. "Don't be shy, now, if your heart's urging you to speak."
Haru stepped onto the small, makeshift stage and took the mic Maliki offered.
"My grandmother—" he began and then faltered. The crowd was watching him, a crowd of strangers, the press of their eyes hot and itchy.
Fumbling for words, Haru landed on verse instead. "Then Ho-oh beheld the mighty deeds these three spirits had rendered him," he recited, his voice shaking. "And he was pleased and spake, Loyal servants, your service has been good. Then Raikou went up to the Heavens, where he dwelled close to the Life-Bringer. Entei entered the heart of a great mountain, for he was tired and sought rest. But Suicune ran along the white caps of the waves and, like unbidden wind, she was free."
Haru swallowed and licked his lips. The crowd wavered as he stared out past them. On the back wall, a candle flickered: someone had lit the Ho-oh shrine.
"What the verse means, I think, is that there are three kinds of people. Three kinds of ways people choose to lead their lives. Like Entei, some people just seek rest. They're not lazy but they're not driven, either. They live for quiet moments, for peace.
"Other people want power. Or want to be as close to power as they can be, like Raikou when she ascended to the skies. They strive to stand at the tops of big buildings, at the sides of powerful people. And they don't really care what that power is for or what it's accomplishing. They just want to be near it. And the thing about these kinds of people is that they think the world is mostly pretty fine. Maybe they wish their place in it were a little different, a little higher. But otherwise, fine."
Haru paused to draw in a breath.
"The last kind of person doesn't see it that way. She embodies change because she could never stay still. We don't pray to Entei or Raikou, but we pray to her, because when she sees a bespoiled lake, she heals it. And there must be people, too, who want to fix the hurt they see, who follow a path no one has set for them. And those people—they've made Suicune's choice."
Suicune's choice, somebody murmured in the crowd.
His parents, his sister, they were like Raikou, chasing glory in the sky. But what did their string of promotions amount to? What use was any of it, if it meant that Grandmother had gone to the grave alone, as if she'd never raised a son, never devoted herself to the care of two grandchildren?
Haru couldn't say anything more. If he spoke now, he would begin to sob. Soundlessly, he thrust the mic back towards Maliki.
"Thank you for your words," she said quietly.
Another person was coming forward to take the mic. Haru stumbled to the back of the crowd and sat heavily. He felt like he was caught back in the sheets of rain that swept Route 119, so constant and all-consuming you could lose yourself completely. The anger had festered too long. It overwhelmed him now—anger at his father, his mother, his sister, but at himself, too. He could have said something. He could have spoken up. Yes, he'd been young, but not too young to sit through the boat-ride from Rustboro to Olivine, to take the shuttle that ran to Ecruteak. Even though it would have changed nothing, he could have stood for the funeral rites and murmured with the crowd, "Look to the second sun that waits behind the rainbow. There dwells Ho-oh, Life-Bringer, Lord of All."
When the man in front of Haru got to his feet, Haru blinked. Looking from side to side, he realized that the crowd was breaking up. The evening had ended, while he sat in the storm of his thoughts.
As he stood, a tap on the shoulder made him turn.
"Hey," said Maliki, peering intently into his face. "Are you all right?"
Haru didn't want to imagine what he looked like. He hoped his eyes weren't puffed and red.
"I'm fine," he croaked.
Maliki's lips quirked slightly at the obvious lie. "What you said tonight, Haru, that was very wise. I was wondering, do you mean it? About the three kinds of people? Because if you do, I gotta ask—which kind are you?"
The question cut through the air like a shuriken.
"I don't know," Haru said after a moment. The admission made him feel smaller than he'd ever felt before.
What had driven him all these years, the long, cold nights in his tent, staying out in the wild, refusing to come in. People were supposed to find themselves on pokémon journeys, but Haru wasn't sure he'd found anything other than uncertainty.
He wasn't like his parents or his sisters. But he wasn't better than them, either. What had he accomplished in all his wandering? Of all of it—the fellowship, the badges, the internship—the only choice he could really take pride in was the last, disastrous one. No matter what else happened, Heconilia was out there, flying free as Ho-oh intended.
.
That night, Haru dreamed again. Grandmother was cleaning tapestries in the Bell Tower, humming an old hymn, when fire suddenly sprang out on all sides. First it burned the tapestry, the gold-edged fabric turning black. Unsated, the flames danced onward, towards grandmother's long, veined hands. Just as Haru tensed to run towards her, a hand gripped firmly down on his shoulder. His mother and father dragged him screaming from the tower and they didn't let go until every last wooden beam was burned entirely to ash.
The three beasts were there, watching the devastation unfold. Entei was the first to turn away. Then Raikou, who leaped into the air. Her passage traced a dazzling gold path through the sky. Haru's parents began to ascend along the path, Erika close behind them.
Haru stood alone, just him and Suicune's red gaze, which seemed to weigh him from his head to his heart. Just as he took one fumbling step towards her, she leapt away across the water.
"Wait!" Haru shouted. "Wait!"
But she was gone. The clouds drew in and the rain came down, more and more heavily, until Haru was swept away too.