III

CHAPTER III

HOME ON THE RANCH

Despite his amnesia regarding the past five years of his life, Cloud was almost certain he had never greeted the New Year in the farmhouse of a chocobo ranch. The group had arrived aboard Bill's pickup truck late the previous evening, agreeing to his hospitality and offer of placing a roof over their heads for the night. He had chosen not to participate, but the others had celebrated the transition into [ν]-εγλ 0008 with high spirits, gaily consuming the makeshift spread of snacks and alcohol laid hastily by Farmer Greane's two grandchildren. He did not begrudge his companions their carefree festivities, acknowledging that even a temporary reprieve from their daunting road ahead would help ease the dark burden that bore upon the company.

Instead, Cloud had retired to the spacious guestroom extension on the far side of the single-storey homestead, soon after joined by Red XIII. The rest had drank and chatted and sang traditional songs into the early hours of the morning, only two of which he recognised from his childhood: 'Holding My Thoughts in My Heart' and 'Tango of Tears'. While each made resolutions and pondered what the coming months held in store for them, Cloud had simply struggled to grasp the truth that more than seven years had elapsed since the conclusion of the Wutai War and President Shinra's declaration that the Planet would henceforth commence a new era. The affair had rendered Barret in particular worse for wear by the time he had staggered and collapsed on top of his allocated rainbow-patterned duvet.

"Sleep well?" asked Bill, the question rousing Cloud from his daydream and returning him to the present.

"I guess," he replied groggily.

It was not the best-preserved bed that he had ever encountered, but the worn mattress was a luxury in comparison to the cold earth of the countryside on which he had slept every night since their stay at Kalm's Cromwell Inn, not to mention the hot shower that followed. The hosts had also been kind enough to wash and dry his clothes, relieving the outfit of the muddy stains and sodden musk it had acquired over the course of the week.

"Breakfast?"

Bill turned from the low stone stove, his glasses lopsided and his mane of grey hair as dishevelled as ever, an inquisitive expression on his bearded face. Behind him was a redbrick wall that spanned the length of the kitchen and dining area, adorned by hanging steel utensils of varying shapes and sizes, and a chimney vent which swallowed the steam and smoke rising from the cracking coal fireplace below. The wooden worktops of the adjacent kitchenette were cluttered with saucepans and empty cider jars, indicating the aftermath of the New Year merriments.

Cloud sat at the large rectangular table at the centre of the room, absently gazing at the white and blue chequered cloth upon which Bill had placed a porcelain teapot and tray of rosy pepio apples, accompanied by a selection of wine bottles that held unlit candles. Light flooded the dining area through the broad window on the north side of the bungalow, the warm rays of sun creeping over his arms. The rolling hills and sporadic leafless elm trees of the verdant pastures lay beyond, glimmering beneath a clear sky veiled only by a wispy haze of frosty air.

"Sure," Cloud grunted.

"Chocobo egg okay for ya?" asked the robust farmer, nodding towards the large cast-iron cauldron that rested upon a tripod at the heart of the masonry fireplace. The pot had been simmering since Cloud had entered the room.

"Chocobo egg?" he frowned.

"They're a bit of a delicacy in these parts," answered Bill, grinning to himself as he read the uncertainty on his guest's face. "A lot o' our revenue comes from sellin' 'em to wealthy folks from the Shinra villages up in Healen Valley. One o' these can feed ten adults, but it takes an hour to boil the damn thing. Figured it would be a nice treat for y'all before you set off."

"Uh…thanks…"

"So, you folks've come from Midgar, huh?" Bill posed casually, tossing a thick slice of bacon onto the frying pan.

"That's right."

"News reports say the city's in the middle of a war between the Shinra an' some terrorist group," he mused. "Pretty desperate stuff. Thousands o' people killed 'cause AVALANCHE tore down part o' the Plate an' blew up a Mako Reactor. It doesn't even seem real. Us country types get a bit detached.

"Yeah…it's been a few years now since I was last in the big city. Tried to take my produce to the markets in the Slums. Got half of it eaten or ruined by those stupid hedgehog pies. Never again. Maybe one day I'll go back just to see Shinra Headquarters now that it's completed. They say it's quite somethin'."

"Sure…"

"Dunno 'bout this new President, though," he scoffed, stabbing at the sizzling meat. "He's been all over the TV since his father was murdered. Too young an' inexperienced, if y'ask me. It's never easy losin' a family member, 'specially not the way he did, but it's as if he's been usin' the whole thing to promote his own agenda. Like he didn't care or somethin'. I hear they've scheduled a parade for him in Junon next week. You gotta wonder. Maybe now the President's dead, one o' Rufus' supposed siblings will challenge him?"

"Siblings?" stammered Cloud.

"Och, it's just gossip, lad," Bill gave a dismissive wave. "There's been rumours goin' 'round for years 'bout President Shinra's affairs an' him havin' illegitimate children. People used to say he had mistresses in Wall Market an' that his wife didn't care. There was even one woman who claimed she had proof he was her son's father, but she died before the end of the War. Under suspicious circumstances no doubt."

"It wouldn't surprise me," Cloud muttered under his breath.

"Not that any of it affects us much out here in the sticks," he shrugged, leaning over to stoke the fire. "We're still usin' coal on the ranch 'cause we ain't got no choice. The Mako Reactors at Midgar or Fort Condor are too far away."

"What exactly do you do here?"

"Well, this farm's a mixed one," replied Bill, giving the frying pan a last shake over the dancing flame. "We grow all sorts of seasonal fruit an' vegetables in the fields out back, but we're probably best known as a chocobo ranch."

"Chocobos, huh?" Cloud repeated inattentively.

"Farmin' these birds has been in my family for generations. There's so much to learn 'bout 'em and their strengths, their personalities, their feather pigmentation, their breeding habits…you name it. Some're made for sport, others for heavy work, an' some are just godsdamn useless. All depends on their pedigree, of course. Some o' the best chocobos I ever saw were caught in the wild. Damn things are almost impossible to wrangle. They're very cautious by nature, y'see, so they'll run away at the slightest noise. Been times I had to use special Materia just to lure 'em in. An' whatever you do, you gotta be sure you don't make 'em angry. Chocobos're usually calm, but if you make 'em angry, they'll hurt ya.

"My grandkids do most o' the hard work lookin' after the ones we keep 'round here. Both of 'em are fascinated by the animals, but Billy's a natural; that boy could tame a Great Malboro. Money can be tight sometimes, y'know…especially since their parents died. We keep some of our own birds, but the big bucks are in rentin' out our stables to jockeys or other riders."

Grabbing a ladle from above the stove, Bill scooped an enormous egg from the cauldron, and set it on a draining counter. The shell was pale brown in colour, marked with several round spots. He then took a large knife and hacked into the egg, removing a sizeable portion of albumen and yolk. Shuffling it onto a plate alongside the crisp bacon, he crossed the room to place the meal on the table. Cloud responded with a forced nod of gratitude, tentatively reaching for his fork.

"Yup," Bill continued, trotting back to the kitchenette. "An' business has been booming since those two Zoloms appeared in the Marshes."

"The what?" Cloud spluttered, almost choking on the chunk of ham he had sliced off for himself. Bill's enthusiasm immediately drained from his posture, slowly turning with an apprehensive demeanour.

"You are headin' west from 'ere, aren't you?" he said with concern, his thick brows furrowed. "Towards the mines?"

"That's right."

"Then, you're thinkin' of crossin' the Marshes?"

"Yeah."

"But, you don't know 'bout the Zoloms?"

"Nope."

"Boy, you're lucky I found you when I did," Bill whistled, shaking his head in mock disbelief.

"What are you talking about?" Cloud retorted impatiently.

"A few months ago," Bill lowered his eyes, "two huge serpents turned up in the marshlands that surround the entrance to Mythril Mine. I haven't seen 'em myself, but we've had some pretty frightened travellers pass here lately."

"You're joking, right?" Cloud said, bemused.

"Apparently the Zoloms pick up on any footsteps in the Marshes. Then…bam, they attack! An', I guess that would be that…"

"And this is causing your business to boom?" asked Cloud sceptically.

"Well, if you still wanna cross, you're gonna need chocobos," Bill nodded. "Don't matter how fast those monsters are; a chocobo can zip through the marshland in the blink of an eye. Zoloms won't stand a chance catchin' them. If you wanna avoid bein' snake food, you'd better go speak to Billy."

"There's no other way to get across the Midgar Mountains?"

"Unfortunately not. They run all the way to the southern coast. The mine's the only way through without climbin' over those sharp cliffs, but it's a risk either way."

Sephiroth would know this; that's where he's bound…

"Figures-"

"What does?" Barret's voice reverberated from the hallway behind him. Cloud looked back to see the colossal man waddling awkwardly towards the dining table, shielding his sensitive eyes from the brightness of the morning as he nursed his hangover. Aerith, Tifa and Red XIII followed closely behind, carrying the stuffed backpacks.

"Ah," welcomed Bill cheerfully, "how are y'all feeling?"

"Been better," Barret groaned huskily, slumping into a chair opposite Cloud.

"Can I get you somethin' to drink? Homemade apple juice, perhaps?"

"Please," coughed Barret, offering a weak thumbs-up. "A cold glass of Banora White used to cure these. I'm gettin' too old for this shit…"

The next hour was spent recapping and scrutinising the information Bill had shared with Cloud so that the rest of the party fully understood the dangers that their road through the Marshes would bring. As they listened intently, he explained the route they would have to take far across the plains to reach an old miners' trail where the waters of the vast and murky lagoon were at their most shallow. It would see them navigate their way around the watchful eyes of other farms, and lead them to a place he believed they would be safest. The mood had grown tense, the group unnerved by the news. Only Barret had not allowed his concentration to remain on the subject, all the while shovelling slabs of bacon and hard-boiled chocobo egg hungrily into his mouth.

"So, where do we get a chocobo?" Aerith enquired eventually, accepting the reality of the scenario.

"The kids're over in the stables right now," answered Bill, motioning towards the eastern side of the estate. "They'll be able to sort you out."

"We better get going," asserted Cloud, standing and gathering his greatsword and a backpack from the tiled floor.

"Thank you for your kindness," said Tifa, holding out a hand. "What do we owe you?"

"Don't be silly, lass," Bill chortled bashfully, throwing a chunky arm around her shoulder. "This is a farmhouse, not a hotel. Your money is useless here. Joinin' me in a good old sing-along last night was payment enough. Now, be gone with you. You'd better reach the Marshes before nightfall."

Saying their goodbyes, the five departed through the creaking oak doorway and down the steps of the veranda, careful not to knock the vacant flower pot shelves that lined the exterior timber walls. Treading around a decaying keg and set of abandoned ladders at the base of the bungalow, they passed the pA-66 truck and crossed the small yard. The heart of the farm was made up of two other buildings situated in close proximity, as well as an expansive paddock out front, all encompassed by a ring of elm trees, their branches bare for the winter period. To the west lay the calm Lake Gysahl, its glassy surface reflecting the distant snow-capped crests of the Midgar Mountains.

Four magnificent golden-feathered chocobos grazed within the enclosure, one nibbling at the grass around the picket fence, occasionally raising its head to emit a satisfied wark, while the others meandered aimlessly around, their stubby beaks pecking at the soft soil. Delighted squeals drifted over the chilled breeze like a melody and, though captive and domesticated, they seemed no less content than their free and wild counterparts the group had witnessed in the valley the previous day. Each of them was tall and slender, their athletic bodies arched, their long necks bobbing enchantingly with every movement.

A short way from the farmhouse, beyond an old stone well complete with water bucket, rose a hulking cylindrical storage mill. Only a handful of airy portholes and a domed roof decorated the otherwise bland tower, clearly out of significant use for the season. It overshadowed the elevated curving ceiling of the adjacent barn, somewhat obscuring the corrosive rust on the corrugated metal sheeting. The twin barn doors were fully ajar, opening towards the stables, and revealed a row of paddocks inside. At the height of the front entrance was a comedic animation of a yellow chicobo, painted on the chipped ashen lumber above a pair of shuttered windows.

As they approached, Cloud noticed two ceramic garden ornaments that had been placed at the side of either door to keep them from sliding closed. One resembled a fat chocobo, its rotund shape sat on a small plinth, a lazy expression etched on a chubby face with only a few feathers standing erect. The second was much leaner, sculpted in mid-dash as if racing towards the finish line of a competitive derby. An odd addition to the statuette was that the bird was not being ridden by a jockey, but by a fluffy white moogle with tiny bat-like wings, and a kamikaze bandana wrapped beneath the red pompom on its head.

Entering the barn, the sour stench of droppings immediately invaded Cloud's nostrils, making him gag slightly. The concrete floor extended the full length of the shaded interior, accompanied on both flanks by several pens constructed of dark wood. Light filtered from the dusty plastic windows above each stable, casting faint shadows of the roof beams over the ground, and enveloping the beds of straw in the dimness. Some of the resident chocobos glanced up from their meals, their beady eyes watching the company, lackadaisically flapping their squat wings at the intrusion before returning to the mix of vegetables in the feeding troughs.

At the centre of the corridor, two children huddled together, their heads bowed as they read from a notepad, their discussion hushed. The pair had been introduced to the party the night before as Billy and Chole Greane. Billy was in his mid-teens and the elder of the two by a few years, a strong boy with bushy, copper-coloured hair, today clad in stained denim dungarees and a straw hat. His sister was much more petite and presentable, instead dressed in a burgundy frock with matching wellingtons. Both looked up simultaneously as Red XIII came inside, his heavy clawed paws clicking against the hard ground with every step.

"What can I do for you old folks?" called Billy, taking the reed from his mouth and slotting it behind his ear. He handed the notepad to Chole and began towards them.

"Old folks…?" Tifa whispered.

"We're, uh, looking to hire chocobos," replied Cloud. "Your grandfather said you could help us."

"Headin' for the Marshes, huh?" Billy concluded as he joined them. "How many you needin'?"

"How many do you have?"

"Well…" the boy thought for a moment, "to be honest, we're almost all out. We're takin' care of most o' these birds for other people, but I reckon I could spare two."

"Only two?" moaned Barret.

"Unless you wanna go out an' catch one yourselves."

"Will two be enough?" Cloud asked dubiously, gesturing in the direction of Barret. "I mean…will they be able to carry him?"

"Shut the hell up, Spiky!" the giant responded angrily, his wide nostrils flaring, slamming his gun-arm against a support post, causing it to shudder under the impact.

"Chocobos are remarkably strong animals," Billy pondered, scratching his chin, his eyes analysing the huge man.

"I don't think it's right," Tifa shook her head.

"Don't think what's right?" Cloud frowned, turning towards her. Her pale face was partially concealed by the long strands of untied hair that wilted clumsily to one side, running down her spine without direction or purpose. She stared back determinedly, her large brown eyes swelling with unease and guilt.

"Y'know…to use them like this," she answered, her voice softening as she spoke. "What if something happens?"

"You're worried 'bout them more than you're worried 'bout us?" snorted Barret.

"You can only take them as far as Mythril Mine anyway," Billy assured her. "They're good birds. They'll find their way back; they can take care of themselves."

"I know that, but-" pleaded Tifa.

"Tifa, we don't have a choice." Cloud exhaled.

"I'll probably have to give y'all Boco an' Zeio if you wanna carry everythin' too," considered Billy.

"Boco and Zeio?" Aerith murmured, raising an eyebrow.

"They're our two biggest birds," he nodded. "Wonderful chocobos. Zeio is Grandpa's, but Boco belongs to a Shinra employee. She lets us hire him out, though, so I'm sure she won't mind."

"What 'bout that fellow?" asked Barret, pointing over Cloud's shoulder.

Cloud looked around to see which creature his comrade was referring to, and felt his jaw drop as his gaze settled on an unexpected sight. Through the hatch of a paddock further down the aisle, he could see the elegant neck of a chocobo leaning out over the barrier, the curious bird unlike the others. Its sleek feathers were jet black in colour, while its bill remained as golden as its fellow inhabitants, cooing gently as if aware that it was now the focus of the conversation.

"Him? No," chuckled Billy. "That's Hyperion. He's a bit too old, now."

"Hyperion?" Tifa gasped in awe. "The Hyperion?"

"Yup."

"I don't understand," said Aerith.

"He's the famous race chocobo," explained Tifa, wandering over to the bird's stable. With a steady hand, she reached out and stroked his fine coat, causing him to kweh excitedly. "The one that made Invincible Joe the best jockey in the world. But…what's he doing here?"

"Joe retired him," Billy shrugged. "Now he competes at the Gold Saucer with his new black chocobo, Teioh. This old boy gets to live out the rest of his days frolicking in the field or stuffing his face with greens. Trust me, he's happy."

"Happy…" Tifa sighed in submission, patting Hyperion's neck.

"So, how are we gonna do this, then?" Cloud said firmly, making no secret of his desire to begin the day's journey.

"Chole?" shouted the boy, waving to gain his sister's attention as she inspected the troughs at the rear of the barn.

"Uh huh?" she squeaked.

"Saddle up Boco and Zeio," he instructed, taking his reed from behind his ear and beginning to chew on it once more. "They're goin' on a wee adventure."

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