VIII
CHAPTER VIII
THE WATCHTOWER
Madouge, the son of Zemzelett and one of the trio to have accompanied the party into the bowels of the Spriggan Fells, sat alone at a wooden bench on the raised section of Fort Condor's central hub. He had been reading from an aged tome, its faded cover revealing it to be a classic edition of the epic poem Loveless, closing its pages as he glanced up. An honest smile spread across his haggard face; he had undoubtedly been made aware of AVALANCHE's oath to aid their cause. Slipping the book inside his beige robes, Madouge adjusted the cotton bandana back across his shaven head, and politely poured a second mug of coffee as the neon sign behind him flickered with a vicious buzz.
"Good morning," he called in a husky northern voice, waking Cloud from his wandering thoughts as he entered the spacious chamber. As he sluggishly approached the table, Madouge offered him the mug. "You're up early."
"Didn't sleep well," muttered the former SOLDIER, graciously accepting the coffee.
The group had been granted a vacant quarters deep within the tunnelled network of the refuge. The dormitory was enclosed by sweeping walls of dried and compressed dirt, and consisted of six beds, half of which were complemented by a small pine desk that boasted a sweetly scented vase of violets. Thick beams blemished with Wusheng kanji graffiti buttressed the lofty ceiling, high enough to remove any sense of claustrophobia. The room could not be considered a lavish burrow by any means, but its soft chequered blankets and electric lamps were a rare luxury nonetheless, though Barret had insisted on the use of candlelight to minimise his own otherwise hypocritical Mako expenditure.
Cloud had awoken from what felt like a fleeting nap to find his outfit laundered by the men of the village as they had so kindly promised, knowing immediately that sunrise had passed. He had swiftly dressed in what dim glow Red XIII's tail emitted as it swayed absently back and forth above the sawdust-sprinkled floorboards, the large beast fast asleep between the girls' beds. Only the rumble of Barret's snoring could be heard, echoing around the hollow like a diceratops' song, the baritone notes numbing and hypnotic. As he clipped the spiked pauldron into place on his left shoulder, Cloud had noticed the peaceful Aerith stir, his gaze lingering on her for a moment.
She lay on her side, silent and tranquil, her brown locks sprawled across the feather pillow. A pale gleam radiated from her closed palm, inside of which he could make out the precious White Materia she held so dear. The unusual glassy orb had been given to Aerith by her real mother, Ifalna, before she died during their escape from Professor Hojo and Shinra, Inc.'s Science Department; it was an heirloom whose value transcended mere sentimentality.
"It's special," she had once explained, chuckling to herself. "It's good for absolutely nothing."
The White Materia's very presence brought comfort and safety to Aerith, forever tucked beneath the bows of the flowery ribbons that secured her plaited hair. Curled up and savouring the warmth of the duvet, she seemed so innocent, so vulnerable. It was then that Cloud realised the adjacent bed was empty, its covers cast messily aside. Stumbling sleepily towards the stone stairs that climbed from the quarters, he hastily began in the direction of the hub, his groggy mind determined to ensure all was well.
Where the hell is Tifa…?
"Everything alright?" asked Madouge, again returning Cloud to the present.
"I want to find my friend," he replied, sipping his coffee vigorously, feeling the caffeine sear through his veins.
"Ah, you mean Miss Lockhart?" the guard nodded with a smirk, the pink skin of his sunburnt features deepening. "She's gone to visit the lookout deck of our watchtower."
"Can you take me there?"
"Of course," said Madouge, gathering his things. "My shift begins in a few minutes, anyway."
Cloud followed Madouge down the frail timber steps between the levels of the area and through a bronze-plated archway that lay beneath a red banner depicting the oriental deity, Leviathan; the serpentine Water God was wrapped around a silver sword bearing the kanji slogan 'No retreat'. This led to a cramped and winding passage which soon brought the duo to a spiralling staircase that ascended steadily towards the hilltop, a tight squeeze for the robust physique of his guide. At its height was a small grotto enclosed by barren rock, bare but for a rusty steel ladder that dropped from a hatch which, for the first time since they had arrived at Fort Condor, unveiled natural light.
Scaling the ladder, they came at last to the watchtower, a makeshift shed constructed with planks of rough lumber that had seen better days. The golden remnants of a cloudless dawn blazed through a rectangular window cut coarsely from the wood, cascading beautifully down the jagged walls and across the granite floor, casting long shadows of the empty food tins that had been abandoned next to the hatch. An old crate and a folding stool sat below the window, both ingrained with footprints and doodles, but there was little else except for a warning bell hanging by the doorway to the observation deck.
Tifa's voice filtered from outside, chirpy and more carefree than Cloud had heard it since his appearance at Seventh Heaven almost exactly a month ago. Striding across the shed, he barged through the opening onto the elevated wooden terrace, shielding his eyes from the brilliant sun as they fell upon his childhood friend.
She was leaning on the barrier and, despite the early morning chill, wore only a snug white vest-top and short leather skirt. Her silken black hair had been tied at the bottom of her spine, flapping gaily in the breeze like a dolphin's tail, caressing her bare legs as if to accentuate her femininity. Commander Tristoner stood by her side, one arm wrapped around her exposed waist, the other pointing out over the glistening landscape. Cloud hesitated when he saw this, his words involuntarily catching in his throat.
"Tifa?"
"Cloud!" she gasped, spinning and brushing Tristoner away in a single motion, her cheeks turning scarlet. "What are you doing here?"
"I might ask you the same question," he answered bluntly, his military boots clumping heavily on the boards as he paced towards a neighbouring ledge. The crisp air felt refreshing on his skin, tainted by the faint odour of Mako, but it was not enough to wash away the tense atmosphere that had suddenly arisen. He could tell that his unexpected entrance had disturbed the pair and, though not his business, an uncomfortable knot had gripped his stomach.
"Now that Master Madouge has joined us," Tristoner declared without fluster, "I shall relieve myself of duty. I hope to see you again, Miss Lockhart."
"Um…yeah…" Tifa mumbled, her anxious gaze darting between he and Cloud, offering nothing more than a feeble wave as he marched back into the lookout shed. "Cloud, I-"
"So, what do you think?" asked Madouge, inadvertently interrupting as he stepped onto the deck. "Awesome, huh?"
Cloud said nothing, his pensive stare trained on the Reactor summit. The hulking exterior of the facility emerged ominously from the arid crest, manacled by synthetic tentacles piping toxic gases from the industrial furnace, its entire outer body of corroded metal a monstrosity against the azure sky. The painted Shinra Diamond at its height had withered due to the sea salt carried by the northbound winds, many sections of it having fragmented or warped beyond recognition, a fitting tribute to those who defended the settlement.
However, where a colossal bird had perched the previous evening, the arcing roof of the Reactor now presented a different spectacle. Approximately a dozen vents encircled the crown of the structure, all of them discharging jade green Mako vapours, while the densest emissions pumped from the largest chimney near the head of the dome. It was at this spot that a nest of driftwood and dried soil mingled with varied debris - at least twenty feet in diameter - lay inside what seemed like an airing groove. A huge egg bulged from the heart of the nest, its hardened shell an array of mesmerising colours that ranged from magenta to crimson in the sunlight.
"Where's the Condor?" Cloud frowned, glancing back at Madouge in puzzlement. "I thought she was protecting the chick?"
"That doesn't mean she can't still hunt," he shrugged. "She flies out to sea before dawn to feed, then returns to warm her egg."
"Every day?" asked Tifa.
"Every day," nodded Madouge, taking up a position between the two. "These hills are the perfect location for them to roost: within easy flying distance of the coast, but far enough inland that the weather is significantly milder."
"So, they eat fish?" Cloud deduced.
"It's basically the staple of their diet," was the reply. "And there ain't no shortage of fish in those waters."
As he spoke, Madouge gestured to the southern stretches of the Allemange Plains that lay far beyond the dusty slopes surrounding Fort Condor. Miles of crumbling and sterile terrain descended from beneath the balcony, marred further by the random and hazardous segments of the Reactor that protruded from the incline. It was a battleground that had seen several skirmishes with the Shinra Army and their mechanical techno-soldiers, countless abandoned remains of the roboguards left to erode on the hillside.
Cloud noted weapons such as the clunky custom sweepers and their heavy artillery, or the drill noses of hovering barbarian hell slashers, or even the motorised wings of an airborne eagle gunner. The Corporation had thrown such might behind their offensives, their tactics easily monitored from the very command post upon which he now stood, not once devising an alternative scheme to infiltrate the bastion by its hidden entrance.
A credit to the ignorance of General Heidegger, no doubt…
"Thanks for accepting."
"Huh?" stammered Cloud, not expecting the comment.
"Someone like you agreeing to help us means a lot," Madouge confessed, his brows furrowing as he glanced sheepishly at the floor. "The Volunteer Corps doesn't have a lot of money. Even if we wanted to fight, our hands are tied 'cause we're broke. We know what we're asking is selfish, but hiring mercenaries isn't cheap. It costs around four-thousand gil per man, so I'm sure you can imagine what we have to pay just to keep this place safe."
"Do you have a strategy?" asked Cloud, the spikes of his blonde hair blowing in the light gust.
"We've always simply set up traps for our enemies as they climb the mountain," he said, "then utilised the high ground and knowledge of the area to our advantage, blocking them off or attacking them guerrilla-style. Fortunately, their troops have never penetrated our defences and made it to here."
Cloud did not respond; it was difficult to comprehend such needless and repeated vehemence amid such an inspiring backdrop. Madouge's gaze gradually lifted and moved across the horizon where the pristine heavens fused with the sparkling sapphire ocean, his eyes tracing the shoreline with admiration as its beaches of purest white wound southwest towards the distant Equites Peninsula which bound the Strait of Ptolomea. Much like what the party had earlier witnessed from the highest ridge of the Spriggan Fells, the sight of lush green fields melting into a vast pane of turquoise was a novelty to those whose lives had centred around Midgar for so long.
Across the ocean was the Southern Continent, a great archipelago of islands known for their tropical climate but temperamental seismic activity. An array of fishing villages made up the coastlines of the isles, tiny communities which were self-sustaining and not fond of outside interference. Monsoon season was upon them, halting much of the local trade while their boats were anchored firmly to the wharves, isolating many villages from the rest of the world.
"Places like this make you feel so small, don't they?" sighed Tifa, rubbing her arms to fend off the icy air. "There's so much of the Planet I just don't know about. I mean, I haven't the slightest idea what's on the other side of that horizon."
"Mideel, I reckon," Madouge answered quietly, his expression growing troubled. "Though, you'd probably be best to avoid that area for a while."
"How so?" asked Cloud.
"I heard there was another underground eruption last week," he said. "You gotta feel for the folks down there sometimes."
"Eruption?" Tifa repeated, perplexed.
"That's when the Mako rivers breach the land," Madouge explained, his rosy cheeks losing some of their colour. "It's no secret that the currents run close to the surface on the Southern Isles, making the region vulnerable to earthquakes and sinkholes. That part of the Planet is a focal point for these rivers and, when too many converge at the same time, the pressure becomes too great, forcing them to burst from the earth. It's quite a phenomenon, and the only place in the world to see such an event. Anyway, one of these eruptions happened not too far from Mideel only a few days ago."
"That's terrible!" croaked Tifa.
"True…but, it's also something of a normal occurrence. There's an old saying in the town that if you lose something to the Lifestream, these swells are where you'll find it. Rumour has it all sorts of weird crap gets washed up. The people of Mideel have gotten pretty used to them over the years, but it's only a matter of time before things get serious. I mean, you only have to go back to the turn of the decade to remember the Banora incident…"
"The Banora incident?"
"You guys don't know?" Madouge spluttered, glancing between the two in shock. Tifa shook her head. "Okay, you're both from Nibelheim, right?"
"Yeah."
"And there's an old Reactor there?"
"The first of its kind."
"Well, are you familiar with the process Shinra uses to determine the location for the facilities?"
"You're talking about the Mako Excavation Test Sites, aren't you?" said Cloud.
"Aye," he confirmed. "Now, when Mako energy was first discovered, Shinra Manufacturing Works, as they were known back then, began mining in areas that were considered extremely fertile. The purpose of these so-called 'Mako mines' was for the scientists of the Company to establish the best methods of extraction. By the mid-[µ]-εγλ 1960s, the process had been so refined that the use of the Reactor power plants were given the go-ahead, effectively rendering the mines obsolete. I know all this because my grandfather was an engineer at the Modeoheim site until it closed. Same thing happened in Banora, though Shinra's presence there was kept a secret from the public."
"But, if the land was so fertile," mused Tifa, "why didn't they just build Reactors?"
"In Modeoheim's case, there simply wasn't enough demand. As for Banora, that's a different scenario entirely. Shinra decided that to construct a Reactor on the Southern Continent would be too dangerous because of the inconsistencies in the geology, particularly the Mako eruptions. Instead, they lost interest in the village, and it eventually became famous for the locally-nicknamed 'dumbapples' that grew in its orchards. You've probably heard of its trademark export, Banora White Juice?"
"No way!" laughed Tifa, her face filled with amazement. "I used to love that stuff. Why did they stop making it?"
"Because of the Banora incident," Madouge replied grimly, casting his gaze back out to sea. "Six or seven years ago, there was a devastating eruption, and the entire town was consumed by a sinkhole. According to the news reports, there were no survivors, and all that was left of the site were a handful of destroyed homes-"
"The hell y'all doin' out 'ere?" boomed an unmistakable voice from behind as Barret appeared in the doorway of the watchtower shed. He was brushing dirt from his wiry black beard in frustration, most of it having collected during his passage through the confined subterranean tunnels. "Hurry up, the ride's here. We're ready to go."
"Before you leave," suggested Madouge, raising a hand to his forehead and shielding his eyes from the sun, "do you guys want to see her up close?"
"See who?" Barret grunted irritably, the entire gallery shuddering as he walked.
"The Condor."
"But, didn't you say…?" began Tifa, her question fading as an almighty shriek resonated across the sky, slicing through the serenity like a deafening klaxon.
"She's coming home," Madouge grinned, his chest puffing with pride as the silhouette of the majestic creature took shape beyond the overhanging cliffs where the sullen Midgar Mountains careered into the bay.
Silence enveloped the quartet as they beheld the arcing flight of the Condor, sweeping above the coastal municipals, then slowing before it reached the borders of the Equites Peninsula. The sleek feathers of its russet body and tawny underbelly shimmered in the radiant daylight, adding to the already impressive splendour of the two-hundred-foot animal. Gliding north of the tower, the mother swooped and entered her final descent, spreading herself to reduce her speed. As she touched down, she gave a thunderous beat of her enormous wings, forcing the engrossed observers to hastily grab hold of the railings so as not to be blown from the terrace.
"She…she's incredible!" Tifa ogled the wondrous bird, captivated by its elegance.
"Perhaps now you understand why we fight?" agreed Madouge, his features thoughtful. "These Condors are so striking. We quite simply can't allow them to be killed by human greed."
"There's no way!" Barret roared, thrusting his gatling-gun in the air. "'Specially at the hands o' the Shinra!"
As the mother shuffled up the domed roof of the Mako Reactor, clasping an entire log in her curved golden beak like it was no more than a brittle twig, the reflective glare from the motion of Barret's weapon caught her beady eyes. The Condor's breathing grew immediately raspy, a low hiss emanating from her throat, dropping the driftwood into the nest and wrapping her wings hurriedly around the egg. Her bald face scowled at them unwelcomingly, every inch of her massive form rigid.
"We better go back inside," Madouge whispered judiciously, edging deliberately from the barrier. "Condors are naturally cautious creatures. If they sense a threat to their offspring, they will not hesitate to protect them with their lives. We generally only watch them through the window."
"Alright," said Cloud, glancing one last time at the crystalline horizon as the four retreated to grant the Condor the seclusion she desired, "we're coming…"
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