Winds of Nostalgia-
Chapter 7: The Lock and the Key
Hello again everyone! I apologize for the delay. I had to fly back to the east coast for college which will begin shortly... combine that with my friends and I going on a Halo: Reach binge and my jet lag and I've been pretty preoccupied.
I hope the wait has not been too bad for you all and that it hasn't broken immersion all that badly. I have had a long time to contemplate what I wanted to do with this chapter. The writing for the previous chapters came very easily to me, but with this chapter... and I suspect the chapters that follow... I feel like I need to construct each of my paragraphs with care.
That said, I am very satisfied with what we have and I am very excited as to how you all will react.
Teresa watched the fire burn down alone, until just a small orange glow amidst the pale moonlight remained. Only the rustling leaves around her kept her company. She was alone with her thoughts. She preferred it this way, with no one to interrupt her or bother her. Her thoughts were orderly and peaceful, systems of thought built upon one another and within one another, an intangible web that only she could decipher.
Irene and Clare had fallen asleep on the opposite side of the fire. Teresa could hear their deep breaths and saw them fidget in their sleep as they dreamed. They only lay a few feet from one another.
Over the months, Teresa had noticed the way Clare had looked at her. Clare had also, despite being a stronger swordsman, shown kindness and compassion for her that she did not show the other girls. Both of these things that Teresa observed remained unexplained, in her mind. Teresa did not like unexplained things.
Teresa glanced over at Clare as she slept, examining the unexplained bond that Clare had expressed towards her. The bond served as a nuisance for Teresa, but it existed nonetheless.
At the very least, Clare had not tried to grab her or kiss her like Marielle had done. But what is she after? What does she want from me? Those questions had been on her mind for quite a while now.
Clare's late arrival in the training, the extreme similarity of Clare's Yoki to her's, and Clare's immense power and skill with the blade all bothered Teresa. She could sense that there was more to the situation than Clare let on. Perhaps the similarity of our Yoki signatures is the cause of her interest in me. Or perhaps her interest in me caused her to develop a similar Yoki signature. Teresa let out an annoyed sigh. She didn't have enough information, not even for speculation. She would need to question Clare soon and find out for sure.
Teresa folded her arms firmly in front of her as the wind blew. It was colder than she'd expected and her body reacted instinctively, sending a shiver through her. She stopped herself and let the coldness pierce through her without allowing her body to make any further complaints. She had no use for weakness of any kind, even instinctive weakness.
Teresa had been sold to the Organization for a bag of silver by those closest to her. She knew that the bonds between people, even the closest ones, could be broken on a whim and that the breaking of such bonds could be more painful than the breaking of bones or flesh.
If such bonds were truly so fickle and the breaking of them so painful, she did not understand their necessity. Her confusion as to their purpose was compounded by the fact that of all the attachments she had seen, she had not seen any which had strengthened those affected. She only saw people made foolish and weak.
And any action which diminished power was unacceptable to her. Teresa had learned at an early age, it was power that mattered in the end... the power to do as one wished, to be free. Teresa wished to be free. Turned into a monster against her will, she'd been harshly taught the value of freedom.
In the end, the strong were allowed to do as they pleased and the weak could either obey or perish in spite of it. Strength was the means by which to achieve to freedom.
Teresa did not wish to obey and she did not wish to perish. She reflected on that as she let herself finally fall asleep.
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When morning arrived, a thick blanket of fog had settled over the camp and the forest. Clare could only see twenty feet in any direction. Trees, like shadows, stood, half-obscured by the hanging gray mist which engulfed them. Branches seemed to come from the mist as if from nothing.
Feeling a drop of water hit the back of her thigh, Clare reached over her shoulder and touched the Claymore sheathed on her back. She could feel the wet surface of her blade, with beads of perspiration on the handle.
The moisture in the air is collecting on my blade and dripping onto my legs, Clare realized.
Irene dutifully cleared the fire pit, burying the charred remains beneath fresh underbrush until it was possible to see that a fire had once been there.
Clare walked beside her, observing inquisitively. Noticing Clare's curiosity, Irene explained, "We're dealing with a warrior rebellion. It is prudent to hide our tracks."
It made sense, though it was still seemed a bit excessive to Clare. Still, not excessive enough to complain. Clare, of course, could command Irene to continue or to stop.
I am in command, Clare thought, standing in silence. I hate command. Clare had never been all that good at it, lacking the natural aptitude of Irene or Miria.
Irene and Clare hadn't said much after kissing the previous night, nor did she think that there was all that much really to say.
It felt nice to do it. She'd felt the fleeting rush of giddiness and the tingle of excitement, the comfort of another's lips and body. But it was a far leap from the wanton lust Clare had imagined from romance. And they hadn't done much other than kiss. It was a bond of attraction and mutual respect, but not of electricity.
Irene and I are both too guarded. We were both hurt, and that closed us off. Even though we took comfort in the attraction we held for each other, we couldn't allow ourselves to give in to it. It made sense to her. The very nature of being a Claymore was to have one's heart locked within. Clare had remembered just how long it had taken Teresa to open herself up. Teresa had struck her, threatened to kill her, and nearly left her to die to the elements before showing even the slightest hint of compassion.
This is what happens to us. This is how we must cope with the harsh realities of being monsters.
Clare also remembered when she kissed Raki. It was her first kiss. Raki was a really sweet kid and he was always very happy and optimistic. That was what Clare liked most about him. His happiness was almost infectious. The world seemed a little less dark when he had followed her. She smiled at the memory. Raki was cute. He was safe. With him, she hadn't felt any real sexual electricity either. It hadn't left her breathless. She trusted him and liked him, but she wasn't intensely attracted to him.
As Clare wondered if perhaps she was holding too high of a standard for kissing. Maybe it's just not that good. It's not like I have kissed many people. But, Clare remembered that the moment when Teresa finally opened up to her, that moonlit night, both Clare and Teresa had embraced. She could no even compare the kisses she'd had with Irene and Raki to that moment. Embracing Teresa was on an entirely different scale.
Why did that happen with Teresa and not Irene? Clare had felt the comfort, the embrace, but she hadn't felt that instant raw emotional bond, the power that left her dizzy. Clare's eyes remained empty as she pondered the discrepancy. She found her gaze shifting, looking for Teresa. Obscured by the mist, Teresa lay, still sleeping across the now-buried fire.
Clare walked over to her, to rouse her. But as she knelt down beside Teresa, her blond hair wet with dew and tangled against the bark of the tree she rested against, Clare saw movements beneath Teresa's closed eyes.
Teresa was dreaming. To Clare, it seemed like dreams were the theme of this reality, perhaps the theme of her life. Naturally, she wondered what Teresa was dreaming about.
Clare paused, curiosity compelling her to observe. The expression Teresa was making, her facial features seemed different than the cynical and cold Teresa she had seen during training. There was also wetness under her eyes, but Clare couldn't tell if it was from the tears or from the mist.
As Clare knelt, curiously watching Teresa sleep, she sensed Irene's gaze and looked up to see Irene was watching Clare and was glowering. Clare stared blankly at Irene. The two locked eyes for a moment before Irene turned away dismissively, crossing her arms. She saw the way I looked at Teresa? Clare wondered, eyes still fixed on Irene. No... she must have noticed the way I looked at Teresa for quite some time. Is she jealous? Angry?
And just that moment, Teresa's entire sleeping body went rigid. Every muscle from her toes to her cheeks strained in a single instant and she lurched up, eyes opening wide, and inhaling as if she had just come up from beneath the water.
Teresa panted, eyes wide and bleeding shock. She reached up and grabbed her neck and then looked down at her arms. She seemed relieved to see that they were still attached. Her panting calmed and she slowly raised her head. Confusion remained, but she had regained her clam.
"Awake?" Irene asked coldly, head bowed down in cold confidence.
Teresa ignored her, and slowly raised her gaze to Clare. It was a gaze of softness and wonderment, as if Teresa had finally realized something. It was the first time Clare had seen Teresa look at her with anything short of cold detachment.
But the look faded quickly. Teresa dismissed it, closing her eyes in bemused embarrassment. "Apologies ... I had an unusual dream."
But Clare had seen Teresa's eyes open for an instant, and she suddenly realized why. "You grabbed your neck when you woke. Why?" Clare asked.
Teresa shrugged. "It's irrelevant. It didn't happen," Teresa stated, pulling herself to her feet, running her hands through her ponytail, pulling all of the clinging bark from amidst the strands of her hair.
Still, Clare noticed that something seemed different in Teresa. She seemed unsure... shaken.
"In your dream, did a warrior named Priscilla cut off your head?" Clare asked.
As the name left Clare's lips, Teresa froze, eyes widening in surprise.
She reacted. She must have dreamed of Priscilla. But how? Is her Yoki within my body somehow communicating with her? Is that even possible?
Teresa pulled her Claymore from her sheath and had it pressed against Clare's throat in a single fluid motion. While Teresa had drawn her sword with amazing speed, Clare could have dodged it if she wanted. She felt the sharp tickle of the end of Teresa's Claymore pressed against her throat.
"Where did you hear that name?" Teresa commanded fiercely. "How do you know what I'm dreaming about? Explain!" Clare had only seen Teresa glare at another person in such a way once before. It was the instant before Teresa had violated her vows as a Claymore and killed her first human.
Teresa felt violated as well. The dream she had just woken from had shaken her with powerful emotions. In that simple dream, but it had challenged some of her most deeply-held beliefs. She had cried, shown weakness. In that dream I was acting like a damned idealistic fool... taking care of some random little girl, betraying the organization, giving my life for her... And it felt so real... and for Clare to somehow inexplicably know about Teresa's dream made Teresa even more angry. If Clare is affecting my dreams with her Yoki in order to somehow manipulate me... Teresa thought, murderously.
"Put your sword away," Irene warned, grasping her own Claymore.
"You won't be able to draw in time," Teresa said with a cold smile, pressing the sword into Clare's neck. A trickle of red intermingled with the dew at the tip of Teresa's blade. Less than a pound of pressure could cut Clare's major veins or her windpipe. Clare still said nothing.
Clare heard the sound as a sword shattered the air. Irene's sword remained at her hilt, but a fissure of blood opened at Teresa's shoulder, indicating that Irene had swung. Teresa's sword and attached arm clattered to the ground, crimson blood spouting from Teresa's arm socket.
Teresa fell to her knees clenching her teeth in a quick flash of agony. "How..." Teresa muttered.
"A technique I've developed in secret," Irene muttered darkly, murderous intent clear as she continued to approach the prostrated Teresa. "It cannot be blocked. Not by one of your skill, Teresa-sama."
In Irene was an anger that was product of more than just protectiveness. It was that, in large part, but it was also resentment, jealousy, and hatred left beneath a cold exterior to stew for many months. Irene prepared her next strike, the killing blow that she knew Teresa deserved.
But as she used her ability against another for the second time, her blade was stopped just a foot from Teresa's neck. A screech, higher pitch than any Irene had ever heard, cut her ears as her blade was met with another blade of even greater speed. Sparks showered in the mist-filled air. Irene's blade remained stiff in the air. She inhaled sharply in surprise.
"Please... don't." Clare said, holding the sword that protected Teresa.
"Y-you blocked it? She was ready to kill you!" Irene stammered, half in shock and half in outrage.
Clare's expression remained as enigmatic as before.
Irene wouldn't let it go. She let out an angry yell and made another swing for Teresa. This one was slower, but far more powerful.
Clare didn't hesitate. She whipped Irene across the face with the breadth of her sword. Stung, Irene was flung back, crumpling the ground, her hair and cloak splayed upon her. She cradled her jaw as blood ran from the corner of her mouth. She glanced up at Clare with a mixture of emotional pain and anger. The physical pain was nothing in comparison.
I didn't want to do that, Irene.
Clare turned to Teresa with a sympathetic look. "Rejoin your arm," Clare said softly to Teresa.
Teresa, breathing raggedly, took her arm and placed it at her socket. Clare knelt beside her, placing her arm above the wound. Rising in cold anger, Irene stood up and briskly left, disappearing into the mist.
Teresa could feel the mending process rapid and nearly-painless as the flesh mended together once more.
"I won't be your pet," Teresa said darkly. "Just tell me what the hell is going on."
"If I need to explain it, then you are not prepared to hear it."
Her tone was stiff and emotionless, just a statement of fact. It was a fact that represented a wound in Clare deeper than any sword could inflict. The years it had burned within her, she had not feared pain or death. It was a wound she'd learned to live with, but the pain had never gone away, and never lessened in intensity. The pain of the love she held was the fire that kept her going, kept her fighting, always.
Clare's hand lingered on Teresa's shoulder, even after it was healed. Clare knew that deep down, she could never let Teresa get hurt again.
Teresa laughed derisively, swatting Clare's hand from her shoulder. "Your interest is just an annoyance to me. Just leave me alone."
Clare shook her head sharply. Clare knelt beside Teresa and wrapped her arms around her like she'd done as a little girl.
Teresa stiffened. "Hey...!"
"I still can see the pain and the loneliness in your eyes, just like before," Clare said, her eyes moistening. "I already had to watch Priscilla kill you. If you died again, I don't know if I could bear it." Clare began to sob against Teresa's shoulder, squeezing her tightly.
Teresa wanted to lash out or push Clare away, but instead, Teresa felt tears welling up in her own eyes as well. She tried to force them away, but it only seemed to make it worse. Teresa awkwardly brought her arms up as well, sharing the embrace.
"Clare... I..." was all Teresa managed to say, before pushing Clare away and rising to her feet. Teresa wiped the tears from her eyes. "Clare, none of this makes any sense."
"I'll tell you everything Teresa. Just... don't go."