The Winds of Nostalgia
Chapter 10: Bliss
Irene
Two warriors lay upon the crisp forest leaves, two souls fractured by cruel circumstance, gazing into the eyes of the other. Their gaze was filled with curiosity, appreciation, happiness-but it was more than simple aesthetic appreciation.
The shared gaze entangled their spirits and burning feelings.
Both were slow to accept these feelings of bliss. Irene felt a fear, building in her gut, demanding she look away-break her gaze.
Self preservation told her: Connection with another leads to pain and weakness.
All of Irene's collective experience echoed this idea, but she compelled herself to be brave-to be strong. Lodged within the deepest protected recesses of her instinctual mind, she knew what it was to be happy.
As she looked into Clare's eyes, she smiled weakly. Is this feeling weakness or strength? Irene didn't know.
Clare smiled back, running a hand through Irene's hair.
Irene pulled her head back, granting access to the rest of her long, silver hair to Clare's probing fingers. I don't care. . . .
Irene closed her eyes in wanton vulnerability, her lips needing to feel Clare's. She guided them to hers and an inexplicable energy washed through her, a secure warmth pulsing inside her. If she could hold the feeling for eternity, she would freeze time, and doom the rest of the world to stagnancy. But, she needed to break the kiss eventually.
Life without stops between moments of bliss was like a lute player who strummed all notes at the same time, with no rhythm or separation. Without the pauses, life would be chaos-Beautiful, enrapturing chaos.
But her fear built. She gazed at Clare. Don't hurt me.
Clare pulled her head close, burying it against Irene's chest as she held Irene with a tight embrace. The touch of Clare's warm body pressed reassuringly against hers washed Irene's fear away with a flood of irrational bliss.
It will be all right. Were the words she felt Clare convey.
Irene clutched Clare's head strongly against her chest. Clare submitted completely as Irene's hand wandered down her back, urging her body tightly against her own, holding Clare protectively as Irene gazed on her relaxed face.
"Your pauldron," Irene said. "It's digging into my ribs."
Clare repositioned herself, angling her broad shoulder-guard from Irene's gut. She wiggled to find a position to relax into. "You look funny when you wiggle around," Irene said. It sounded cold. Irene's voice often did, but Clare knew Irene well enough to hear the slightest ring of humor within.
Clare hit her playfully-just a tap.
Irene pinned her hand against the ground forcefully and kissed her again.
As their lips reluctantly separated, Irene gazed in wonderment on this beautiful, golden-haired creature which lay in her lap. She didn't understand just what made all this so nice, but she didn't question it further, for fear that her question might be like chasing a shadow with a lantern. Perhaps pursuit of the answer would only drive it further away.
Since that day, I've felt a need to be strong, Irene considered. But that was a need borne out of fear and duty, not out of happiness. Of the two emotional needs, Irene favored needs borne of happiness, fleeting as they were. Though, she reasoned, it would be prudent for a Claymore to have an equal measure of both.
Happy things could be taken away. Strengths borne of fears and grim duty remained even in the worst of times.
Irene's gaze showed that fear as she examined Clare. Coupled with the bliss of the moment was a fear of the impermanence of this moment-this feeling. Life certainly isn't fair.
Still, she thought she'd earned at least a small measure of happiness. It was a complacent thought. She sighed, feeling her determination begin to dull. But if that determination got in the way of her enjoying this moment, then what good did it provide anyhow? What was the meaning of life if not this?
"Do you love Teresa?" Irene asked, her question sliding from the recesses of her fearful mind.
"Yes."
Irene's heart lurched.
"More than me?"
Clare nodded.
Irene bristled against Clare's embrace, feeling a wash of disbelief and anger. Clare regarded Irene's reaction calmly, and explained: "Did you love your parents? Your savior? Your hero? Your friend?" Clare asked.
"I don't understand."
"She was all of those to me." Clare nuzzled her body against Irene's. "Not a lover. Not like us."
Irene relaxed.
Teresa
So Clare's crazy, Teresa thought.
She would be smug if the truth of the matter wasn't so damn sad. Part of her had suspected it, but she'd been surprised when she discovered just how intense and elaborate Clare's crazy tale was. Teresa was weakened and confused by her dream, but not weakened and confused nearly enough to believe Clare's outlandish story. Teresa felt glad that she'd regained control of her emotions in time to make a logical decision.
Likely the same means of Yoki mind control that she attempted to use on me were used on her, to implant her with the very same fake memories, Teresa reasoned. She seems like an emotional person. She was probably weaker to it's affects. She could not resist it. Victim or no, she is a threat.
There was no way that the memories could be real. They didn't make any sense. Most of the details were, in of themselves, a vast discontinuity. But even more oddly, what could have sent Clare here? What creature could defy time and space?
But, all other pieces were insignificant compared to the great flaw in Clare's story, which was a simple, one-worded question: "Why". There was no coherent line of reasoning which could answer that one gaping hole.
Subversion was a far more likely story. Subversion serves a purpose. The Organization has many enemies. Clare is being used as a pawn by one of those enemies. She is beyond saving.
And transportation from a different world? A different time-line? Who would possibly stand to benefit from that? What an imbecilic story.
As the realization of Clare's insanity hit her, Teresa had hid her contempt as well as she could. She'd feared that Clare might notice, but Clare was too busy crying and telling her story. Irrational emotion makes us weak and blind.
Teresa looked into the darkness, and saw a pair of silver eyes, to the north of camp and with a completely hidden Yoki as was customary. She's arrived-just as she promised. Teresa had been carefully watching the north since dark had fallen, expecting this visitor's arrival.
Teresa pulled herself to her feet. "I've got to relieve myself," she said, grinning coldly to hide the lie. Rosemary glared at her darkly, waving a permissive hand.
"Have funnnn," Aquilia mocked.
Bitches, both of them. Teresa thought. I'm going to enjoy bumping them both down a rank when I've graduated. She'd enjoy knocking Rosemary down in rank especially. She'd demonstrated clear sadism over the last few days, which only served to demonstrate how weak and insecure she was within.
I wonder how she would handle the demotion. Not well, I imagine.
Teresa walked towards where she'd seen the brief moment of the hovering, silver eyes, ducking through a tangle of vines, and stepping between thick trees, looking for her furtive contact.
It was her human senses, not her Yoki-sensing ones that told to her that her contact was nearby.
Despite being far outside earshot of the camp-fire, the contact had not yet revealed herself. Teresa glanced around, but couldn't see her. Come out, you crazy bitch. She folded her arms and sighed in annoyance. "Don't you think we're far enough from camp?" Teresa asked impatiently.
The hidden warrior stepped from behind a tree, a single, eye regarding her with an unnerving indifference. "This location is suitable. Further in would be ideal," Rafaela said. As always, Rafaela's one eye burned with anger, though it was never directed towards Teresa, which served as a comfort.
"I have a report," Teresa said.
Rafaela said nothing as she waited for Teresa to continue. This girl really is some kind of freak, isn't she? Teresa thought.
"Orsay's suspicions about Clare were accurate. She's a plant and she's inciting rebellion. Irene doesn't seem to have any knowledge, but I think that is soon to change. Irene's been-" Teresa considered her words carefully before speaking. She knew that her words here could possibly sentence a warrior to death. After preforming a mental double-check, she felt it was accurate enough. "-Compromised."
"Your orders remain the same," Rafaela stated. "Keep an eye on your comrades. If any go actively rogue, terminate them. I will be shadowing you, and when the rebellion's leader reveals herself, I will destroy her. Use your best judgment."
"Got it." Teresa did not like being given orders, especially not these orders. They sat as uncomfortably upon her as her stiff, unwieldy armor. Still, she did not plan on removing her armor. Likewise, she did not plan on disobeying her orders.
"Dae insisted that you try to take Clare alive. He would like to make use of her as a test subject."
Teresa imagined what that entailed and her stomach immediately went numb. She nodded coldly, and took her leave of the clandestine meeting.
She returned to the camp, sitting back down beside the fire. She stared into the flames, feeling the rocky uncomfortable ground beneath her, uncertain thoughts swimming behind the logical certainties upon which she'd built her decision.
Night fell. Irene and Clare returned from their midnight tryst. All fell asleep except for Teresa, whose mind was too troubled.
Morning eventually came, the pale light splashing down upon the sleeping warriors was enough to rouse them.
The day's walk had been shorter than the previous ones the five warriors had taken, but still lasted many hours.
Teresa was glad, at least, to no longer feel a soreness in her feet. Thanks to grotesque alien flesh subsisting within her body, she had adapted-become stronger. It was a symbiotic existence that was sickening in many ways, but inescapably necessary for anti-Yoma warriors.
Meet violent with violence, monsters with monstrousness, treachery with treacherousness.
The last part of her thought, a justification for her betrayal of Clare, felt wrong, for some reason. I do not move based upon feelings, but upon logic. That is what makes me stronger than Clare, Teresa thought.
Those who rebel from the Organization will never know peace.
It is the Organization that keeps the Yoma in check.
Her logic remained sound, but she didn't like it.
She wasn't required to like it.
Their hike took them up over a large mountain range. The sun shone brilliantly off the snow as they clambered to the top, the land beyond spilling out beyond them. The other side of the mountains appeared to be a dry and infertile valley filled with rough rocks and chalky brown dust. The dust bowl stretched before them, vast and inhospitable.
The girls shielded their eyes as they walked onwards. "If our intel is worth anything. The rebels will pass here."
They had made moderate progress into the desert when a vast Yoki began to form in the distance. "Do you feel that? Who's Yoki is that?" Aquilia asked fearfully.
"I've fought enemies with more Yoki," Rosemary assured.
The squad of five walked towards the signature.
Teresa narrowed her eyes. Her extensive practice with reading Yoki had taught her that there was far more than simply the size of an enemy's Yoki. Another vital factor in Yoki reading was the quality of the Yoki, a difference that only those with honed sensing talents could discern.
While Rosemary had more Yoki to draw from, the enemy's Yoki seemed honed to a deadly sharp quality, as if the very act of sensing it would cut the mind. It was the Yoki of a veteran whose skills had been hardened over many long years of struggle. This enemy was extremely dangerous.
Teresa did not often feel fear-she considered it a useless emotion. She felt it now. It mixed with the guilt of the coming betrayal.
A Yoki far larger than the first sudden appeared, briefly overwhelming Teresa's senses.
"What was that?" Irene asked.
Teresa concentrated, and could feel the flavor of the two Yoki in brittle opposition. "The two Yoki signatures are fighting," she noted. Has Rafaela engaged the rebel's Yoki? Or is it another battle altogether? Teresa had no way of knowing. The dusty land made it impossible to see over long distances. If it is Rafaela, she's much stronger than Rosemary. Why isn't she number one?
Teresa glanced over at Rosemary. Consumed with a bitter look, Rosemary appeared to be asking herself the same question.
"We're going in," Rosemary said.
"No we're not." Clare unsheathed her Claymore. "The Organization falls today." Irene pulled her sword free as well. Two trainees leveled their swords at two warriors. So Irene went rogue after all, Teresa thought.
Teresa felt a tightness in her chest. Clare's back was turned. She trusts me. She assumes I am her ally. Teresa grasped her sword, but it felt unbearably heavy in her hand. It was a crucial moment and she'd never found it so hard to draw her weapon.
Time itself slowed to a crawl. Her logic and her feelings battled in one long moment.
She overpowered her doubt with sheer force and wrapping an arm around Clare's throat in a sudden motion, she jammed her blade into Clare's back. Teresa felt the blade sink through Clare's flesh with unnatural ease.
Gritting her teeth, Teresa jerked her hand, pushing the remaining length of the blade through her.
Clare looked down to see a blood-coated blade exiting her stomach, tearing through her young body. It burned through her like hot iron. Even if she could lift her blade and overcome her pain, she could never raise her blade to Teresa.
She dropped her sword and fell limply against Teresa. Her body was going numb. Teresa caught her with her free arm, her other arm still holding the blade that pierced her.
Blood seeped down the blade, dripping onto Teresa's hands.
Teresa gripped the Claymore as hard as she could, fingers shaking. She wanted to let go. Eyes narrowed, Teresa stared into Clare's eyes. They were foggy with pain.
"CLARE!" Irene shouted in disbelief.
"Kill her," Rosemary commanded, stepping towards Irene.
Rosemary and Aquilia descended quickly. Irene turned to face Rosemary, wrath incarnate. She grasped the sword on her back, intending to kill.
"She has a quick-draw technique!" Teresa heard herself shouting. Hearing this, Rosemary dodged. The air where Rosemary had been shattered with the slashes of Irene's missed quicksword attacks. There was no room for doubt: had Rosemary not dodged, she would have been slashed to pieces.
Aquilia saw an opening and stepped in, pointing her blade at Irene. Irene spun, but hesitated.
Aquilia was out of range.
Irene's mistake cost her dearly. Rapid blurs of silver shot from Aquilia's blade in a pulsating wave. In no more than an instant, a score of blade-size holes were punched through Irene's body. The minced body of Irene fell face-down into the dust, the parched land drinking up the blood which splattered where she'd fallen, lying motionless.
Clare and Irene were down.
"What a pathetic technique," Rosemary said, shaken by how close she'd come to being cut to pieces by the trainee's sword.
Aquilia chuckled. "Trainees."
For reasons unknown to her rational mind, tears began to well in Teresa's eyes. Why is this happening? This had happened to her often in the last few days. Teresa breathed heavily, wiping them away, but felt the sting as her bloody fingers touched her eye. Teresa wiped the blood from her brow. She felt sick.
Rosemary and Aquilia turned to Teresa. "You should have finished her. She's still breathing," Rosemary said icily, leveling her sword at Clare.
Clare looked up from where she rest in Teresa's arms with a fading consciousness, her beautiful blond hair stained with her own blood. How can she still not be angry? I betrayed her.
"The Organization wants her alive."
"So?"
Teresa lay Clare gingerly down. She retrieved Clare's sword from the dirt. "Those are our orders. If you want otherwise, come." Teresa dropped into a combat stance her pained eyes narrowing on Rosemary. "I will kill you both if I need to."
Rosemary and Aquilia did not disappoint her.
Irene
Irene wanted to scream.
Knives tore every inch of her. She writhed, body trying to escape the terrible pain. She convulsed again in the dust. She felt her eyes getting wet. Not like this.
The happy future Irene had dared to dream was seeping out of her in a bitter puddle and it was her fault. She knew how this was going to end. Her wounds were too deep.
I failed. Irene hated herself in that moment. She hated how weak she was.
It was hard to think of much else but the pain. Irene tensed and trembled, gritting her teeth to keep herself from screaming. A growl of agony sounded in her throat, shut behind her sealed lips, bottled up.
Pitiful tears dripped from her eyes, sucked up by the hungry sand as ragged, short breaths raked through her. She clenched her fists until the nails cut into her palms.
Too painful. I want to die.
Irene trembled, squeezing her eyes shut and forcing out bloody tears. The bitter thought echoed in her mind: I want to die.
Irene felt a flash of anger at herself. Get up, weakling. She grit her teeth desperately summoning her strength. Get-the FUCK up!
She rose up with her broken body, moment by excruciating moment, eyes dripping with tears, ragged breathing getting difficult as she coughed blood. Her mangled left arm hung useless at her side.
Her breaths shook with tremors of pain. Blood dripped from the ends of her silver hair.
Irene grasped her Claymore in her right hand and looked to the sound of crashing swords with her bloodshot eye.
The three warriors fought on.
Just a small magnitude of strength. . . that's all.
She stumbled to the nearest girl and with a cry of pain and anger, drove her thick blade into the girl's back. Irene felt the girl spasm as the blade went through her. The girl toppled into the dust.
"Clare," Irene whimpered.
Irene wobbled for a brief moment before dropping atop the corpse of Aquilia.
Dizziness and fatigue pulled at her. She tried turning her shivering head towards Clare, but it simply went limp. She saw, from the corner of her calm eye, that Clare's chest still rose and fell. A tear of happiness dribbled down her face.
With the last of her strength, she rolled her body on top of Clare's, resting her head upon Clare's neck. It was all worth it. To protect her. To love her. The last of Irene melted into her.
She wasn't useless in the end. She was home.