Chapter Thirteen: The Black Card, Part Two
The "world" was split into four parts: Alfons, Sutare, Mucha, and Lautrec.
Alfons was the northern quadrant. It was a split by a river running west to east. Snow and ice encrusted the numerous mountains of Alfons, nestling at its heart a volcano.
Sutare, the eastern lands, was a dry desert that grew into cliffs riddled with caves hollowed by the wind.
Mucha, in comparison, fared better. The south was made of long, green plains and low steppes that ended with mountains bordering the very edges of the quadrant.
Then there was Lautrec, the west. They crossed the wastelands that gave way to small hills and a river, and then further west, to the plateaus and tall mountains. Two horses—one dark brown with a black mane and tail and the other slightly red with a healthy coat—drew their covered box wagon along the bumpy road west in six days. Only once did they stop at a town to restock their supplies, for Clare's silent urgency ushered them to keep going. On the sixth day, they reached Shire, a small town built at the base of a grey plateau within a valley of plateaus.
"Please stay here," was all Clare said to Shirou before she left by herself. In Shirou's mind, Clare seemed resolute before departing. It was enough to make him worry a little.
But then, what else could he expect?
Clare remained an aloof woman in the week he had known her. Her sense of morality allowed him to relate to her, but that meant little in terms of her total self. Her countenance gave him the impression that she was one who secluded herself on purpose. She was nothing like the women in his memory—neither the one with the unfaltering faith nor the one who held herself to impossibly high standards.
—And yet, comparing Clare to those women was perhaps unfair.
No, all he could do was respect her wishes.
Shire was not a bad place to stay. As it was built beside a plateau, a great shadow kept the town cool for most of the morning. Near noon, the town basked in the sun's rays. This far into the west, Shire prospered mostly as a trading town; however, further down the rugged path that lead to Shire's borders, farmers cultivated wide fields that sat upon terraces carved into the cliffside. Artificial canals drew water from lakes and small streams to nourish crops that would otherwise dry up beneath the sun. The complexity of the agricultural arrangement was impressive compared to what Shirou had seen.
As for the town itself, he could not help but compare it to Rabona. As the town was built upon sloped ground, the townsfolk carved terraces to support their structures as well. Split into three layers, Shire ascended and descended with the stone.
Unsurprisingly, the structures were built with stone. They ranged from short houses to tall buildings. They all took various shades of white and grey, with red sloped rooves. The streets were understandably narrow, but, being made of stone, they were as well-kept as the streets of Rabona. The wagon rattled only a little as the horses clopped leisurely over the road.
After finding an inn to stay at, Shirou decided to make due on his offer to teach Raki swordsmanship.
At the same time, he continued to watch over Shirley's progress. It became obvious that his students were of opposite qualities; whereas Shirley possessed dexterity and reflexes, Raki showed potential strength as a boy. However, Raki's potential would remain untapped so long as he had remained untrained, thus:
"Twelve. Keep going."
Groaning, Raki shakily performed another push up.
"Thirteen. Another."
This time, the boy's arms gave way and he collapsed into an unruly heap.
"Thirteen. Next time you do this, I expect you to do the same number or more."
Between breaths, Raki managed to say, "Okay."
Nearby, Shirley continued her own exercise diligently. Like Raki, she was in a short-sleeve linen tunic and pants, and her hair was tied into a bun to keep it out of her face. Under her breath, Shirley counted her repetitions. Shirou overheard her—"twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight"—and decided to focus on Raki's needs until Shirley was done. As Raki struggled onto his feet, Shirou handed the boy a wooden sword and ushered him to another side of the open lawn behind the inn they stayed at. Shirou ignored the onlookers spectating from the windows of the inn beside them. As the lawn was a convenient space to practice in, with no grass beside the dried patches along the corners, bearing the curiosity of an audience was a small price to pay.
"We're going to drill forms," Shirou said. "First form."
He turned to present his shoulder forward. His feet arranged in perpendicular directions.
Raki mimicked the stance. "No. Sword parallel to the ground. A little more. Now your feet; you need to be able to shift your weight forward at a moment's notice. Move it to your right. Okay. Ideally you would have a shield to defend against a yoma's first attacks, but they aren't necessary. Instead, you'll be focusing on a thrusting maneuver. That will maximize your weapon's reach."
Showing Raki the sword thrust, he watched the boy repeat the technique, adjusting his positioning whenever he moved wrongly.
"Shirou? I've finished my warm up," said Shirley.
"Good. Practice the first, second, and third forms. Alternate between them, and repeat. When Raki is done, you'll be sparring with him."
Shirley did as she was told.
"Shirou, why do I need to learn this?" Raki asked as he practiced. "This isn't like..."
"'This isn't like what Clare does', were you going to say that?" Raki nodded bashfully. Shirou chuckled. "Strength training, reaction training, and footwork training are the building blocks of everything you need to learn basic combat. Power, agility, mobility, and skill define the four cornerstones of survival against yoma, do you understand? Not to mention, you'll need to learn the discipline required to practice for extended periods of time. You won't get anything out of this if you go in half-heartedly.
"Take Shirley, for example. She's been doing her strength exercises, so now she can hit harder. Her reflexes are improving, as is her footwork, so she can avoid a yoma's attacks more easily. The footwork also helps with her form, making her movements more fluid."
"How long have you been teaching her?"
"Since we left Rabona. That was about eleven days ago."
The pair watched Shirley repeat the pattern of movements by herself. Though she was sweating, she maintained the breathing rhythm as Shirou had taught her.
"I likened my father to be a hero when I was young," Shirou said nostalgically. "I aspired to be a hero like him. Before he died, he told me that I had saved him from a sad death, and that I was already a hero. I learned how to use the sword so I can protect the people that I need to protect, as my father would have wanted me to. Shirley, she... well, she'll tell you when she wants to. And Clare, she fights to kill yoma." He looked at Raki from the corner of his eye. "I take it you want to learn to fight for a reason. Focus on that as you swing. That purpose will guide you to move forward."
Raki shut his eyes, remembering the monsters that took his home. "I understand."
"Good. Now do it again, your form is messy."
"Okay."
The wagon had reached Shire in the early morning.
Since then, Clare had traveled to the meeting location specified on the black card. The few words she had exchanged with Shirou regarding her objectives made her wishes clear: this would be a personal matter, as all was business between warriors like herself.
We are always conscious of our own mortality, for every day we must gamble our lives against fate.
Climbing the winding slopes up the plateau Shire rested beneath, Clare reached the top alone. Standing atop this particular plateau and staring into the dreary, clouded sky was a familiar sight. She was tall, with long hair that was once brown but was now golden like her own. Her quilted uniform had a layer of sand over it, and the metal parts of her armor had a few scratches on them.
When Clare stopped, the warrior waiting for her turned.
When we reach the limit of our struggle against the yoma within us, we become aware of our end.
"It has been a while, Clare."
Clare relaxed a little. "Elena. You haven't changed. You look as you did back then."
"As do you. In fact, it feels like yesterday since we first met, though it has been a such a long time ago. I hope you're also doing well."
When the end comes, we neither fear it nor embrace it. It simply must happen.
"I am. Things have been hectic as of late, but... I have hope."
"Ah. I'm envious, Clare. We don't find much hope. Where did you get yours?"
"From a stranger I met." Clare showed Elena the black envelope she had gotten from Louvre. "Do you recognize this Elena?"
"What is that?"
"You gave me your black card."
The black card is our last hope for a peaceful death. Upon its face is the symbol we bear, imprinted upon it with the color of our old blood.
Elena's smile remained. "It was a joke, Clare. I was getting lonely."
"Elena, how long have you been waiting for me?"
"About twelve days."
Clare sighed softly. "I am sorry."
As warriors, our deaths will be brutal. But with this card, we can meet our deaths on our terms.
"Don't worry, Clare. You're here now. We can return to town together. Truthfully, I'm a little famished. Do you think anyone down there is tasty?"
Drawing her sword, Clare stood in Elena's way. There was no emotion in her eyes.
"Clare, can you move aside? I'm quite hungry," Elena asked with the same smile.
"I cannot do that."
The card is a plea for help. A suicide note. A last wish.
"Very well." Elena's face melted away as her body shifted. Her bones cracked loudly as her quilted armor tore from her expanding body. Her limbs deformed, lengthening and squirming bonelessly. As Elena's hair fell off, Clare bit her lip and charged forward, her blade sinking into Elena's flesh. One of Elena's tendrils wrapped around the blade, holding it in place. "You make me sad, Clare," Elena whispered in a deep voice. "I thought we were comrades—sisters. Clearly, I was delusional." Elena curled the set of tendrils that occupied the place of her former arms. The mouth over her chest gaped open. "For you deceit, you will pay with your body. Feed me!"
One of her tendrils lashed out, the underside covered with teeth.
Clare released her blade in order to evade. She grabbed Elena's blade, which had fallen onto the ground during Elena's transformation, and wielded it for herself.
The face that protruded from the layers of webbed skin bridging the tendrils together smirked arrogantly. It contained none of the warmth Clare once knew Elena had. Elena freed Clare's blade from her flesh and threw it over the edge of the plateau. Then she braced herself against a thicker tendril that acted as a third leg and pushed off of it, torpedoing toward Clare with her tendrils outstretched.
The card is given to the one we want to put us out of our misery. This person, more often than not, is the one we trust our lives to the most.
Clare clutched the sword in her hands tightly before meeting her old friend.
Elena's scream curled Clare's nerves. It was not a pleasant sound to hear. It reminded her of the times when they were still young, learning how to handle the blade, and the punishments that their retainers inflicted to the girls that lacked discipline. Ironically, the scream too reminded her of the times when the pain of being physically transformed to adapt the flesh of monsters became too much to bear. Still, Clare pressed on, using Elena's sword to sever the tendrils that came too close, drawing her old friend's blood.
With teeth as sharp as a wild beast's, Elena lunged to bite Clare's neck. Clare evaded her narrowly, ducking beneath Elena's massive body before rolling to the side.
Her sword drew blood again.
As violet spilled upon the dry, hard dirt, Elena cried out again, blood spilling from her lipless mouth. Clare didn't stop. Again Elena's sword lashed out, drawing blood from its old master. Elena's right side fell with a meaty slap, tendrils thrashing. Before Clare could land another blow, Elena leapt onto rocky outcropping nearby.
Due to the nature of our lives, this person would be the last one we would call family.
Clare pointedly ignored the pained grimace on Elena's face, the sword in her hand flashing with great ferocity.
"Clare! Stop it, it hurts!" Elena pleaded.
Cutting through Elena's screen of tendrils, Clare thrust the tip of the blade into Elena's left side. She shoved the blade violently down Elena's flank, severing her other set of tendrils.
With an agonized howl, Elena leapt again, baring her teeth, this time catching the meat between Clare's neck and left shoulder in her jaws. Biting down, Clare's blood colored her quilted armor a dark purple. It didn't deter Clare from acting—taking the sword in her right hand, she swung at Elena's legs, taking them both. The warrior's face hardened against the pain as Elena's teeth held on. Pushing the sword into the earth, Clare reached out with her free hand and dug her fingers into Elena's face.
Veins covered Clare's hand as she squeezed.
In many cases, our fellow warriors look at each other as sisters.
Elena's hold slackened slowly. Drawing on her yoki to increase her strength, Clare threw Elena down upon the plateau. Elena's whimper reached her ears but there was a greater duty to accomplish here. There was no room for hesitation, no room for pity or remorse. The lessons that her retainers in the Organization surfaced then, reminding her of the skin masks that yoma wore.
Just as the yoma were beasts that preyed on flesh, the yoma too preyed on the hearts of their victims, drawing upon the love and faith its prey had to protect itself.
Monsters, the lot of them. Monsters that she had accepted the blood of.
They are our very last anchor to humanity.
The violence did not end as quickly as Clare wished. With a roar of frustration, Elena's limbless body shuddered beneath the warrior. More tendrils erupted from Elena's wounds, forcing Clare to make distance. Whirling the sword, she fended off any tendrils that drew too close. The teeth on some of the tendrils became barbs that struck the blade like metal.
Elena began reforming her legs, abet slowly. Meanwhile, tendrils extended from her body to assault Clare from the distance.
The attacks were not like before. Elena was desperate. The tendrils struck from every direction, in intervals that covered the delays between the attacks of other tendrils. Clare found herself being herded towards the cliff, something she could not accept. Especially for an offensive warrior that invested her yoki into increasing her fighting abilities like herself, Clare could not absorb damage indefinitely. With the wound near her neck throbbing from pain, Clare concentrated her yoki upon her right arm.
The tendrils that were almost overwhelming her before swarmed forward.
Clare's right arm strained from the yoki empowering it. At the same time, yoki flowed into her wound, and tissue repaired itself. Even when she found use of both of her arms, Clare was hard-pressed to defend herself from Elena's assault.
And in our sisters, we must put all of our worn faith.
She took a risk. A gamble. Instead of concentrating on protecting herself, Clare focused on breaking through. The sword in her hand ran wild as it cut through the thickest concentration of tendrils with a single swing. Clare ran through the gap, ignoring the gashes cut into her arms and sides as the remaining tendrils struck her. Instead, she concentrated single-mindedly on taking Elena's head.
As more yoki circulated her body, Clare's body pulsed with a second beat.
Whirling, the warrior cut through Elena's hastened defenses and sank the blade into Elena's heart.
Elena's tendrils fell as one. Clare pressed Elena into the ground with the sword violently. Elena struggled to rise, only to fail against Clare's overwhelming strength. With heavy coughs that splattered blood over Clare's face, Elena brought her tendrils to embrace Clare with great effort. The remaining warrior did not resist, instead falling beside the impaled sword to rest her head against Elena's body.
Elena whispered in her ear, "It'll be okay, Clare. Stay like this and it'll be okay."
As the monster died in her arms, Clare let out tears for her last friend.
However, she did not cry.
For inevitably, when we near our deaths, we must pray we do not become the monsters we kill.
Shutting her eyes, Clare prayed. The yoki in her body broke free from Clare's control, and, for just a moment, overwhelmed her.
In the darkness of unconsciousness, Clare saw Teresa smiling at her.
a/n: So I'm about fifteen or so minutes late for Christmas, but you know what they say: the best presents are the ones you didn't expect!
Anyway, I ended up using the show as a reference for the setting of this scene. I've been trying to work on the imagery of this story, as well as the thematic elements that I think a crossover between these two series would bring up. In a later edit I might include the image of the ruined monastery from the show into the final scenes, but this is what I have for now.
I've also added more visual descriptions as per the suggestion of one of my readers. I don't want to fill my chapters with unnecessary fluff, but I do think that some might be good once in a while to flesh out the "world".
Hope you all have (had) a great holiday, folks! Enjoy my (late) gift!