Note: Check out mv's beautiful remix of 'Wutai' and 'Schala's Theme' called 'A Foray into Eastern Horizons' on and YouTube.
Schala—Wutai
The ocean rolled by beneath the chopper, getting less icy-dark by the moment. Reno and Rude were strangely silent. I didn't mind, I was just thrilled to be leaving the snow behind. I closed my eyes, letting the nightmare of cold leach out of my thoughts. I felt like I'd been brought to a standstill, desperate in the frozen night.
Sullenness flowed out of me as well. Every moment that passed was another between me and the memory of the pain that had driven me to seek warmth in the bed of a man I'd physically beaten to a fetal position less than a day prior.
Cold made me selfish, angry and raw, even more than usual. Helplessness did the same, and together they'd almost destroyed me.
I hope Wutai will be warmer, a lot warmer. I miss Mideel and Costa del Sol. Maybe I can live there, when this is all over. But what will I do? Work in a clinic? I imagine I'll lose this power once Geostigma is gone.
I sighed to myself, opening my eyes to look out at the rippled blue. Is there even a place for me in this world?
Wutai was indeed warmer, though not as warm as I would have liked. What they lacked in physical warmth they made up for in tea. It was hot, fresh, perfectly-steeped and seemed to be never-ending. It revived me enough to begin healing people shortly after arrival.
I don't think I realized from the map that Wutai is an island nation, and more populated with small villages than I expected. I felt a bit overwhelmed as people appeared out of the glossy woodwork and from beneath branches weighted with white blossoms.
Yet they continued to bring me tea, and were always bowing to me. I got flustered and confused; it had been such a long time since I'd experienced such deference. When I started shaking, gorgeous blue and red silk duvets embroidered with peacocks and mountains and trees were brought. Voices were kept low but eyes brimmed with emotion as the families of those I healed all bowed to me.
The only ones in the village not subdued were the children that frisked and played in excitement at having their illness lifted. They followed me around, sometimes shrieking in delight at the green tendrils coming out of my hands. Some of the smaller ones would lunge and grab at them, declare loudly, "I got one!" and then run off to inspect their prize, only to find it gone.
They also seemed utterly fascinated with the two Turks in their midst, much to the chagrin of Reno and Rude. They swung on Reno's hands and tugged on Rude's pantlegs. Halfway through the day I looked up at shrieking laughter to see Rude hoisting a tiny little girl high and spinning her round and round. She was beaming in utter joy.
A boy and a girl were batting at Reno's trailing ponytail as he whirled around in a crouch, playfully growling as he pretended to try to catch them. They giggled and gabbled to each other in their native tongue. The woman I was healing laughed. I looked down into her almond-shaped brown eyes, glittering with reflections of green as life flowed in.
"What are they saying?" I said. "Lie-rand?"
"It means 'fox,'" she said.
I glanced up at Reno again, openmouthed. His slinky-sly moves, his long body, that crazy red tail and spikes round his ears, his elongated jawline—I saw it all in a flash as if through a child's eyes.
"Lyrant!" I whispered under my breath, and turned back to the woman with a grin. "Lyrant. They are right!"
No one grabbed at me or even touched me without first asking permission. Tea, coats, blankets, little savory bits of vegetables and fish rolled up in rice and seaweed came as constant offerings to all three of us as we traversed the village. We were told that the leader, Godo, wished to serve us dinner that evening in his home and host us as his personal guests.
I felt so cared for and comforted and happy I could ignore the cold and weakness in my limbs. The sun was setting over Da Chao, the sacred mountain to the west, in a fiery display that colored all the drifting flowers pink. I inhaled deeply of the scent as we crossed the beautiful arch of a bridge.
My ears suddenly started ringing, my stomach churned and darkness occluded my vision. I grabbed for the railing and clung to it so I wouldn't fall. A hand was instantly on my back.
"Are you okay?" said Reno.
I lifted my head, blinking to clear my eyes. At first all I could see was that outrageous red hairdo. I giggled, composed myself. "I'm fine, Lyrant."
"Excuse me?" he said. I saw his frowning expression.
"It means 'fox,'" I said. "I heard the kids calling you 'Lyrant' earlier and asked."
He laughed. "'Fox'?"
I reached for his hair and tugged on it, grinning.
"Ow, hey!" he said, and grabbed a handful of my hair to tug as well. That, for some reason, made me tug harder. "What's the Wutain word for 'bitch,' huh? Huh?"
"You'll have to ask them!" I said, relenting. "Go ahead, I think you might scandalize some poor young woman into a swoon. They seem… repressed here."
He slid an arm around me to support me as I let go of the bridge. "Yeah, the war kinda left a lasting impression here. I mean, they were always caste-driven, but since Shinra defeated them they're practically enslaving themselves to anyone and everyone."
"That's quite a shame," I said. "It's unfortunate that this is the first place anyone's been nice to us and it's because they're an island nation of… well… doormats, I suppose. I wish there was a nicer way to put it."
"Yeah."
Across the bridge, I moved toward the next house with a pull to it. Reno tightened his arm around me.
"Hey," he said. "Maybe that's enough for today. Save some energy for practice."
I glanced up at his tightly focused eyes, initially incredulous he thought I would be able to muster strength for fighting practice later. My unease at my own weakness gave way to resignation as I nodded. He addressed himself to the young man approaching.
"She needs to rest," said Reno. "We'll continue tomorrow."
The young man bowed quite low. "Thank you, Mr. Reno. This way, please."
Reno—Wutai
They looked like silk pajamas. At least they were black. I didn't mind going barefoot. Rude looked like he was undergoing ritual torture to be out of that pristine suit of his. He sat against the wall in Godo's living room, back to the wall, stiffly drinking tea out of a little turquoise cup. I lounged comfortably on a pillow, arm draped over my black-silk-covered knee.
"Try not to have too much fun," I needled my partner.
He still wore his sunglasses, like a last vestige of armor in hostile territory. I grinned at him in what I calculated to be my most irritating way specific to him.
The bamboo-screen door slid open and Godo entered, dressed in bright red silk brocade formal robes that looked like a woman's fancy dress, hair in a topknot. How do they keep genders straight here? I wondered, saluting the leader of Wutai. I guess girls never look you in the eye. Except for that thieving daughter of his.
"Greetings, gentlemen. My apologies for keeping you waiting," said Godo. He knelt by the low table on a velvet cushion to begin preparing a second pot of tea for us. "I hope your stay here will be most satisfactory. My housemaidens are tending to Miss Zeal. When she joins us, dinner will be served."
"Thanks, Godo," I said, returning to my sprawl of comfort.
"Your people have been accommodating, to say the least," added Rude.
"It is the least expression of our eternal gratitude for the miracle you have brought us," said Godo.
The screen slid back again. Godo swiveled and I looked up.
Schala looked like she had had some very refreshing primping. She fairly glowed in a curve-hugging shiny pink cheongsam slit up the sides. Her hair had been pinned and wound around bunches of white cherry blossoms. Her pale face had been powdered, her lips darkened, eyes lined.
I whistled. I couldn't help it. Even through the powder I saw her blush, and grinned in satisfaction.
She slipped into the room and shut the door behind her. Godo rose, and Rude and I did as well, and as one we bowed to her. She bowed in return.
"Miss Zeal, you honor us with your presence," said Godo.
"I am honored to be here, Mr. Kisaragi," she said. "Please forgive me for my ignorance of your culture's customs."
"There is no need to apologize," he assured her. "Please, have a seat." He gestured to the blue velvet cushion at the head of the table. She strode forward and knelt. We resumed our seats.
I couldn't take my eyes off her. Her appearance was unsettling, to say the least. Made up like a Honey Bee whore, I thought, but I felt more disturbed than malicious.
In my early years in the Turks, I'd spent quite a bit of time in Wall Market, sometimes at the Honey Bee and sometimes picking up girls outside who didn't make the cut or had no self-worth. It was like shooting fish in a barrel, though. Once the shine had worn off the big city I moved on to fishing for higher-class women. I didn't have to pay, it was more of a challenge and a triumph to score. However most wanted me to stick around after, and for me the game was over.
This girl had clearly put herself out of the league. She didn't play, and clearly had a past. It's not like I hadn't encountered that before. I stayed away from vengeful eyes and huddled forms. You might as well prod a tiger in its cage, or steal all Rude's pairs of shades while he's sleeping—if you're really masochistic.
But now Schala had the warpaint on, wore a team uniform of sexy ladies everywhere, and it woke up the hunger in me.
Didn't we already go through this? I berated myself, staring resentfully at her over my tea. She knows she's not that kind of a girl, so why is she doing this to me? How can she justify looking like that around me when she can't and won't deliver? Fucking tease. I tried once more to work up a really good froth of hate at her. Then she did the most cruel thing of all—she looked up at me and smiled secretively.
I wanted to look away but couldn't. God, that curving of her lips is like a drug. More, please…
I imagined lunging across the table, grabbing her face and forcing her mouth to mine, smearing that perfect lipstick, drinking her up. The shocked look on Rude's face, the horrified one on Godo's. The betrayed one on hers. I let the dangerous little daydream fizzle and released my breath, unclenching my fingers from my cup as if I'd been anchoring myself to it to prevent such an attack from really happening.
I'd had such a great day, too. My job was a breeze in Wutai. Without having to worry about her safety, I had a blast, and at the end of the day I was still full of piss and vinegar. And tea. Enough caffeine and sugar to practically replace a Mako reactor. I needed to burn off all this excess friskiness somehow. When I felt like this, my only options were fighting or fucking.
With the women around here so docile and unable to refuse, fucking was out of the question. There's shooting fish in a barrel, and then there's having sex with a woman who doesn't move a muscle or even look at you. I'm not into sex where I don't know if she even wants it. That shit scares me.
Wutai's got quite the facilities for fighting, though. Probably because the sex is so unfulfilling and they're all so repressed. This culture developed the martial arts I myself practice.
"Is there an all-night dojo around here?" I wondered aloud. I realized I'd just interrupted Rude and Godo and Schala, whose conversation I'd inadvertently tuned out.
"I am afraid not, sir," said Godo.
Schala grinned. "I'm told the moon will be full tonight. We can practice outside."
I blinked at her in confusion for a moment, then remembered like a spike of hot lead down my spine that she hadn't had her fighting lesson that day. I eyed her, frantic to cover whatever it was I felt in response. "Not in that dress."
"No, of course not." She addressed herself to our host again. "Mr. Kisaragi, Reno has been teaching me to defend myself."
"I would be happy to provide you practice clothing, and any practice weaponry you require," said Godo.
"You are most kind," she said.
"Whatever you require, you only need ask," said Godo.
My thoughts raced as their voices faded out again. Training. …Right. I felt eyes on me from across the table and looked up at Rude. I saw consternation in the set of his mouth.
What?! I thought peevishly, but did not say. My eyes slid away, unfortunately settling on Schala again.
Why do you have to be so damn cute? I thought.
Schala—Wutai
They'd given me black velvet. Where Reno's suit of silk reflected the moonlight, mine drank it. We strolled across the bridge and out to a clearing away from the houses.
"Where are you from, originally?" he said as we walked.
"I grew up on an island, far from here," I said. "In… in a city devoted to knowledge and science."
"Sounds boring," he said.
"I suppose," I said. "I've been so many places since then, all so very different to one another. What about you? I don't even know your last name."
His silence lasted longer than I expected.
"Do you have one?" I said.
He snorted. "Yeah. It's Sinclair."
"Rough childhood, huh?"
"Ain't everyone's?" His ease sounded strained.
I shrugged. "For what it's worth, Lyrant, I think you're a good man." I glanced at him and found his icy blue eyes staring at me.
He looked surprised, but covered quickly. "Of course. Glad you finally noticed." He stopped in his tracks, and I did as well. He stretched his arms up over his head, then out to the sides, sinking into an initial stance.
I squared off against him, grounding my feet. Blossoms, glowing unearthly in the moonlight, broke free of the branches and drifted on the breeze around us. The beauty of the place felt overpowering, teeming with life. I shivered in the wind. I hoped practice would warm me.
"Okay, Bami, try to keep up," he said.
"'Bami'?" I said.
He grinned. "Wutain for 'bitch.'"
I grinned back. I don't know how you did it, but you can outfox everyone, can't you?
His normal lazy, testing start gave way. He came at me possessed with vigor. Fortunately the panacea of the place had been working on me too. I gave back as good as I got, pivoting, circling, blocking. Everything went right, every move better even than I intended. He sensed this and sped up. I felt invigorated, waking up to the night.
All the moves he'd been showing me flowed together. They suggested new ones to fill in the gaps in my knowledge. He didn't say anything, no guidance, no taunting to give him an edge. His hard eyes stayed locked on me as he spun and kicked and punched, nearly as magnificent as that first time I saw him fight in Kalm. Now I was on the receiving end, arms and legs and fists and feet connecting but not harming. Like a dance.
I never quite warmed up as much as I expected, but the thrill of the fight kept me wholly occupied. He grew more ambitious in his combat and ever-faster. I couldn't believe how I held my own against him. Something had clicked on in me. All the awkward, clumsy rehearsals of movement turned into a flow as profound as the green light.
He managed to grapple me and I managed to throw him. He tucked, rolled, sprang to his feet with amazing speed and came at me again. He lashed out to kick away my legs and without really thinking, I backflipped. He rushed me as I landed and the heel of his hand smacked right in my face. I was knocked sprawling, dazed, sparks in my vision.
He stood over me, panting. "Shit, sorry. I got carried away." He dropped to his knees beside me, wincing and contrite-looking.
I reached up to my poor nose and felt hot liquid gushing from it. Cool green poured forth from my fingers to ease the pain and stop the blood.
"I'm sorry," he said again.
I shook my head, hand remaining where it was. "I'm flattered you thought I could take that punch. Your confidence in my ability to defend is overwhelming."
"Yeah, you suddenly got a whole lot better." He sank back on his heels, still looking concerned. "What happened?"
I sat up, removing my hand, and shivered. "I don't know. It just… felt right. I got into a flow."
He grinned again. "Don't you love it when that happens? For me, that's any day ending in 'y.'" He stood up and offered me a hand.
I grasped his fingers and allowed him to pull me up. "Naturally." I shivered again, harder.
"You're still cold? After all that? Man, there's something messed up about you." He put an arm around me and rubbed my biceps vigorously, steering me back toward the river.
I laughed. "That much is obvious. I hang around you."
"That just shows you have taste. But you also hang out with that creepy bald guy who's always wearing sunglasses. What do you think is up with that, huh?"
"Eyes are the windows to the soul. Rude doesn't want anyone telling what he's thinking. Or feeling. Now, you…"
"Oh, this oughta be good!"
"…You seem to wear your heart on your sleeve but it's just an act, isn't it? You talk big to try to hide feelings nearly as big." I glanced at him, because he didn't hit me with a snappy comeback. He stared straight ahead, nearly glaring daggers at the middle distance.
"And what about you?" he said tersely.
I owed him for what I'd just said, and bled a little through my words. "I make a big show of my honesty and openness to disguise a desperate painful past. We all hide what we want to hide in different ways."
"Oh, yeah? What are your secrets?"
I laughed. "You're a terrible interrogator!"
He gave me a sly look as we strolled through the sleeping town. "Can't blame a guy for trying." He still had his arm around me. Half of me minded, in fear of the half of me that really, really didn't.
We prepared for sleep on the mats Godo had laid out for us in one of the spare rooms. The paper-thin walls did nothing to mask the sound of Rude snoring next door. A pile of blankets lay beside my pallet.
"Hey," said Reno. "You gonna be warm enough?"
"I hope so," I said, spreading them all out one at a time.
"'Cause despite my natural fantastic looks, I need my beauty sleep," he said. "I don't want to be woken up in the night if you change your mind, Bami."
I swiveled on my heel to look over my shoulder, but his back was to me as he made his bed. I couldn't quite read his voice. He sounded tense, but for what reasons, I didn't know.
"That's very sweet of you," I said carefully. "You don't have to offer, you know."
"Well, don't say I didn't ask." His voice definitely grew tighter. He crawled in, head still turned away, and turned on his side facing away from me. "Get the light, wouldya?"
I flicked it off and quietly crawled into bed. I didn't know what to think. Maybe I'd talked too much, hit too close to home. Home didn't seem to be a place he fancied. His mercurial moods, the opposition of how he sounded and how he appeared to feel both bewildered and enthralled me.
As I tried to sleep, I shivered not from the cold but from the memory of our bodies fighting, connecting, taking cues from each other in a give-and-take of epic wonder. I remembered the way he'd cradled me to his body heat at Icicle Inn. I wished I'd had the nerve to take him up on his offer, but it seemed too begrudging or at the very least emotion-packed.
Who knows what evil lurks in the heart of Lyrant?
In the morning Reno snored right through me getting up. Though it was obscenely early, I felt refreshed and happy to still be in Wutai. From the weakness of the pull of the place on my senses, I suspected we'd be leaving all too soon. I wanted to enjoy as much of the time as I could.
I found Rude sitting crosslegged, alone at the table, having breakfast. Wearing sunglasses. Pale dawn light slanted through the windows looking on a fish-filled pond in the courtyard garden.
"May I join you?" I said.
"Please." He gestured across the table. As I sat down, he poured out tea for me.
"Thank you," I said, taking the cup from him. A smile quirked the corner of his mouth.
I leaned over to sniff the steam off the sweet rice pudding in evidence, but reached for an apricot to eat.
Though I couldn't see his eyes, I felt him watching me in the way he held his head still while he ate with chopsticks. He wasn't used to them, and in his distraction spilled rice down his front. He hissed something inaudible and sharp under his breath and picked up a napkin to dab off the rice.
The apricot I ate was threatening to dribble juice, so I held the napkin up to my chin while I finished, and put the stone in the folds of cloth. Rude, his black suit cleaned off as much as possible, resumed eating with more care. It was so quiet I could hear a fish splash outside. I sipped my delicate flowered tea.
Rude set down his pudding and chopsticks. "You don't talk much, do you?"
I almost spit out my tea. I managed to swallow, coughing and laughing and gasping for breath. I looked up, my face flushed hot with effort, and saw Rude grinning at me.
I giggled as I calmed, fanning myself. "Ohh, Rude. That may be the funniest damn thing I've heard you say. You really save your words to pack a punch, don't you?"
He shrugged, still smiling, and picked a grain of rice off his sleeve.
I shook my head with a happy sigh. I watched him over the rim of my cup for a thoughtful sip. "You've worked with Reno for a long time, haven't you?"
"Eight years," said Rude.
"It shows. You've got a strong working friendship."
"Do you have any? Friends, that is?"
"I used to, far away and long ago."
"What happened?"
I chewed my lip. So many things… but really only one that drove me away for good. I gave him the best answer I could manage. "My husband died, and I left. Haven't settled since."
Rude froze again, like a statue. I looked down at my tea, wondering if I'd been foolish to share. His movement attracted my attention. He was taking off his sunglasses. My jaw dropped. Without those glasses his eyes were all too easy to read—deep, dark brown and full of sympathy.
"I'm sorry to hear that," he said, holding my gaze.
"Th-thank you," I said, taken aback. "It was a long time ago." I drained my cup. "I'm going to go for a walk. Would you care to join me?"
He nodded, rising, and put his glasses back on. The velvet slippers I'd been given waited at the door. I slipped into them while Rude sat on the floor and put on his dress socks and boots. I watched him.
"Your partner does that standing on one leg at a time," I said.
He gave a long-suffering sigh. "He enjoys showing off for pretty young women."
I flushed hotly and looked away. "Oh. I… I just thought he… shows off in general."
"He does. But he goes out of his way to impress you in particular."
Hearing Rude rising I pushed out the front door, suddenly desperate for fresh air. I didn't look back at him but strode off for the river. We walked in silence to the nearest bridge.
I stopped halfway across to climb up on the railing and lean out, watching leaves and petals and sticks being carried in the current. I commiserated with their inexorable path.
"Do you like Reno?" said Rude, climbing up beside me.
I shrugged, feeling a childlike embarrassment rush through me. "Not as much as he does," I heard myself say. Damn, I'm picking up your bad habits, Lyrant—deflecting with humor.
Rude snorted. "That would be impossible. No one likes him as much as he likes himself."
And it's not true, I realized sadly. He's such a show-off because he's desperate to be liked. No one who really likes themselves as much as he seems to has as much insecurity as I see in Reno's eyes. I sighed.
"It doesn't mean he can't like anyone else," said Rude. "He may not show it, but he cares."
"I know," I mumbled, anxious to change the subject. "Rude, what's your last name?"
He fell silent. After a long moment, he asked, "Why do you ask?"
"I want to know more about you."
"Why?"
I looked over at him with a grin. "Why not?"
I glanced around until I spotted a pair of sticks, one straight, one crooked. I hopped down and went to retrieve them, then returned to Rude. I brandished them.
"Let's play a game," I said. "We drop these in the river at the same time. Whoever's stick emerges last, that person has to answer a personal question of the other's choice. Okay?"
A smile spread on his features, and he selected the straight stick from my hand. We leaned over the rail.
"On the count of three," I said. "One… two… three." We dropped. I rushed to the other side, Rude behind me. We leaned out to watch, anticipating, scanning.
I whooped in triumph as the gnarled twig appeared. I turned to Rude, grinning. "So what's your last name, oh Rude of the Turks?"
"Prevost," he said, turning away. I moved to follow him, but he was scanning the ground. He strode a short distance away, bent down, and when he rose and turned around he had two more sticks and a fresh grin.
He lost the game again. "Where did you grow up?" I asked.
"Costa del Sol," he said, scowling as he looked for more sticks. After the third time he lost he came back with a whole handful and a look of fierce determination. He clearly wanted to win. I was happy he promptly answered my every question about his past as I continued my winning streak. By the time his ramrod-straight stick edged mine out that final time, I knew almost his entire personal history.
"Yesss!" he hissed under his breath, jerking his clenched fist in toward himself in a victory celebration. He straightened to his full imposing height, cleared his throat, and reached up to adjust his tie. He turned to me with a smirk.
"How much do you like Reno?" he drawled.
I looked away, across the river. Full morning sun had brought out the fiery brightness of the colors of red slanted roofs, of gold and blue paint, of the exotic foliage and those blinding white flowers. I took my time considering how to answer, feeling trapped. He waited.
"I've come to think of you both as friends," I said. "Much to my chagrin. I know I'm just a job to you guys. I guess it's pretty pathetic of me to think of you as more than bodyguards and guides. It's getting late and I need to see to those villagers who still have the stigma. Thanks for the conversation, Rude." I spoke so quickly he couldn't get a word in and started walking away before I finished. I heard him hurrying after me.
Coward, I cursed myself, and stopped dead. He almost stumbled over me. He's not a gossip, he's asking because he cares about his friend. The wind was starting to pick up again. I turned to look up at him, flustered, unable to think clearly. I felt too much that I didn't know how to say, or if I should speak at all. Who I was, what I'd done, what I'd been a part of and become weighed on my mind.
"Rude, do you think he's too good for me?" I said in a rush.
His eyebrows arched so high that had he hair, they would have been at his hairline.
I ground my teeth. Shit, I thought. "Forget I asked. Forget I said anything." I turned away again and started walking even faster than before, wishing so hard I could undo the last thirty seconds. Where did it start going wrong? When should I have shut up? Le mot juste, you foolish girl.