Chapter 3
The Ferryman twitched his skeletal fingers, jittery for payment. "No fare, no trip," he said, his teeth chattering with every syllable.
Confused, Riku looked from the skiff to Aerith. "Where can you take us?"
"The final stop."
"What does that mean?"
The Ferryman was about to answer when Aerith cut him off. "Does it really matter? Any place is better than this, isn't it?"
"But—"
"Here, this is all the munny I have." Aerith placed a stack of coins in the skeleton's open palm.
The Ferryman jiggled around the slivers of metal, a crooked smile creeping across his bony jaw at the sweet sound. "This should do quite nicely," he mused. After slipping the munny into a leather pouch, he welcomed the two travelers aboard.
Aerith went first, plopping down and patting the wooden seat opposite hers as an invitation. Riku hesitated, but he didn't want to be left behind. After a second's pause, he climbed in and the Ferryman cast off back into the sea. The shore sank further into the horizon until soon nothing remained but fog. The only light came from a rickety lantern that dangled from the skiff's curled bow.
"So what did you mean when you said we both got what we wanted?" Riku wondered out loud.
"Well," Aerith thought for a moment, "you wanted to go back to your island, right?"
"I guess."
"And getting to an island needs some kind of boat."
"So does getting off that dark beach."
"Right, so you must've wanted one. Didn't you?"
"Well, yeah." Riku crossed his arms. "Are you saying you didn't?"
"I did, but, what I wanted even more was to find someone."
Riku eyed the Ferryman. "You mean…?"
"Oh, no!" Aerith chuckled. "Not him."
"Mr. Broody?"
"Not quite. You'll see. Maybe. Hopefully." Aerith started praying again.
"I don't really like secrets," Riku groused.
"You get back what you put out, remember?"
"What secrets am I keeping?"
"You never did say what you're doing here."
"Isn't obvious? I'm trapped."
"You could've left when the Door was open."
Riku stayed silent, finding more interest in playing with a splintered chip on the skiff's port side than he did in the conversation.
Aerith didn't press him. After lending an extra minute of her perked ears, she slowly allowed her mind to drift away back into her garden. The ebb of the skiff melted away into a sturdy, floral ground. A breeze floated through the gaping hole in the church's ceiling, caressing the lilies as Aerith nurtured them.
"I really need to talk to you," she said, nearing the bottom of her watering can. "I don't know what to do."
In the back of the church, in a corner draped in shadow leaned a man. Nothing she said made him stir. Maybe his eyes were on her, or maybe they weren't. But even so, Aerith continued the conversation.
"It can't be too late. I feel it in my heart. He's still out there somewhere." She paused for a moment, having run out of water. "If anyone knows about these things, it's you. Please help me. Please be there when I need you." Aerith kneeled down to tidy up a bit, making sure there weren't any weeds or pests. Just her routine check that she used to always do as a teenager. Everything looked fine. Perfect, even. Maybe that was the problem. Perfect didn't exist in the real world, no matter how much she kept trying to will it so. Was it all for nothing? Her visitor was still so silent. Did even he think Aerith's hopes were futile?
An aphid suddenly crawled up one of the stems. Aerith quickly plucked it out, but another appeared right after. She nabbed that one too along with the next three, ten, eighteen. There were too many now. Known as plant lice, the aphids liked to suck out all the life-giving nutrients inside the flower's sap, hollowing it out and killing it through malnourishment. Before long, the entire garden was overrun. Aerith ran to get a hose, but she was violently pulled out of the church by a sudden, harsh tug.
"Hey!" Riku shouted, shaking Aerith by the shoulder. "Wake up! We have Heartless!"
Blobs of shadows rose from the water, twitching with hunger as they set their yellow eyes on the skiff. Riku wasn't sure what to do. If he started swishing his sword around, he could risk capsizing the boat.
"Well this is different," chortled the Ferryman with a clattering of his bones. He tried to keep rowing, but some of the shadows had wrapped themselves around his oar and started yanking it. The tug-o-war ended with the Ferryman's arm popping out of its socket. It went ker-splash into the dark waters along with the oar it was holding.
The shadows were clawing at the sides of the skiff, digging in, climbing up, pawing at the seafarers. Water splashed aboard and its puddles grew eyes. The Heartless were legion. Riku tried to toss them overboard, but the boat was taking on too many. "We need a plan!" he shouted.
"I'm thinking!" Aerith said, frantically trying to come up with a spell that wouldn't destroy the skiff. Fire was definitely out, and lightning would split the boat in two. What about ice? No, that would make a field of icebergs that they could smash into.
"Think faster!" Riku yelped as the shadows tried to force him into the sea where hundreds—if not thousands—of other claws were punching through the water. The skiff started rocking viciously as if caught in the middle of a typhoon.
"Well, if it's a war of the wobbles they want, then…" Aerith finally figured it out after looking at the center of the skiff. There wasn't anything there. No mast, no sails. It was perfect. She threw her palms flat into the air and focused all of her magic into the wind. What started as a small breeze quickly picked up into a raging squall. It knocked the Heartless clean off the skiff, and would've done the same to Riku had he not planted his arms and feet so deeply under the wooden seats. The wind plummeted into the sea, and the once placid waters kicked up into massive waves that repeatedly plunged into themselves. Heartless went flying everywhere, smashing against each other. The boat rocked and bounced along the tides. At some point, even the Ferryman was washed away. But the travelers wouldn't have to worry about piloting the boat themselves. The next wave was the final one. It crashed into the skiff.
Riku had tried to stop Aerith, but his voice wouldn't carry over the storm. She was caught up in a trance, lost and overtaken by her tumultuous thoughts. Maybe she thought if the wind howled loud enough, it would find a way to reach Leon—to call out to him, to let him know she was coming. Or at the very least, drown out the creeping fear that she'd never see him again.
"I had a real good time feeling your hands on mine."
Radiant Garden was surrounded by a lot of steep cliffs. They were perfect for endurance training. Every weekend, Squall would sling a small pack of supplies around his shoulder and trek out. One day, hours before sunrise, he was hiking past the church while chewing on a strip of jerky when he heard his name. Aerith walked out of the gate, waving with a free hand while the other held a basket. At first, he thought it was for flowers, but there was a gingham cloth wrapped around it.
"Here," she said, extending it to him. "For your trip." He just stared at it, confused, so she took his hand in hers and wrapped his fingers around the handle. "It's something nicer than dehydrated meat, I promise you."
Squall frowned, feeling inconvenienced and uncomfortable, but also cognizant of the projected rudeness in his silence. The basket was kind of heavy and awkward to carry. It would cause scaling issues. Who was to say it'd even survive the climb? What if he couldn't bring it back to her? It looked like the same basket she used to carry flowers into the town square every day. What if it was her only one and he either lost it or broke it? But if he refused it, that would make Aerith sad. She might start crying or screaming or never speak to him again.
"Sorry it's not more portable," she said, as if she could read his mind. "Still working on problem-solving that one. Next time will be better, but that shouldn't prevent you from having a nice meal today."
Next time?
Squall furrowed his brows even deeper, but Aerith just smiled and waved goodbye with a giggle. "I hope you have a nice trip!" Before he could decide on how to express his gratitude, she had disappeared back into the church. He stared intensely after her for some time, looking for any kind of movement in the garden. But there was none, so his curiosity switched to the basket. Holding the rest of the jerky between his teeth, Squall used his free hand to peek under the cloth. There he found rows of sandwiches, biscuits, and some slices of cake. In the center stood a freshly picked lily with a small, folded note tucked at the very bottom. He plucked it out and read the flowery, flowing script that was adorned with little daisies.
[Dear Squall,
Thank you for the timely rescue! This is to return the favor and hopefully rescue you from a growling stomach while you're up there in the mountains.
See you when you get back!
Your favorite flower girl,
Aerith
P.S.
Don't worry about the basket! I have dozens.]
Squall was speechless. He glanced back at the church, debating whether to go in there and thank her properly. But he felt awkward doing that. Their parting had felt complete. The invisible force of social convention froze his feet in place, not allowing them to budge outside of a forward march. So he tucked away the note and continued onward towards the cliffs.
Early Monday morning before the sun crept over the horizon, Aerith open the church gate only to find her old basket waiting by the open door. She smiled softly as she kneeled to retrieve it, noting to her relief that it weighed less than the day it was packed. When she tugged at the gingham cloth to fold it, a creased piece of paper tumbled out. At first she thought Squall hadn't noticed hers, but the shape was different—jagged like it had been torn out of a notebook. Curious, she read the short message scrawled across it in charcoal.
[Dear Aerith,
The food was delicious. Thank you.
- Squall]
Aerith carefully placed the note back in the basket before skipping merrily into the church. A jubilant, little tune danced on her lips, reverberating all across the stone building.
Every weekend following that, Aerith got up extra early to wait for Squall. Having packed his meals the night before, all she had to do was sit on the bench just outside the church gate until she spotted him coming down the road. "Good morning!" she'd always call with a brisk wave. After some experimentation, she managed to sew a leather satchel perfect for all kinds of food. It had multiple custom-sized slots to fit everything from sandwiches to desserts and drinks with straps to hold them all in place even under the most intense duress. Squall was quite impressed with the craftsmanship.
"You made this?"
"Sure did," she boasted proudly. "It took a few tries to get the stitching just right. It's waterproof, too, in case you accidentally drop it in the waterfall."
Squall spent several moments silently appraising it—running his fingers along the smooth leather and tugging at the sturdy straps. The inside was spacious, orderly, and tidy. Just the way he liked things. "Thank you," he said, looking her straight in the eyes with a soft yet intense gaze that belied a rare sincerity.
To Aerith, he was like the first snow of the winter. Cold sometimes, enchanting all the time, and forever pure. She squeezed his hand and he squeezed back, both smiling softly, before he slung the satchel over his shoulder and marched towards the mountains.
There was always a letter under the flower. Squall liked saving it for last—for when he climbed to the highest peak and felt like he couldn't go any further. His leaden body would ache with torn muscles and stretched tendons, but those few perfumed words made for a sweet distraction. Every letter was always longer than the last, and he took care to thoughtfully reply using the charcoal he always carried for drawing sketches of the valley bellow. Aerith wrote about all kinds of things, from her best gardening practices to some of the misadventures the children would have whenever they visited. She particularly loved writing about a young girl named Yuffie, whose silly ninja hijinx always ended in disaster, but she admired the girl's plucky spirit to always pick herself up and keep improving.
[She's an energetic one, that Yuffie. Always running around practicing her "ninjutsu training" with water balloons and mini frisbees. This week alone I've given her five—count them, five—stitches! And just the other day, she "ninja bombed" poor Mr. Scrooge while he was on his way to the bank with some new munny deposits. I'd never seen him so mad, but I have to admit it was quite funny to watch him flop around in that puddle trying to grab and strain all those soggy bills. Maybe in some way he'll learn munny isn't everything? He tried to whack Yuffie with his cane, but I put a stop to that. She's got a lot of room for growth and no one should be plucking her petals before they've bloomed.
Do you remember that other little girl—Kairi? For such a small child, she's quite precocious. After Scrooge stomped off, do you know what she said to me? "Munny is a path to the Darkness." I couldn't have agreed more.
Children always find a way to surprise you.]
Squall left the letter to rest on his chest. While lying there with his back flat on a blanket, he couldn't help but think that Aerith was acting more like a mother to those kids than as a friend or a sister. What was it like to have kids? Would he ever have any? Would he make for a good dad? He didn't know if he had Aerith's patience, and he wasn't sure he even liked being around kids. They were loud, messy, and troublesome. Should he write that? No.
He rolled over onto his side, the letter drifting off onto the ground with a soft plop. He put his hand over it and decided he'd figure out his reply in the morning.
[Dear Aerith,
You're very important to those kids. Keep watching over them. They're like the flowers in your garden. I'm sure they'll grow into something beautiful because of you.
- Squall]
